Normally I wouldn’t blog twice in a week.
It feels a little self-indulgent, a little bit like posting selfies.
But sometimes extenuating circumstances force a writer-at-heart to be intellectually impulsive, and lend his two cents to an issue which cannot be ignored.
Such is the case with Donald Trump’s latest shenanigans. Despite a megadose of absurd reality TV in the past 72 hours, I am still trying to see the political glass as half-full, although half full of what is the question. Yet his latest theatrics got under my skin deep enough that I feel compelled to try to sort it out
In fairness, Ronald Mc”Donald” Trump has already been president for 6 weeks and hasn’t started any world wars outside of the Twitterfield, nor has he ruined the stock market. He hasn’t deported any of those “evil” journalists he so often maligns. And he has promised not to pull health insurance from the terminally ill, at least those who voted for him in the general election.
Back to immigration, he has even fought the urge to deport his wife.
But these glimmers of hope aside, things are a little unsettling for many of us good old fashioned folk who like to operate in the sphere of lets simply say, reality.
Trump’s America reminds me of an old movie with Bruce Willis and Kim Basinger called Blind Date. In it the main character Walter Davis needs a date to go to a company dinner with some very important Japanese clients. A little low on the Romeo pole, Walter is desperate to find a date and so his wife offers to set him up with her cousin Nadia. Nadia is quite the spitfire, but there is one caveat – If she has any alcohol, all hell breaks loose as her alter ego runs wild. Now this isn’t bad in moderation but in Nadia’s case, there is no such thing as moderation. Of course as Hollywood movies have it, fate is tempted, the warnings come to life and the night turns into full-fledged Murphy’s Law.
But as thin is the line between entertainment and national politics, the presidency is not Hollywood as the stakes and stage are much larger. To me the conditions are simple – Feel free to give a huckster, corner cutting, narcissistic, megalomaniac, Russian black market oligarchial suck up all the air time and business opportunity you want, but if you give him the keys to the White House, I suggest either cryogenically freezing yourself for at least the next four years or escaping to a country in which he has no vested business interest or the prostitutes (on Trump’s behalf were cheap), lets say Belize.
Of course, what’s the first thing the American electorate did when it had the chance? As even Fred Flinstone would have avoided, we gave him title to the White House with a little help from good old “better dead than red” Russia.
Talk about tempting fate.
As far as I see it, a president should have at least all of the following qualities: Intelligence, diplomatic savvy, charisma, a vast knowledge of American and World History, patience, salesmanship, thick skin, a strong command of current events, a fundamental understanding of the difference between truth and fiction, a robust work ethic, and an almost obsequious reverence for the position.
I will give Trump the benefit of the doubt and say that he possesses two of the above qualities.
I also accept that the rules of the primary season especially, that one needs to pretty much say and promise anything to win the nomination. I also accept that with such a large pool of candidates as the GOP primary had (my most accurate count was 9401), the more outlandish the behavior, the better. But once you are in the general election, the pivoting must begin and if by some 2017 Oscars-styled miracle, you actually defy all the odds and you get elected, with a little help from the Russian Napolean/Lord Voldemort, you better believe you should start looking the part.
Unfortunately, Trump has been in full Don Quixote mode since “taking over” the White House. Sure his beef with the media has some merit, after all most of the print and cable TV media loathes Trump even if he has been the optimal news generating cash cow. But if the law of karma ever applied to American presidential politics, this was it.
His Obama birther bravado, which I have mentioned before, essentially started the viral fake news phenomenon. I can’t tell you the number of FOX news gobbling, highly formally educated though jello-brained voters who still think Obama was born in Kenya or some other foreign country like Arkansas or Miami.
The fact of the matter is Trump doesn’t even deserve the Don Quixote label. The book is far too elaborate for his jello brain. But we can at least call him Pinocchio and Steve Bannon, Geppetto. And speaking of reading, presidents should read. A lot. Even the intellectually challenged George W. Bush frequently read. Yes he was reading Mother Goose when 9-11 happened but he read books most of his spare time
. Trump hardly reads in the conventional use of the verb. And he really blows his load any time he gets challenged in his comfort zone, the 140 character sized pantheon of Twitter.
This week Trump’s alter ego gave a half-respectable speech to a joint session of Congress. Granted he may have given out free joints but basking in the afterglow, even the media toyed with the possibility that Ronald Mc”Donald” might actually be able to look the part, at least on special occasions.
This illusion lasted about 12 hours. And then Trump forgot to give Steve Bannon a kiss goodnight and once again, he turned into a pumpkin.
In the past few days, Trump has gotten even more testy about his affair with Vladimir Putin. I mean the Donald of all people should know best – if you’re going to have a mistress, make sure she is not more wealthy and better connected then you are.
Perhaps I am too close to middle age to take it all in stride. Perhaps I am simply not seeing the con game Trump has so deftly played in the past. But I cannot stomach the pathological Pinocchio sized-lying when millions of your constituents are more gullible than a teenage girl and the other 100 million are grossly affected by your blatant, perhaps blind disregard for the truth,
Mr. Trump, it’s Lent. Given your epiphantic and clearly “genuine” religious conversion, you of all people should be leading by example. In honor of Lent, which is not a fake holiday concocted by the media, why not pick something near and dear to your heart and surrender it to God for the next 40 days?. And no I am not talking about giving up grabbing the American people by the “p-$$-“.
I mean actually giving up something that you consider sacred. Since you have a few noteworthy vices, I will choose it for you – lying. I’m not talking about little white lies, lets say telling Melania you couldn’t return her late night text because you were Googling “How to Submit a Tax Return” when in fact you were spooning with Steve Bannon. I mean the really fiber optic friendly lies that somehow cross the blood-brain barrier faster than Bacardi 151 and thus irreversibly alter the judgment of millions of fact challenged Americans.
Yes these kinds of lies, like saying during the campaign that you “saw thousands of Muslims dancing in the streets of N.J. on 9-11”, that 90 million Americans are unemployed a number includes a combined 75 million Americans under the age of 14 and over 80. That an election that you won by 80 electoral votes was “rigged” in Hillary’s favor and that there was major fraud in the popular vote which explains your deficit of 4 million votes in the popular vote. And the latest of your weekly tall tales – that the Obama administration wiretapped the phones in the Trump Tower during the election to learn of confidential phone calls with Russian officials, a claim blared through nearly every media channel without any basis in fact
As if Obama had nothing better to do with his political capital then tap your phones.
Enough is enough. We get it. You like to grab the truth by the p-$$- and then chuck it aside. You like attention, dislike bad press and start to rabble rouse every time the heat in the truth kitchen gets a little hot. We get it.
But come on Donald. It’s Lent. And you are supposed to be some version of a born-again Christian.
You gotta give it up. That God you so fervently worship in places like Orlando and Cedar Rapids Iowa expects you to surrender that cherished habit. These are just the rules of the game buddy. That’s what true believers do during Lent.
Believe me I love to tell stories too. I wouldn’t have majored in English if I didn’t, much less weave a short story or two when inspiration hits. But Lent has none of my fictionalizing abilities.
Besides, other than weaseling myself out of parking tickets, my Lenten promise is not to lie either.
You can do it Donald. Really just try. In fact they say the truth will actually set you free.