Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “You’re No Good”

Yet another week in which that skin of seven deadly sins has proven he’s no good, he’s cruel, careless and crazy. So here are words for every person who has ever been associated with, done business with or voted for Donald J. Trump as a way to learn, heal or to send his way:
Feeling better now that we’re through
Feeling better ’cause I’m over you
I learned my lesson, it left a scar
Now I see how you really are
You’re no good
You’re no good
You’re no good
Baby you’re no good
I’m gonna say it again
You’re no good
You’re no good
You’re no good
Baby you’re no good…
I’m telling you now baby and I’m going my way
Forget about you baby ’cause I’m leaving to stay
You’re no good
You’re no good
You’re no good
Baby you’re no good”

Linda Ronstadt performed the song and it was written by Ken Boothe. I have no sympathy for anyone fooled, snookered or duped by him. He appeals to base emotions and nothing more. One by one his cult is waking up. Not soon enough.

 

Enjoy another Resistance Sunday.
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Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Psycho Killer”

Last week The Guardian reported British intelligence has confirmed there to be “concrete evidence” of Trump-Russia collusion in the presidential campaign. Trump support has been dropping by the day as his campaign promises fail one by one. No Muslim ban, no wall, no repeal of the ACA replaced with “something terrific”. Perhaps coincidently, he ordered the bombings of Yemen, Syria and Afghanistan over dinner and “beautiful piece of chocolate cake,” all which gave him a ratings’ bump. Pundits speculate about his military strategy or tactics because he offered more details about dessert, and simply called the dropping of the “mother of all bombs” on Afghanistan a “successful event.” And now that boy seems to be getting ready to bomb North Korea who has its own imbalanced leader. If that ain’t psycho, I don’t know how to describe it.

I have hope our justice system will act soon and charge him and/or his inner circle with Russian colluding, violating the Emoluments Clause, or call his mental capacities into question and thus, prevent him from eliminating life on the planet. I’m frightened what this person with such power might do. Time is of the essence.

My stress level is back where it was before the House Intelligence Committee met in March on the Trump-Russia investigation. So it’s time for a Sunday interlude fitting Trump’s mental capacity, as well as how crazy-making he is: “Psycho Killer,” by Talking Heads.

The song borrows from “Psycho’s” character, Norman Bates. “I hate people when they’re not polite.” I’ve always enjoyed dancing and body slamming to the song. The lyrics speak to our modern, human condition where the sanest among us can have moments of feeling crazy, snapping from everyday inconveniences and pressures, albeit stopping short of murder. Our political condition is crazy making, to be certain:

“We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they’re not polite”

“Psycho Killer” takes me back to a simpler time when it only reminded me of serial killers or the “St. Elsewhere” episode with this song as a backdrop to Howie Mandel’s character playing out his inner child with a barrage of pranks as he gives in to turning 30. Sadly, now the song’s about my country’s Administrative branch and fear that the president is imbalanced enough to fire nuclear bombs. Help us.

So enjoy “Psycho Killer” and happy Easter.

Reality Check, Reality Grip in the Age of You Know Who

It’s logical for journalists, foreign leaders, our military and even us regular citizens to intellectually analyze Trump’s actions, particularly when someone so erratic has so much impact on the world. However, that is the very thing one must resist in order to understand or interact with him. To never normalize Trump must be your premise. I am not suggesting this from a mere partisan position. This is sound advice to understand and operate.

Trump is a two-dimensional, reality show figure. His image as president only exists for him if he’s in front of a camera or he’s watching people talk about him on TV. He is an empty suit that was made in China and sports a Trump label. He did not come to the political scene with any experience or depth in global or domestic matters. He is not reading in-depth reports about foreign or domestic issues or meeting with cabinet members to strategies and analyze intelligence and world affairs. He’s just a lazy, old guy who eats in front of the TV for hours a day, scanning channels for stuff about himself, who also happens to have the power to destroy the planet.

Coupled with his cartoon character depth is his malignant narcissism, and as such, he lacks any loyalty to or compassion for others unless it directly enriches himself. You can’t take the same approach you would with any previous president. To do so is not just incongruous, it isn’t useful and will only scramble your brain.

So he’s shallow, self-absorbed and wholly unfit mentally. Any attempt to normalize his words or deeds is a danger. It is like a board of professors and academics pouring over the process of a preschooler navigating a playroom of toys to determine whether the child left the tricycle for the building blocks because he is prioritizing infrastructure now.

Therefore, the role of journalists is more sobering than it has ever been in our history, and not just because they treated him like a serious politician during his campaign, but because now by simply asking the president a regular, ordinary question they would structure for Obama or even W, they may be steering his mind to take an unintended action. (If his family were reading this, they would be nodding their heads.) Reporters, he hasn’t formed a position about the subject of the question you are asking. And last week was a prime example of what I believe caused Trump to send tomahawk missiles to Syria. During the joint press conference with Egypt’s president Abdel Fattah al-Sisi, and on the heels of stating only days before he supported Bashar Hafez alAssad’s remaining Syria’s president (a position he likely took through Putin’s direction), PBS NewsHour’s John Yang asked him if al-Assad’s gas attack on his own people drew for him a red line similar to the line Obama said would be crossed in this incident. Trump responded without hesitation, with his usual, limited vocabulary with it “crossed a lot of lines for me.” Now no one asked a follow-up like, “Could you define a couple of those lines?” which might have either provided context or made it clear he just said it because it seemed like a good ad lib for his improv act.

I saw his face when he said it and thought, “Look out, he just got an idea that will make his junk look bigger than Obama’s.” I can’t be the only one who saw it like that, but I haven’t seen it mentioned. Trump made the decision to bomb Syria because Yang mentioned Obama and Trump had to look tougher. Forget the consequences of what he said about al-Assad being safe to stay or the fallout yet to come, this toddler maniac has the power to blow up stuff. Cool, huh? So he ordered the attack and then a juicy steak, rare. Or vice versa. 

Now the media is doing in-depth analysis of what was clearly a stunt and a failed military action. “Why the pivot on al-Assad?” “Did Ivanka’s plea for the children soften his heart?” “What does this mean concerning the allegations he colluded with Russia during his campaign and beyond?” What? No. None of this. He’s a shallow, two-dimensional, mentally unfit buffoon with a distorted ego. Hillary Clinton was right (about everything but) when she said, “There is no other Trump!” He is Being There’s Chance, the gardener.

What he does must not be mistaken as policy or strategy or even a tactic. This being doesn’t know what he is doing. He’s still in private business, sending Uday and Qusay Trump, along with many of his rich, Cabinet member friends, to make deals to enrich themselves, all expenses paid by you and me. He’s a lazy, rich guy who sits around all day, eating and watching Fox so-called news surfing for talk about himself. Then he plays golf. He lacks intellectual curiosity at best, and, at worst, is functionally illiterate; hence the SNL stories that he couldn’t grasp the scripts in their show reads, or reports that he requires no more than a page, heavy with bullets and pictures, in his daily briefings and the video of him in a deposition struggling to read and comprehend a contract he’d signed.

And now he’s sabre rattling with North Korea, a leader we can all agree is erratic and a bubble off the level. Trump is literally threatening a nuclear attack on North Korea. Attention everyone: Do not put ideas in his head! He likes the attention and the ratings’ grab. You can’t approach him like he’s clear headed or fully sane! If he sees his approvals go up as he surfs for his daily “me” news, who knows what he will do for an encore, because he only wants to be famous and have good approval ratings!

Our Constitution defines the role of the free press as the 4th Estate. It’s part of the First Amendment! No wonder this Administration’s ilk wants to attack it. There is a no more imperative than for every real news outlet to stop normalizing his actions, stop having thoughtful round tables on the Sunday shows that apply the president’s personality as a backdrop to anything other than padded walls with a foreground of professionals in white garb amply stocked with horse sedatives. He’s not intellectually fit for the job but what’s worse is he is not mentally well. That’s your premise. Don’t forget. Please. I don’t want these words to be the epitaph for life on the planet.

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “What a Difference a Day Makes”

I’m lucky, I don’t have clinical depression. But the blatant criminality and fascist characteristics of this Administration has put my body and mind in a funk the likes of which I have never felt. It’s a constant blight on my day, and often, night. Tomorrow the Senate Intelligence Committee begins its probe into the Russia-Trump collusion. So I have hope. From the look on Senator Diane Feinstein’s face coming out of the meeting with FBI Director Comey a few days ago and the looks on the faces of Congressional member after their Intelligence briefing back on January 13th, that prompted many to abstain from the Inauguration, I am reading that the Trump Administration’s time will be short. I must. We must work and hope for this outcome.

And so, today’s song is a short one by Dinah Washington, “What Difference a Day Makes.” It’s true. When things go badly, when one’s mood is low, it may be difficult to see, but it can all turn around just like that. I have found myself singing this song on days when something really good happens for me. And so while I am feeling down today, I am hoping tomorrow’s preliminary meeting will begin to shed light even upon those so blind they refuse to see the countless connections of Trump and his cronies with Russia, money laundering, political collusion and profiting off public service. I’m talking to you, maga (“make America great again dolts”), Mitch McConnell (who, when President Obama asked for a bipartisan hearing on this very matter last fall, threatened he’d call it partisan politics if made public), Paul Ryan, who just wants to kill the poor and elderly in the interest of the uber-rich while Trump can still hold a Sharpie to sign his draconian bills, and the Fourth Estate who have fallen short of their Constitutional role.

It’s a love song but it speaks to how a moment can alter your view on everything. I am hopeful knowing someone in authority is putting country over self-interest, because Trump certainly isn’t. May tomorrow bring this song to your lips and mine.

Hard to Ignore the Elephant These Days

This disastrous, criminal, Executive Branch fiasco is an unavoidable, daily obstacle, like any number of inevitable crises one encounters in adult life. If you’re paying any serious attention to the facts about this felonious, money-laundering, malignant-narcissist grifter who played and won the greatest con of his life, and the killing (pun intended) he’s making off of his government job, you can’t avoid the constant feeling of dread and anguish. It’s not the first time humans have been ruled by a crook or a demagogue, but this is the first full-on coup in the United States.

Other than my Sunday interludes and around a fifty-gross count in tweets, I haven’t written anything since October because of this proverbial elephant in the room that has changed every part of my life and the lives of everyone I know. Now as a vegan and animal lover, I recoil equating the lovely dromedary to the GOP or Trump but the idiom “the elephant in the room” is on-the-trunk accurate. Even if I am not thinking about his collusion with Russia, his daily violations of the Emoluments Clause or his obvious mental illness, the fact that I have thought about it earlier leaves me exhausted every day. I know I am not the only one who wakes in the middle of the night screaming expletives like you’ve acquired Tourette’s in your sleep. I’ve found myself sitting up blurting, “Melon farmer. kumquat!” or something that sounds like that, only to baffle the cat and prevent me from falling back to sleep for two, three, four hours.

The change and the ugliness is real. It started the morning after the election, after putting in a 16-hour day as an Election Judge November 8th. With little sleep, I finally got it together to run the errand I’d planned to do knowing I’d be tired, although I thought happy and relieved. I was third in a left-turn lane at a red light just four blocks from home, listening to Hillary’s beautiful speech. when I glanced in my rearview mirror one second before the light changed so I had to process what I saw behind me as I drove forward and made my turn. A man in a large, black, domestic pick-up truck was giving me the finger, pressing his hand against his windshield so I couldn’t miss it. As I made the turn and proceeded onto the freeway, he tore around me in the most aggressive road rage I’d ever experienced. I knew it was about the election even though I only had one, innocuous window cling sticker that said “AM950,” with no call letters, of my local, liberal radio station (shout out to KTNF! Woot!). And no, I was not inattentive to my driving or proceeding irresponsibly through the light. I was a woman in a car. So it was partly the sticker, partly my gender but mostly it was an emboldened jerk. I realized in that instant the world had changed and not for the better. Not exactly my imagination. Real.

But my intuition that our culture changed actually came earlier that morning because the moment I got out of bed November 9th, I grabbed a razor blade and removed two bumper stickers I’d had on my car since 2012; “Who Rescued [Who],” meaning I support animals and “ZPG, Now More than Ever,” meaning I support “zero population growth.” Neither were blatantly political but I figured I would be seen as a caring, thoughtful women and, therefore, a target. Guess my female intuition was correct.

For the next couple days, I was harassed, stalked and my life was threatened several times to the point I had to include my local police handle in a few tweets that said they were “coming for me” or had a good use for bullets. But I was determined not to be silent, even if I was afraid. I learned the history lesson that those silent regret it.

Friedrich Niemöller was a German anti-Nazi theologian and Lutheran pastor. He is most know for this quote.

And here we are. History has a history of repeating itself. And those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. So this is what I hope: I hope enough of us are woke, that we have taken a lesson from history and will not allow this takeover to continue much longer. Every day I wonder what is taking Congress so long, even the GOP majority who have to know more than we know and are playing some sort of game of chicken to try to ram as many draconian bills under President Oompa Loompa’s Sharpie-holding paw before they go through the motions of putting country over party for their own self interests. I have to hope the Democrats like Reps. Maxine Waters and Adam Schiff will get enough oxygen on the intelligence gathered by our patriotic Intelligence Agencies to make his removal inevitable.

Some advise to disconnect from the news once in a while but I can’t. I must remain vigil. Psychologists say those who simply browse social media rather than engage are worse off. And I do feel better tweeting. I hope this blog contribution gets me over my writer’s block/grief and back on some new, regular writing schedule.

This is my country. My father fought to save democracy for the world in WWII. I come from two people who overcame unimaginable hardship but you’d never know it. They give me strength. Good will win over evil. And folks, we are in the battle against evil of our lifetime. #Resist

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Idiot Wind”

President Donald Trump gestures (some say is a Nazi gesture) as he speaks to Navy at nuclear aircraft carrier Gerald R. Ford. (AP Photo/Steve Helber)


Why has it taken me so long to make Bob Dylan’s “Idiot Wind” the Sunday interlude? Since January 20th I’ve been hearing the lyrics in my head on and off. “Someone’s got it in for me. They’re planting stories in the press. Whoever it is, I wish they’d cut it out quick.” Trump’s life imitates art.

This recording isn’t the best, but I had to go for a Vimeo recording to find the “Blood on the Tracks'” version I wanted:

Now most believe the song is about Dylan’s or his parents’ marriage. And I would never distill Dylan’s lyrical brilliance to apply it to the two-dimensional Trump, but its anger resonates. The “fake news” allegations and planted stories are, in this case, asserted by the president, himself, “[He] inherited a million bucks…[he] can’t help it if [he’s] lucky.” I’m sure the $60 million profit he made a couple years after his $40 million investment on an estate, sold to a Russian fertilizer tycoon who wanted to hide money from his estranged wife, was mere luck. His businesses and income are undisclosed so we can only guess based upon the facts we have. He sure has a lot of Russian ties, though, as affirmed by his own son.

And, of course, there’s the insanity we all slog through every day: “Now everything’s a little upside down. As a matter of fact the wheels have stopped. What’s good is bad, what’s bad is good.” It’s all so exhausting and insufferable.  Every charge and nonsense investigation the GOP ever made toward a Democrat, from Clinton raping women (all dismissed by Ken Starr, no friend to Bill) to Secretary Clinton’s incompetency in the Benghazi consulate attack (the GOP wouldn’t fund to become an embassy and, therefore, better secured), in which she had no involvement other than her position. The 37 hearings at a cost of $7 million evolved to the private email “scandal” further fueled by FBI Director James Comey 11 days before the election. Now Mike Pence is equally not guilty of doing the same not illegal act with private email. But that’s not an issue because he’s a Republican. Now their party’s leader brags about sexually assaulting women, is accused of child rape and in his fifth day triggered the Yemen assault that was an unmitigated disaster which he now uses for applause. Really GOP, nothing to see? And GOP Senate leader Mitch McConnell is complicit in the Russian involvement, threatening then President Obama he’d call it a political thumb on the scale if he called for a bipartisan investigation last fall.

“Idiot wind,  Blowing every time you move your mouth…You’re an idiot, babe. It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe.”

Why is this wholly unfit being still in office?!

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Limits to Love”

Many of us are weary from the crazy in D.C. I was with friends last night and we all said we felt more tired than any other time in our lives! I’m so tired, I forgot my dedication to my Sunday interlude post. Well, at least it’s still morning here.

I loved this album back in the 90s, Til Tuesday’s “Everything’s Different Now,” a fitting title to 2017 so far, too. And this particular song, “Limits to Love” has some appropriate lyrics. Now, don’t misunderstand, I have no love for Trump. But it talks about watching someone seemingly unwilling to stop being self-destructive. And I think the delusional tweets about Obama wire-tapping him is at the level of Richard Nixon roaming the White House talking to dead presidents’ portraits. And he’s only weeks in!

“We’d get impatient with her now and then
Oh, she’d smile and say, ‘now you’re not being nice.’
I guess her definition of a friend
Was someone long on love, and short on advice.”

“She’ll get in trouble but she will scrape through
Oh, she’s the kind of girl who can always find help
I’d say she’s stupid, but it’d be untrue
Oh, you’ve got to be smart if you’re fooling yourself.”

Please, Donald Trump, seek help. You’re scorching our dear Earth.

 

 

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Not Ready to Make Nice”

Still on that “why is Trump still seated” kick. He’s profiting off his office. He’s having us pay for it. He’s colluded with Russia and worse. And he’s nuts. I will never be ready to make nice. And I will never forgive the GOP for allowing this shameful episode in our history.

The Dixie Chicks wrote this song when the Republicans attacked them for opposing George W. Bush. It’s a little soft for this current dolt but it will do.

“I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge”

I’ve seen enough of this guy. He is vulgar and ignorant, the kind of guy my parents would never allow near our house. I am deeply ashamed he represents our nation. I beg my US Congress to act. Time is of the essence. Our president is wholly unfit.

Trump Anxiety Disorder is Real, Because I Have It

I suffer from TAD, Trump Anxiety Disorder. I haven’t been able to find the right words to express the terror I feel, the absurdity I see and the shear incomprehensibility of this presidential campaign. But I know it is the duty of every intelligent, non-deplorable American to act. We must mobilize and every way to prevent Donald Trump from getting anywhere near Washington D.C. He is our call of action. So I will try to find words.

Trump supporters may all be deplorable by their mere affiliation to this candidate.

The speed at which the GOP has arrived at this point is stunning. It has been their trajectory for decades but I didn’t think it would happen so fast. But Donald Trump did it. He has leached out supporters from every group the right-wing has been sending dog whistle language for years; racists, homophobes, xenophobes, misogynists and any other scattered folk one could lump into the obtuse. If Trump loses (please, God) perhaps this will serve as a good disinfectant to, if not teach, at least shame the frothing. gnashing, hostile poorly educated from even thinking they could ever “rise again.” If he wins, the world will turn its back on us, deservedly. And our society will crumble, economically, structurally, socially and morally. It will put the final nail in the coffin of our democracy that previous Republican presidents started. (OK, some damage has been down around the world by Dems, too, but nothing compares to “W’s” years.) This is not hyperbole. My Trump Anxiety Disorder disorder has exhausted me from being able to give examples to my hypothesis but there are plenty of folks who have already done so anyway.

So I feel a little more nauseous every day. We have the most qualified candidate in modern times in Hillary Clinton. But the mainstream “journalism,” which we now just call part of the greater media, has completely failed us by making the contrast obvious. This is our Citizens United, post Fairness Doctrine perfect storm, with a grifter at the epicenter.

The English language lacks the proper word for this kind of pending calamity. I suspect there’s a German word perfect for this. And I am not making a Hitler reference (although it is probably fitting), but they have words like Schadenfreude, meaning taking pleasure from another’s misfortune, which is what I am hoping to feel November 9th.