Yes, There's Black And There's White...But I'll Be The One Telling You Which One Is Which...

Too many of the major news outlets and almost all talk radio is, at best, missing a valuable opportunity and, at worst, just adding fuel to an already raging fire

Little thing called “preaching to the choir”.

Nobody is always right or always wrong about everything all the time. Not the left. And not the right. And not the moderates, Libertarians, Rotarians, Vegetarians, or magna cum laude graduates of Hogwarts…… And without the informed, reasonable, articulate dissenting opinion, this country would have driven off the cliff and exploded into a billion fiery pieces decades and decades ago.

The only reason that hasn’t happened yet is we go through this yank to the left yank to the right yank to the left yank to the right Benny Hill Driving School comedy routine on an every four or eight-year basis and because we back and forth we can’t quite MAKE it to the edge…but …guess what?

We don’t get anywhere, either…we just yank and bicker and bitch and argue and either weave around like idiots or we travel in circles.

First, there’s “confirmation bias”…the phenomenon that dictates our refusal to even hear, let alone consider, ANY opinion, point of view l let alone fact, that doesn’t merely back up whatever we believe or want to believe in the first place…..then, there’s arrogance…the attitude that, we’re America, fuck you…..what do you mean we need to improve….fuck you….what do you mean we aren’t perfect, fuck you…we’re America….….then, of course, pride…the garden variety that goes before the fall…..add selfishness, the character kink that says we want what we want as much as we want of whatever we want any and every damn time we want it because, fuck you, we’re America….and you know what? Those destructive and defeating parts of our humanness have been around since the Garden…….the only reason they’re suddenly more obvious than usual these days is the “flamboyance” of someone like Donald Trump who, set aside any and all policy disagreements we might have with him, has made rudeness and crudeness and arrogance and selfishness not only acceptable, but pretty much fashionable….Make America Great Again…..scratch just a little under that mantra and you’ll read the real message….fuck you, we’re America……

Earlier this week, I guest hosted on talk radio…. on the morning after the State of the Union speech, I opened both the phone lines and the can of worms that comes with any “so what are your thoughts” when it comes to any and all things Trump these days.  I personally sat out of the back and forth, offering no personal opinion, merely moderating or, more accurately, acting as the goalie…when the puck flew too close to the fire, I kicked it back into play…did it on purpose…so that I could concentrate on hearing and reading the texts that were also a part of the conversation….and with allowances for a few comments about “well, I liked the speech” or “he sounded good, hope he lives up to the promises”, most of what was said and what was heard on this very air was bashing the Democrats for not applauding, for wearing black, for having red hair and drooling and on and on and on…….

And don’t think for a second that the Republicans are always the bad guys….if Hillary had taken the oath in Jan and the GOP had given Hillary the symbolic finger last night, the phones would have been burning with Democrats up in arms about why their girl wasn’t being praised and adored and respected….and…and….it’s ENOUGH ALREADY…..a pox on both your houses….but better yet, how about a pox on neither house?

Even better yet, how about no damn poxes at all? How about you try to, at the very least, stop throwing out the good with the bath water and find something the party you oppose has to offer that isn’t demonic or Satanic and destined to take us all into the fiery depths of extinction….no matter which party you belong to and which party that party you oppose.

Because NOBODY is ALL WRONG OR ALL RIGHT ALL THE TIME……Now, if you can’t do that because you truly believe the other guys have nothing to offer but the fiery depths of extinction, then we can all just stop worrying….because if that’s true, we got bigger problems than we can every hope to overcome, so we may as well just kick back, enjoy the Super Bowl this weekend and hug our kids while we wait for the end to come.

And THAT’S what you should be hearing from most of the major news outlets and almost ALL of talk radio……. but you’re not…and you won’t…. because that’s not what preaching to the choir sounds like….

Real, honest, god given true leadership is really hard…because sometimes it means going against the grain…against the flow…against the current…it means knowing exactly what it is you want to hear and knowing that if I tell you that, you’re gonna love me and praise me and vote for me no matter what kind of a scum ball human being I might be…..but instead of telling you what you want to hear, inciting you and lowering the bar of behavior, I try instead to inspire you…..tricky business knowing the difference between being inspired and being incited……not a lot of people know how to tell…and NONE of us can really tell ALL the time whether it’s one or the other……

But when a news show host or a talk radio host tells you, yeah, those Democrats are a bunch of losers because they didn’t show Donald Trump the respect he deserves, that’s not trying to get you to see things from both sides and make an honest evaluation….that’s trying to stir the pot that’s already boilin’…so that you’ll feel like talk radio has your back, baby…..and it makes for good ratings….at least it makes for people who already feel that way to tune in…..but it’s not really doing much good or making things any better or even beginning to be a part of looking for solutions…..it’s just preaching to the choir…..and I’m pretty sure that not a lot is accomplished by getting people who are already in the pews all worked up about being in the pews…..when there’s so many people wandering around outside who might think at least a little about coming in and having a seat….if only someone would take the time and make the effort to inspire them…instead of inciting them.

But that’s what gets you elected to the Presidency now…. inciting the voters as opposed to inspiring them….and stirring hearts and minds has been harshly replaced with stirring up the shit pot of anger and resentment and hatred and bigotry….

TV news talk….and talk radio? Well they’re mostly just worm can opening and shit pot stirring and feeding the fire that already burns too hot…. flames so high that sometimes you think they might reach all the way to heaven….but then, you already know that don’t you….and my telling you all of this…is just preaching to the choir….

Three Words... For The Win.....

Over the course of the last twelve months, one simple three word phrase has made its way to the top ten of the American lexicon.

You may actually, though, not be aware of its prominence.

Which is simultaneously paradoxical, humorous and more than just a smidge ironic because you have almost certainly heard the phrase used, if not used the phrase yourself, at some time at least once a day.

Minimum.

And, if not the phrase itself, then most assuredly you have heard, or used, some variation, euphemism and/or expression that more than covers the primary spirit intended by use of the original.

Ladies and gentlemen, racing its way up the charts and soon to over take such three word chestnuts as OMG, what the fuck?, who's on first, you da man, never look back and even I love you, we offer the soon to be number one three word phrase of the era history will both hilariously and tragically revisit some day as the age of Donald....

"But...what about...?"

This trilogy of testimony on behalf of a particular attitude or point of view or even behavior has come into fashion primarily on the same tsunami of passion and emotion that swept the Donald into his temporary tenure as America's director of temper tantrum.

And, of course, is used prolifically and unfailingly by those who still, one year into the Dante meets Benny Hill meets Chrisley Knows Best sitcom/reality show mutant that is this presidency, feel the need, desire and/or intention of defending the pretty much daily output of surreal nonsense issued from a roundish sort of office on Pennsylvania Ave. that used to be good for at least the occasional sprinkling of inspiration, motivation or...wait for it....good old fashioned American savvy and know how.

Yeah. America has totally hit the pause button on that shit, to be sure.

But, what about..."but, what about...?"

The most recent display, at this writing, of course, because, again, usage is now measured on a daily, if not hourly, basis, came as the result of Donald's reassurances to that portion of the electorate that isn't still having family portraits done at Olan Mills wearing their red MAGA caps, that he is in full possession of his faculties. A concern that said portion of the electorate, let's round down and say 80 million Americans, give or take, have had all along, most recently with the publishing of the first of what will be more tell all books than you can shake your Dewey Decimal at, Fire and Fury.

Donald's tweet du jour apparently meant to reassure went something like this:


...actually, throughout my life, my two greatest assets have been mental stability and being, like, really smart. Crooked Hillary Clinton also played these cards very hard and, as everyone knows, went down in flames. I went from VERY successful businessman to top TV star to President of the United States (on my first try). I think that would qualify as not smart, but genius...and a very stable genius at that.


Okay.

Let's skip the armchair Freudian interpretations and amateur attempts at psychobabble in dissecting what is to any first year psych student a textbook example of infantile narcissism and cut to the three word chase.

But...what about?.

Upon enjoying a chortle or two at Donald's latest "see me, feel me, need me, love me" twittering there, I, in a newly committed spirit of looking for the humor in all of this, posted this observation on Facebook.

"...here's the thing...when you vote for a cartoon character...and it gets elected...you can't blame the rest of us for laughing at the cartoon..."

The responses, for the most part, were commiserating, grammatical nods of the head in one form or another.

The key phrase in that sentence, of course, being "for the most part".

Because it took almost no time at all before a meme was posted taking a predictable, and, frankly, pretty unoriginal pot shot at Barack Obama.

Qualifying it, of course, as usage of the three word oration that's sweeping the nation.

In this case, mapped out for those who need a little mapping out of these kinds of things, it would read like this:

Donald Trump tweeted, once again, like a five year old about how smart and stable he is, giving those who are concerned about his intelligence and stability all the proof that they need that he is neither smart nor stable.....but what about when Barack Obama messed up on that healthcare thing, huh? what about that? Huh?

Uh, yeah.

You know what?

The temptation from this side of the ideology line would be to take a swing at sending that bombastic birdie back over the net.

But, truth be told, those of us with a relatively functioning oblongata are pretty much tired of playing.

And, yes, its only been a year of what is theoretically going to be four years, but, again, you know what?

We're just tired of playing.

So, let's try this approach in this new year.

First, if all you've got when your boy is critiqued for his flamboyant flaws and failings is a candy ass attempt to fill in the blank at the end of the phrase "but...what about...", then do us both, and all, a favor and save your breath. Or your typing fingers. Or whatever you use to peck out your pointless prattle.

Because we don't want to play anymore.

Time for the grown ups to get back to work finding and supporting someone who will restore the office of the Presidency of the United States to its rightful owner.

Another grown up.

But, by way of helping out our fellow grown ups who are tired of your silly "but what about-ing", here's a 128 word phrase that they are free to use, cut and paste, post as audio, do whatever you like to save them the time and trouble, and freeing them of the temptation, of taking a swipe at that birdie the next time you send it over the net.

Cause we all know there will be a next time. And a next. And a next.

Here you go.....

"But what about? But WHAT about?.....you know what? YES, Bill Clinton got blowjobs from Monica Lewinsky...YES, Ronald Reagan funded the Contras...YES, Richard Nixon tried to cover up Watergate...YES, Lyndon Johnson fucked up spectacularly when it came to Vietnam policy...YES, JFK totally blew it with the Bay Of Pigs....YES,  Warren G Harding's presidency was filled with kickbacks and scandals...YES, Grover Cleveland fathered an illegitimate child...YES, Andrew Jackson supported an adulterer in his Cabinet...YES, Thomas Jefferson fathered children with one of his own slaves....but NONE of that....absolutely NONE of that has ANYTHING to do with or ALTERS, for a second, THE FACT that Donald Trump is an incompetent, infantile narcissistic sociopathic man child, unfit, incapable and unqualified to be President of the United States....NONE of it. NOTHING. Zip. Zero. Nada."

We got yer birdie.

Set.

Game.

Match.

             

I'm a word guy.

Never made any apologies for that. Not likely I'm going to start now.

First, because, for as along as I can remember, I've been of the school that there is really is no such thing as too much knowledge or too much ability.

Second, because when the part of the brain that accesses the "fair is fair" part of my psyche kicks in, I feel a certain responsibility, even obligation, to honor the hard work and selflessness of countless English teachers in my educational history who, for very little reward other than the satisfaction of a job well done (and mail some of that into the electric company sometime and see how long the flat screen stays lit up) did their best, while I was in their academic charge, to instruct me, encourage me, even nurture me to be as articulate, expressive, even erudite as I was capable of being.

Clearly, the fact that I just used the words articulate, expressive and erudite in the same sentence is a testament to the contribution of those teachers and their ability to impart into at least a few of their students a vocabulary that runs deeper than your more commonly heard, everyday, garden variety articulations.

Bursts of brilliance like "hey, wanna catch some lunch?"......"wow, did you, like, catch what Kim said to Khloe last night?'....and a particular favorite of mine, given the depth of intelligence, articulation and erudition that it symbolizes.

"Lock her up."

Which brings me around to the specific word that sent this train of thought chugging out of the station and it's application, or lack there of, in the America of 2017.

The word, in a few moments.

The application?

Actually, not so much.

At least, not in the America of 2017.

The temptation resisted in that last sentence was to use another term that gets bandied about pretty regularly these days. A term that I use whenever, and only when, it's necessary to make a point like the point at the end of the line of this thought train.

Trump's America.

First, the term itself implies an ownership that neither technically, nor factually, correct.

Second, the term itself makes my asshole pucker.

How's that for erudition?

This past week, I had the occasion to guest host on statewide talk radio and, among other timely topics, addressed the social climate in the country in the America of 2017. I related the recollections of television host Megyn Kelly, specifically the horrific and hateful voice mail messages she received after the infamous campaign debate in which she had the gall, the temerity, to question Trump on the subject of misogyny.

"I got all these voicemails", Kelly shared, "saying you're a real cunt...and there was one", Kelly quotes," that said nobody gives a damn about misogyny....somebody actually said that to me," Kelly said.

A sexual harassment advocate and attorney on Kelly's show replied "...we are at a tipping point of a movement and America is really grapping with this, coming to terms with the fact there is a problem."

To my own listening audience last week, I added this.


I'm  going to go you one better…..Sexual harassment is rooted in an unacceptable abuse of power………….but that abuse of power has become epidemic in the culture in general…..

social media, talk radio: the “freedom” to say whatever you want whenever you want with NO REGARD WHATSOVER for civility, courtesy, respect or even simple human decency.

Megyn Kelly got voicemails calling her a cunt.

When I guest host these shows, inevitably out of the many positive or respectfully disagreeing comments or posts or texts, etc, there are crude, rude and unacceptable ones…..

AND THE attitude and tone of that type of behavior starts at THE TOP…with a man who got to the White House by belittling people, denigrating people, insulting people, behavior that continues to THIS DAY and the only thing supporters and fans, have to say is “it’s good to have a President who tells it like it is…..

Well, to those of you who like those who tell it like it is….HERE”S HOW IT IS……Life, at least on a surviving in the global world of 2017,  is NOT A grudge match in the WWE…..it is NOT a SUPER BOWL WHERE The team that kicks the other ass the hardest wins, it is NOT a reality show where the bitchiest back stabbers triumph over the less bitchy backstabbers…It is not about hold my beer...or hey, watch this...or aw, hell, I can do that…....IT IS about strategy, knowing when to move and when to not move, when to speak forcefully, or softly or know when to just shut the hell up…Every battle is won or lost before it's fought….that was written thousands of years ago by an Asian warrior and strategist named Sun Tzu……The Art of War……you should take a shot at giving it a read some time…..and you might just discover why your hero Donald’s ghostwriter named his book The Art of the Deal….

All of this circles back to something I’ve spoken on and written on and produced podcasts on for going on two years now….freedom….without…..freedom without accountability, without ability, without responsibility, without regard for anyone or anything but selfish, greedy, immature, moronic self-interest…..and if you’re a part of that group, with that mindset, don’t flatter yourself for a second thinking you’re a part of some great movement or revolution….because you’re not….what you are is a member of a lynch mob…..angry, fearful, desperate, sad, pathetic and more of an enemy to this nation and the principles this nation was bedrock founded on than any Muslim or Jew or Latino or Black that has crossed your path.  

And here’s how those of us who don’t want to be subjected to that hatred and venom and viciousness anymore  put a stop to all of this…..we’re going to delete your posts and your comments, we are going to answer NONE of what you have to say….we are going to turn our backs on you and we have no interest whatsoever in what you want or what you say or what you think…….we don’t have to change your minds……all we have to do…..is make you….irrelevant……..because that’s what you are…………..you want to weigh in? you know where to find me….but I’m a man of my word…abuse the privilege and cross the line…I’ll delete your comment….or I’ll hang up on you….because starting today, what you have to say is IRRELEVENT.

The on air response to my come to Jesus moment was telling.

A few supportive, positive endorsements that, in one form of another, came down to "yeah, what you said".

And from everyone else?

Nothing.

Silence.

Exactly what one expects from blowhards and bullies and cowards who are forced to put up or shut up.

And I'll go you one better on that score, as well.

Were it not for the existence of Twitter....and the almost like clockwork, every three months or so, love me, need me, adore me, worship me, make me feel like less than a hollow shell of a sad, scared, pathetic excuse for a grown man gatherings hilariously referred to as "rallies", here's what the America of 2017 would be hearing from the, term used very, very loosely, current President of the United States.

Nothing.

Silence.

Exactly what one expects from blowhards and bullies and cowards who are forced to put up or shut up.

Like I said at the outset, I'm a word guy.

I read em', I write em', I create em', I print them, I publish them.

I broadcast them.

Here's a word I like a lot. 

That specific word I mentioned earlier I would be sharing with the America of 2017 today.

And by way of sharing it, two thoughts I'm willing to bet any amount of money you'd like to bet.

Donald Trump wouldn't know the meaning of the word if the definition were spelled out for him on a couple of those big placards held up during those almost like clockwork, every three months or so, love me, need me, adore me, worship me, make me feel like less than a hollow shell of a sad, scared, pathetic excuse for a grown man gatherings hilariously referred to as "rallies".

And...

Donald Trump has obviously never seen the classic musical "Singin' in the Rain" starring Gene Kelly.

Dignity.

Always, with dignity.

Not in the America of 2017, kids.

And most certainly, without a whisper of doubt, NOT in that mystical, delusional land of those who don't give a damn about misogyny....or have any use for the cunts who have the audacity to ask reasonable questions.

Trump's America.

"...You Can't Buy M-M-M-M-Memories Like This...."

George Harrison put it best.

He just didn't know, at the time, that he was talking about me.

 

Country music legend Mel Tillis died early Sunday morning, according to a statement from his publicist. He was 85.

Tillis died at the Munroe Regional Medical Center in Ocala, Florida, after battling intestinal issues since 2016, said spokesman Don Murry Grubbs. The suspected cause of death was respiratory failure.

Tillis was a prolific singer-songwriter who penned more than 1,000 songs and recorded more than 60 albums in a career that spanned six decades. Many of those songs were recorded by other country music stars such as Kenny Rogers, George Strait and Ricky Skaggs.

His commercial peak came in the 1970s when he had a string of top 10 hits, including "Good Woman Blues," "Heart Healer" and "Coca Cola Cowboy." In 2007, he was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Frankly, it came as a bit of a surprise to me that Mel's passing got the kind of press that it received.

Not so much because there was any real legitimate claim to the idea that his career and his passing weren't worthy of note, but in a culture that is saturated and/or obsessed with Trump tweets and Kardashian navel gazings and "what have you done for me lately" now translates out to "what have you done for me in the last five...no, wait, make that three...no, wait, make that two seconds" , it was surprising, and gratifying, that Mel's farewell did make the box filled with the ALSO IN THE NEWS stuff online.

And that saves me the time needed to go into great detail about who he was and what he accomplished because you can now log on to dozens of places and check all that out.

While I spend a few minutes sharing what part he played in my own life.

1975. I was a former assistant gas station attendant/ grocery store manager/ ink pen salesman in New Orleans who wrote songs on the side, played in a respectable enough garage band and indulged in the fairly stereotypical dream of fame and fortune as a singer/songwriter. Said dream had brought me and my band mates to Nashville, wives and babies in tow, to work and play hard together to achieve that dream.

1979. I was a full time ink pen salesman who wrote songs on the side and whose band mates had long ago returned to New Orleans, wives and slightly older babies in tow, having myself remained behind, wife and oldest, then only, child in for a penny in for a pound, still pursuing the elusive butterfly of song writing success. 

I had, by that time, achieved only a little of that dream. Actually, very little.

Actually, nothing at all.

An inroad or two had been discovered and was being traveled. I had spent enough time knocking around the Nashville streets known, then, as Music Row, the nerve center of the country music recording industry, to have met at least a few people, gotten to know even a few well enough that they acknowledged my hello when we crossed paths, even if they still didn't know who the hell I was or have any particular reason, to their way of thinking, to know.

And I had, through fate, providence, good luck, divine intervention or any one or all of the cosmic forces that move our fates around the game board, managed to meet, and begin writing with, an already established Nashville songwriter whose back story was not at all unlike mine.

Don Earl had been a homicide cop in St Louis, who wrote songs on the side, dreamed of songwriting success and visited Nashville periodically to meet and greet and pitch and hustle, getting to know even a few well enough that they acknowledged his hello when they crossed paths, even if they still didn't know who the hell he was.

In time, though, he converted a few of those who didn't know into those who did. And, in one of those moments screenwriters love to portray, he brought the right song to the right person at the right time and voila! he had written a hit country song for a then up and comer named Barbara Fairchild, said song climbed the Billboard Country Singles chart and found its way all the way to Number One.

Making Don sufficient bucks that he was able to move to Nashville, wife and four kids in two, and set up shop as a full time songwriter.  Couple more hits and voila!, he was back to writing part time, working for a living (although it was his own polygraph business) and trying to get back in to where he once belonged on Music Row.

And then, along came me.

Don showed me the ropes, taught me the tricks, showed me some stuff and we wrote songs. Pretty good songs, the occasional fair to middlin songs and, truth be told, more than a couple of "wow, that's got a smell I've never smelled" songs.

And, because Don could get calls returned and appointments made, we pitched songs. Lots of songs. Lots of places. Accomplishing what 9 out of 10 aspiring songwriters generally accomplish with hard work, perseverance and belief in the dream.

Zip. Zero. Nada.

Having come perilously close to the "who needs this shit" phase so many aspiring writers, actors, dancers, singers, talk show hosts and/or athletes inevitably reach, I found myself, one summer evening, driving to my writing appointment with Don, mumbling to myself about the injustice of writing such great, intricate, clever songs only to be rejected time after time after time after....slowly bubbling up to yet another fever pitch of "fuck em, who needs this shit?"......and, in that moment, as I drove along, my frustration peaked in the form of "you know what? we write great? they say no...we write really good? they say no....then we listen to the radio and what do we hear?....crap...and pap....and ditties....and shit....and....you know what? that's what they want? well, then, fuck em that's what they get"......and by the time I got to Don's house, I walked in, visibly steamed, sat right down without benefit of hello or how are ya, pulled out the guitar and said to Don...."listen to this".....

and I played all I had come up with in my head between mile markers 14 and 29, I 65 Nashville, Tennessee.....

without your love/ I'm Louisiana Lonely

without you here/ I'm bayou blue

I'm make believing / you're comin on home to me

I'll be Cajun crazy / till the day you do

"...wow...", Don offered..."that's really some crap........let's write the rest of it...."

And so we did.

And we did a home demo

And we pitched it.

Zip Zero Nada

Del Bryant, then head of the iconic BMI and son of the iconic songwriters Felice and Boudleaux Bryant took a meeting (because Don still had at least that much clout in his clout account), listened politely and said to us.....

"..hmmm...sounds like you tried to write a clever Cajun thing.....and just missed...."

The next day, I was in full "don't need this shit" mode.

And in one last, only to satisfy myself, blaze of glory move, pulled out my copy of Songwriters Market (a who's who of industry addresses), made a list of ten publishers in Nashville who allowed outside submissions, made ten cassette copies, filled and sealed and mailed ten envelopes with cassette enclosed.

And prepared to get about a life with no song business in it to piss me off.

And I heard nothing.

From nine of the ten publishers.

Three weeks later, I got a phone message from the tenth.

"Scott....this is Jimmy Darrell....I run Mel Tillis' publishing company on West End Avenue and would like to talk to you about his tape you sent me. Could you give me a call back?"

Well, now. I don't know. Lot of heartache under the bridge,. Gonna have to think that over.

For 1.7 seconds.

Fast forward recap: Jimmy liked the song, we liked Jimmy, we signed the song to Mel's company, they did a full blown demo, they pitched the song around to varying degrees of "maybe" and "we'll let you know."

And then, one day, Jimmy called to let me know that Mel had taken a liking to the song.

And had recorded it himself for his upcoming album.

It was part of Mel's album entitled "Southern Rain" released in 1980.

It was never a single and the album was not a huge seller, so there were no Grammys or millions in royalties.....

But I was one officially professional song fucking writer now.

The song went on to be cut a few times by a variety of folks (never a big hit) but good album cuts, etc  and we got some other things cut here and there. The whats and what happened with thems is the stuff of some other time sharing.

The tagline of this story is Mel Tillis made me an officially professional song fucking writer.

When I heard he passed today, I smiled and whispered a little "godspeed...and thanks..."

And suddenly thought about George Harrison.

And a witty line he had spoken in the movie "A Hard Day's Night" speaking to some stage hand who George was warning to stay away from Ringo's drum kit, because Ringo was very fussy about people touching his drum kit......

And I thought what George said about Ringo's drums was exactly what I thought about Mel Tillis and his gracious contribution to my life......give or take a little paraphrasing.

"He looms large in my legend...."

Thanks again, Mel.

Nice looming.

"...At Some Point, It's Not Outside The Realm Of Possiblity That We Will Hear "My Fellow Americans...Pull My Finger..."

Hillary Clinton's new book is entitled "What Happened".

Ordinarily, any non-fiction work would require a title with a little more information in it to entice potential readers to pick up, thumb through and/or get right down to the reading.

In Hillary's case, not even close to necessary.

With one possible exception.

Exception noted momentarily.

At the moment of Hurricane Irma's very unwelcome arrival in the Florida Keys, on its way to barometrically bitch slapping Florida, as a whole, and points/states north, having already having laid waste, metaphorically, and literally, to Cuba and other points Caribbean, Donald Trump hunkered down in front of the teleprompter and issued the following statement.

"My administration is monitoring the situation around the clock, and we're in constant communications with all of the governors, with the state and local officials. We're doing everything possible to help save lives and support those in need. Again, we've never seen anything like this. Together, we will restore, recover and rebuild. We will do it quickly."

"This is a storm of enormous destructive power, and I ask everyone in the storm path to heed all instructions, get out of its way. And government officials, I know you're working so hard, you'll never work like this, and I appreciate also your bravery. Property is replaceable but lives are not, and safety has to come first."

 

 

Those among us with a semblance of oration savvy would have likely begun wrapping it up from there, with a little "with continued commitment" razz and some "can do/will do " matazz and kaboomed the big finish with a dynamic, drum roll, please, "God bless you and God bless America", exit state right.

Donald Trump is not one of those with a semblance of oration savvy among us.

"I think now,", he continued, "with what's happened with the hurricane, I'm gonna ask for a speed up," he said. "I wanted a speed up anyway, but now we need it even more so. So we need to simplify the tax code, reduce taxes very substantially on the middle class, and make our business tax more globally competitive. We're the highest anywhere in the world right now."

 

 

 

Well, gee. There it is.

 

As predictable, and, at the same time, unwelcome, as the hemorrhoid resulting from trying to force something instead of just letting it happen naturally.

 

The inevitable addendum to the address, the rider attached to the rhetoric. 

 

The "this should be the end of my inspirational, presidential reassurance to you and your loved ones, but I'm a blunt tool who wouldn't know inspiration if it came roaring into Mar A Lago at 155 miles per....

 

Oh. Wait.

 

And said addendum translates out a little something like this.

 

"While you're either living in terror that your house is about to blow up around you or your going to see ten feet of water come crashing into your living room, while your primary, primal thoughts are focused on the simple things in life, like, simply keeping you and your family alive, let me tell you about why the visit of this death dealing mass of wind and rain and flood and thunder and lightning and tornadoes is a wonderful opportunity for me tell you how I want to give all my rich crony homies a massive tax break and wrap that tax break up in the same old tired package of 'I'm really doing it all for you' but you are going to get screwed in the end, bet the farm, baby."

 

Or the lanai, of course, depending on your rural versus suburban status there in the Sunshine State.

 

The knee jerk, bet the lanai, go-to response to criticism of Trump's tactlessness ("...paging Miss Conway.....Kellyanne Conway to the stage, please...") will be something along the lines of "The President was offering heartfelt support of those in the storm's path along with The President's assurance that The President believes that The President's administration is the most effective and efficient thing to come along since the Miracle Mop and that The President wants those who will be left devastated by the storm to rest assured that The President really wants them to know that The President believes that they really do deserve the peace of mind that will come from knowing that The President wants the tax code to be repealed and replace....."

Oh. Wait.

Scratch that. Repeal and replace has been taken off the list of do-ables for the time being.

And, if you happen to be in search of a fun, new drinking game, keep an ear out, during those full throated defenses of the Donald, how many times the term "The President" is injected into the flow of the conversation.

It's almost as if they believe, or have been instructed, that the more they say it, the more it legitimizes it. And them. And him.

 

Meanwhile, the knee jerk, bet the lanai and throw in the wicker furniture, go-to response to Trump's tactlessness from the anti-Trump part of the population (all eighty million of them, give or take)  of course, will almost certainly include the standard objection/mild outrage at "politicizing a tragic event".  

And there's probably a case to be made that that's exactly what he's doing.

 

But let's put a pin in that.

Or more effectively and efficiently, let's simply concede that because we all, all of us, Trump friend and foe alike, have long ago been shown, to an immoral certainty, that the man will say anything, as many times as he perceives it needs to be said, to get what he wants when he wants in whatever form he wants.

 

There's a broader theme and a larger point.

 

And that will bring us back to Hillary.

 

Her book is her take on the reasons why she wasn't elected President last November.

 

The use of the catchy and, at the same time, enigmatic, two word title covering both the what...and the why.

 

Pretty sure there's one why that doesn't get a lot of ink in her interpretation.

 

Not so much because she didn't want to include it, necessarily, but because it didn't rank high on her personal radar.

 

When it probably should have.

 

Because from this set of eyes and ears, it was, in the POV of a lot of those in love with their new red caps, numero uno on the list of why.

 

Because Donald is seen a member of the family.

 

A particular kind of member of the family.

We've all got one. Some of us even are one.

Over a year ago, when it became apparent that the Trump candidacy was no longer an irritating, if comic, pebble in the national shoe and was fast turning into a surreal boulder rolling down the mountain, I spent a fair amount of time on my, then, weekly news/talk radio show dealing with the inanity, bordering on insanity, of people who suddenly found obtuse to be a quality they liked in a candidate for office. 

Even the millions of those people who didn't even necessarily know what the word obtuse means.

And time and time, and time, again, throughout the primary season and, then, fall election campaign, as Trump made putting a foot into a mouth the latest sensation sweeping the nation, I heard or, truth be told, endured callers to the show who, when asked how they could possibly continue to support a man so egregiously lacking in the basic social skills, responded with what, to this admittedly jaded, satirical mind, the six word phrase that pays.

"He tells it like it is."

 

It became the predictable go-to response of those who had fallen deeply, almost dreamily, in love with the idea of making America great again.

 

And apparently not just because it came with a cap.

 

My go-to response became equally predictable.

 

"I had an uncle who used to get stinking drunk at family wedding receptions and always somehow found a way to get hold of the microphone. Let me clue you. Telling it like it is isn't always necessarily a virtue."

 

Pretty early on, I could tell, on the scale of this side or that, where my perspective fell.

 

Mostly on deaf ears.

 

Because when you're in love, you're in love, you're in love, you're in love, you're in love with a wonderful guy?

 

You're in love. Whether he's actually a wonderful guy or not.

 

And let's not forget the cap. That sealed a lotta deals.

 

Hillary's book is filled with names, dates, reasons, excuses, rationalizations, justifications, yada, yada about why Donald got to move into the big house on Pennsylvania Ave and she got the gift of time to write a book about why Donald got to move into the big house on Pennsylvania Ave. 

And I haven't read the book. May or may not. Nothing she offers will change my own mind when answering the question implied by the title of that book.

What happened was that enough people in enough states with sufficient Electoral College votes to dramatically plot twist the predicted outcome of the 2016 election dramatically twisted the plot.

For no better reason than they felt some kind of Freud meets Duck Dynasty meets Kafka kinship to a guy who wouldn't know grace or style or class or tact or subtlety or inspiration if it came roaring into Mar-A-Lago at 155 mph.

The kind of blunt tool of a guy who doesn't think twice about showing up stinking drunk at family weddings and grabbing the mic.

The kind of blunt tool of a guy who doesn't think twice about tacking a taxation oration on the end of what was, it turns out, pretty much only in theory, supposed to be a presidential address of support and assurance and...wait for it...leadership.

 

I said, at the outset, that the title of Hillary's book required no lengthy explanations.

 

Because anybody with a pulse knows exactly what she means by "what happened".

 

If there's a nit to pick, it might only be that the punctuation could have gone either way.

 

What Happened. Period. As in "here's what happened".

 

Or...

 

What Happened? Question mark. As in "how in God's infinite universe, could this have happened?"

 

Moot point, in the end. 

 

Because either declaratively, or interrogatively, the bottom line remains.

 

What happened was that we've all got a blunt tool in the family.

 

And family is family.

 

Most especially when it comes with a cap.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"...If You Think About It, The Whole Crotch Grabbing Thing Is Chock Full Of Irony..."

David Steinberg was a popular, fairly well known comic in the 1970's

In one of his comedy monologues, he shared the story of a guest appearance on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson which also featured Dr. David Reuben, a physician whose trendy book, "Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex (But Were Afraid To Ask)" was a best seller at the time. The book was a candid explanation of sexual activity and terms, fairly "risque" in those days, but written with a wit that made it both entertaining and palatable to those whose moral panties were easily bunched.

Steinberg shared that during the course of Reuben's segment with Johnny, the doctor took the conversation into the subject of masturbation and started out by offering, probably owing to more traditional values and ethics, there were, in fact, many people who experienced the guilt that accompanied the act of self gratification.

Steinberg, ever the humorist and never at a loss for the quick wit, interjected into the chat, "actually, Johnny, the doctor is correct. Personally, though, the reason I feel guilty about masturbation is that I'm so bad at it."

Cue considerable audience applause and laughter.

And now, hold that thought.

Pun unintended, but somehow almost predictable.

During my periodic guest hosting gigs on talk radio, I've pretty much made it standard operating procedure, of late, to steer away from any conversation having to do with Donald Trump. 

Unless he says or does something "catastrophic", even on a Trumpian curve, I tend to choose from the five or six kabillion other crazy things going on in this life at any given moment and let America somehow make itself great again without any help from me or those who listen.

Not so much because the topic of Trump fails to generate calls from opinionated, if not particularly well informed, callers, calls which are, of course, the bread and butter of that particular format, putting the "talk" in talk radio.

Because, given the peculiar, and unique, nature of the Trump personality, unique to both life in general and this particular stint in the Oval Office, we've all, friend, foe, supporter, detractor, Hatfield or McCoy, reached a point where any and all conversations about the Donald tend to very quickly turn into nothing more than variations, most often unpleasant and unproductive variations, on the same, sad, tired theme.

Theme being...he is either God's gift to a nation desperate for bold, new direction and leadership...or he is very likely going to be the catalyst for the end of life on the planet as we have known it.

And, truth be told, in the beginning, it was fun, if a little psychologically exhausting fun, to listen to, and/or participate in, the kind of passionate, emotional, even a little psychotic banter/yammer/yada yada that Trump has inspired on the nation's talk airwaves.

Now, frankly, it has become like being involved in a brutal and contentious divorce, nerves ever raw, feelings ever sensitive, tempers ever flaring and ready, locked and loaded. And any attempts to have a reasonable, measured and meaningful discussion about anything immediately, if not sooner, tailspin into a pouting and/or shouting and/or screaming match.

And while that kind of primal spewing might make for what the consultants refer to as "compelling radio", it is, at least for this radio talk show host, what George Harrison long ago, in another context, referred to as "a drag....a well known drag."

So, the topic of Trump is on my no fly list. Because, at some point, screaming and squealing, even the screaming and squealing of a delighted child on Christmas morning, becomes the psychological equivalent of fingernails on a blackboard.

And compelling so easily, and inevitably, morphs into cringing.

If'n I was ever to, again, begin broaching the subject of he who shall not be named on air, though, I'm thinking I would re-open the Panderer's Box by offering up a point of view I think has been mentioned, in token fashion, from time to time, over the past year and especially since January 20, but, for my money, should, at this point in our story, be front and center, knocking out of the top spot on the charts all those headline generating, water cooler debate inspiring cherries of chat like his tweets and his personal and political tone deafness and his arrogance and his childishness and his petulance and a narcissism on a scale that makes any, even all, of the Kardashian clan look like clones of Mother Teresa.

And that particular point of view that needs to be at the head of a very long line of lacks, cracks and flaws in the presentation of this real estate developer who reality showed himself into a leader of the free world gig, is, like many of those lacks, cracks and flaws, an "ility".

As in accountability, responsibility, fallibility, instability.

No, kats and kiddies, ridin' high on our terrific, just terrific, top ten Trump ility's, here's that sour not sweet, can't be beat, inevitability.

Give it up for....inability.

Steve Chapman writes for the Chicago Tribune. Pretty sure from the tone and tenor of his writings that he doesn't show up all that often at the love and worship rallies nattily attired in wife beater T and Make America Great Again one size fits all, fits even better if you're a skinhead, cap. His not being a Trump cheerleader, though, doesn't automatically diminish, or disqualify, his slant on the situation.

No matter what Kellyanne Conway would, bet the farm, have to say about it.

 He wrote the following, early this past summer.



The people who voted for Trump knew they would be getting a disrupter, a critic of business-as-usual and an enemy of political correctness. Many also realized they were electing a bully and a braggart. 

But they may not have known what they were getting above all else: an incompetent.

There is no other way to explain most of what he has done in the White House. His most formidable opponent couldn't do half as much to foil Trump as Trump himself has done.

His travel policy was rushed out, blocked by courts, withdrawn, revised and blocked again. 

Administration lawyers, who hope to convince the Supreme Court it had no unconstitutional anti-Muslim motives, have been undercut by his tweets, which convey the opposite.

So flagrant is the contradiction that some analysts suspect he has a hidden logic. They speculate that Trump might prefer to lose his ban so he could blame the courts if there were a U.S. terrorist attack carried out by foreigners.

Let me suggest that they are overthinking this. Trump has no record of being deviously clever. He has a record of acting rashly out of ignorance, fury and hubris. He makes needless statements that harm his legal case because he's a self-destructive oaf.

His dismissal of FBI Director James Comey followed that pattern. The White House claimed that Trump fired him at the recommendation of the Justice Department because he botched the investigation of Hillary Clinton's emails.

But Trump then admitted making the decision before he got the Justice memo, saying he objected to Comey's probe of connections between his presidential campaign and the Kremlin. He thus helped bring on a special prosecutor, which could be fatal to his presidency.

Nothing about his performance suggests he has any idea how to handle his office. Trump complains that the Senate is obstructing his nominations. But at last count, he has yet to pick anyone for nearly 80 percent of the positions that require Senate confirmation.

On one issue after another, he has had to flee from ill-considered positions. He said the U.S. might junk its "One China" policy — only to be forced to back down by Chinese President Xi Jinping. He lambasted President Barack Obama's "dumb deal" to take refugees from Australia but eventually decided to honor it.

In April, Trump announced that the following week, he would unveil his tax reform plan. This promise, reported Politico, "startled no one more than Gary Cohn, his chief economic adviser writing the plan. Not a single word of a plan was on paper, several administration officials said." The "plan" the White House released was one page long.

Trump promised to repeal and replace Obamacare but had great trouble getting a bill through the House, partly because he didn't know enough about the substance to negotiate with any skill. The legislation finally approved by the House was pronounced dead on arrival in the Senate. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell said recently he doesn't know how a repeal bill would get enough votes to pass.

Trump's incompetence is self-perpetuating. A clueless executive is forced to rely on aides who are mediocre — or worse — because better people are repelled. Vacant jobs and poor staff work, aggravated by bad management, lead to more failure, which makes it even harder to attract strong hires — and easier for opponents to get their way.

Expect more of the same. Trump came to office uninformed, unprepared and oblivious to his shortcomings, with no capacity to recognize or overcome them. He is in way over his head, and not waving but drowning.



My own research and writing could, of course, have me piling on with a couple of blogs and/or podcasts worth of backup examples, capable, I have no doubt whatsoever, of proving beyond any shadow of a reasonable doubt, to any jury made up of even marginally functioning human minds that this defendant is guilty of inability in the first degree.

But any further flagellation would be like continued pounding of the meat when its already ready to be cooked. And, of course, additional analysis would, at this point, tailspin us into yet another pouting and/or shouting and/or screaming match.

So, I'll just let Chapman's words serve the purpose of my including them.

And add only two wrap up thoughts.

First, yeah, what he said.

Second, were I to suddenly find myself sitting next to Johnny and Dr. Reuben, I'd almost certainly be unable to resist interjecting into the conversation my own satirical slant, adapted, and adjusted, of course, to fit the topic of Chief Executive chastising as opposed to chicken choking.

"actually, Johnny, that's correct. I don't like Donald Trump and probably wouldn't want him within a mile of my house, let alone in my life, let alone pretending to be a leader of my country, because, frankly, John, I think he's a reprehensible, more than a little pathetic and not just a little sad excuse for a man.....but, personally, the reason I don't like him being president.....

...is that he's so bad at it."

Cue considerable audience applause.

Laughter, not so much.