Political Potpourri for Presidents Day 2018

Donald Trump tweets, Scott Pruitt fires his food-taster, and unboxing the new MAGA buckets set to replace food stamps. Plus sleepy reflections on Trump’s State of the Union, and another tribute to Anthony Scaramucci.

Trump’s tweet solution no solution at all

To the budding satirist, Trump’s latest tweetstorms provide an embarrassment of riches. In one Who’s Afraid of Virginia Trump? entry, he has the Russians “laughing their asses off.” The burden of responding to it all becomes too great, which I suppose is the point: Massive outrage fatigue, and late night comedians collapsing under the strain of too much delectable raw material. Atonal music and riots in the streets.

Trump’s tweeted “solution” to gun violence of simply reporting troubled people to “the authorities” assumes that “the authorities” really care, and have both the knowledge and resources to stop a person like Nikolas Cruz before he goes postal. Who is the highest authority in our land? Some would say Donald Trump. But is Trump in control himself? Does he have real solutions to complex problems? If you reported Nikolas Cruz to Donald Trump, Trump would probably send him to Guantanamo. Problem averted, you say. But people with unpopular political views might also end up in Guantanamo. “The authorities” sometimes turn out to be jackbooted thugs, even in America. Not all of them, but enough of them that our security forces can be subverted — turned in the direction of fascism by bad leadership at the top. The president sets the tone.

I have no experience with immigration issues, but some would say this is happening now with ICE. Hateful, anti-immigrant attitudes on the part of Trump filter down to enforcement officers, who then feel justified enforcing the rules in a harsh and inhumane manner, sending the signal that there’s a war on immigrants and America is not a friendly place to visit (unless you’re of Normegian stock).

America has the potential to be a light to other nations, but it also goes through dark, Nixonian periods when people are rightly afraid of “the authorities.” According to historian Jon Meecham, comparing Trump to Nixon is unfair to Nixon.

Scott Pruitt fires food-taster

We’ve grown accustomed to administration officials hitting the scandal sheets with their lavish travel, fondness for tobacco stocks, and photo ops running their begloved hands languidly through great steaming piles of money.

It should come as no surpise, then, that EPA chief Scott Pruitt recently fired his food-taster. It was not a cost-cutting measure. When reached for comment, Pruitt explained the move thusly:

“I have very sensitive taste buds, and need a food-taster who will suss out not just poisons, but also ingredients which lack the perfect freshness I desire. My old food-taster, Hermione, who is now in intensive care at Walter Reed Medical, was good with poisons, and saved me on a number of occasions when radical environmentalists tried to spike my ambrosia breakfast with life-threatening chemicals. Now, I have nothing against life-threatening chemicals, but they don’t make a good mix with pâté de foie gras. My new chef– I mean food-taster, Louie, is an expert in all matters culinary. He knows how to ensure that my favourite dish — dolphin prepared with just a soupçon of powdered rhinocerous horn, in a light, sweet, crude sauce — has only the freshest ingredients and will not interfere with my delicate constitution. I can but add: Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

Pilot program to swap food stamps for MAGA buckets

I was fortunate to be chosen for a new pilot program initiated by Donald Trump which seeks to replace the old food stamps with a government-issued bucket of foodstuffs whose contents never vary:

– Chicken McNuggets*
– MAGA hat
– copy of Hustler

(*Requests by vegetarians for Eggplant McNuggets have been soundly rejected by administration officials.)

As one of the first to sample the new MAGA bucket, I can confidently say that it takes the notion of gubment cheese to unparalleled new heights. Like the army’s MREs or “meals ready to eat” (sometimes dubbed MRVs or “meals ready to vomit”), the new MAGA bucket will assault your folk and pop sensibilities!

The Mooch is back, and Cuomo’s got him

Just when you hoped you’d finally seen the last of Anthony Scaramucci, he turns up again on Chris Cuomo’s new (well, old) primetime miniseries on CNN. Fresh from his Broadway stint in the musical version of Goodfellas, Scaramucci’s appearance coincided with the news that Donald Trump gave the order to fire special counsel Robert Mueller last June, but had to demur when White House counsel Don McGahn threatened to resign.

Scaramucci poo-pooed Trump’s legal culpability, but seemed more interested in selling vacation packages for Davos, Switzerland, where the uber-rich go to escape the merely rich. Scaramucci’s return to major media is worthy of a song:

Tony The Mooch (to the tune of “Minnie The Moocher”)

Folks, here’s the story ’bout Tony the Mooch
He really up and screwed the pooch
Was only hired to vex Reince Priebus
Once that was done he had to leave us.

Blue mirrored shades and blind ambition
No sense of conscience, no contrition
He said: “I want to kill those nasty leakers,”
“Or make them smell my dirty sneakers.”
But here’s the truth, and it’s a corker:
He leaked his guts to the New Yorker!

[Chorus]
Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-hi (Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-hi)
Ho-dee-ho-dee-ho-dee-ho (Ho-dee-ho-dee-ho-dee-ho)
Hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee (Hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee)
Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-ho (Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-ho)

He had a dream about the King of Trumpland
He’d be the Mooch’s money pump man
He’d buy him oil wells from Plains to Charlotte
The Mooch would be Trump’s fawning harlot.

The plot was hatched and Mooch took over
It looked like he was in the clover
His praise for Donald waxed effusive
But soon his language grew abusive.
He nearly won, but had to spoil it
‘Cause Tony had a mouth as foul as a toilet.

[Chorus]
Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-hi (Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-hi)
Whoa! (Whoa!)
Hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee (Hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee)
Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-ho (Hi-dee-hi-dee-hi-dee-ho)

Trump’s State of the Union

From posts like this one, the reader might glean that I come from an arts and spirituality background, not so much politics. Watching Trump’s State of the Union speech, I found myself getting rather depressed. The stories he told to score political brownie points struck me as surreal and grotesque — like things you might read in a supermarket tabloid. I countered by passively-aggressively falling asleep.

On the fringes of consciousness, I suppose I transformed some of his stories in my mind. There was the North Korean who was persecuted for stealing a kumquat. His head was chopped off, yet he didn’t die. He was found by a Christian missionary, who placed his head on a roller-skate and gave him a push in the direction of China. When he got to China, he proceeded to construct a Christian cathedral entirely out of chopsticks. The Chinese didn’t like it and put a bounty on his head. So he roller-skated all the way to South Korea and became a famous radio DJ.

I admit the details may be off, but that’s the sort of story Trump delivered in a tired, plodding manner, reading disinterestedly from a teleprompter. I found it depressing and highly alienating.

Afterwards, some commentators gave him good marks and suggested that the stories he told were emotionally moving. I wish I could have been moved, but the surreal and grotesque nature of the stories plus their lifeless delivery made me feel sad that I am other than those for whom the stories evidently had meaning. My review coming from an arts and spirituality background is that the State of the Union was a depressing spectacle with no connection to reality, no life-breath, and no genuine insight into the things which creative people aspire to.

I’m sorry, but I just can’t live in Donald Trump’s reality. Maybe if somebody painted the walls a brighter color, and let in a little sunshine… And the bedding could use airing out! Is that a Chicken McNugget I see peering out from between the sheets? Flanked by a MAGA hat and…

Michael Howard

The views expressed are my own, and do not represent any other person or organization.

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What Donald Trump could learn from the Blues Brothers

(UPDATED!) Recent events in Charlottesville raise the old question of whether life should be taken seriously. Sometimes it’s so painful and sad that it has to be taken seriously; but paradoxically, this calls forth the opposite thesis: that life is cosmically funny and can’t be taken seriously. Science fiction author Robert Heinlein, writing about his character Jubal Harshaw, said:

He had long ago made a pact with himself to postulate a Created Universe on even-numbered days, a tail-swallowing eternal-and-uncreated Universe on odd-numbered days — since each hypothesis, while equally paradoxical, neatly avoided the paradoxes of the other — with, of course, a day off each leap year for sheer solipsist debauchery.

The debauchery might not be such a good idea, but there’s something to be said for taking life as seriously as you can, with occasional time out to laugh at its absurdities. As I’ve noted elsewhere, humour is helpful for relieving outrage fatigue.

There’s also some weird variation on George Santayana going on here, like “Those who fail to study the Blues Brothers are doomed to repeat them.” The Nazis and anti-Nazis who clashed in Charlottesville over the weekend could have saved themselves a lot of trouble by simply watching this clip:

That said, how hard would it be for Donald Trump to say “I hate Charlottesville Nazis” or “I disavow myself from Charlottesville Nazis”? Why can’t he bring himself to do it? Why does he have such a tin ear at moments when the nation is outraged or grieving, and needs words well spoken and deeply felt by a wise leader to calm the waters? Sadly, Donald Trump is not wise or well-spoken, does not seem to feel deeply about issues affecting millions of Americans, and his EPA is more likely to poison the waters than to calm them. In a recent op-ed, Michael Winship called him “emotionally challenged and empathy-free.”

In between teeing off and praising the Veterans Tapdance Administration, Trump woodenly delivered an equivocal statement on Saturday — a statement that pleased no one except Steve Bannon, Stephen Miller, and Charlottesville Nazis.

Adding to the weekend’s insanity was the kickoff of Anthony Scaramucci’s rehab tour — far, far too soon in my opinion. It’s like the guy who just vomited on your shoes calling you up the very next night and asking you to a French restaurant where they serve frogs’ legs in cream sauce. Let me at least forget the smell of your vomit before you once again try to ingratiate yourself. (Channeling Trevor Noah here.)

Ah, the times we live in! If Scaramucci felt even an ounce of genuine contrition, he would have taken a long vacation from public life, and spent the time cleaning outhouses or performing other works of public benefit. Instead, we’re treated to 15 minutes of his ugly mug on This Week with George Stephanopoulos.

It is to weep — or laugh.

Michael Howard

The views expressed are my own, and do not represent any other person or organization.

Note: I’m using “Charlottesville Nazis” as a catch-all term here. Word is, most of the Nazis who demonstrated in Charlottesville came from out of town. Charlottesville has a reputation as a liberal college town with a diverse population and a welcoming atmosphere.


UPDATE: CNN analysis of Trump’s latest (August 15) statement about Charlottesville, where he aggressively defends the alt-right. At 10:55 in the video, Van Jones breaks down in tears thinking of his Jewish godmother.

In comparison to Trump’s tin ear, former President Obama tweeted this sentiment drawn from Nelson Mandela’s autobiography Long Walk To Freedom:

The full quote is:

No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.

Nelson Mandela

This reminds me of another of Mandela’s sayings, which Sri Chinmoy set to music:

I am not truly free if I am taking away someone else’s freedom.

One of the problems with Trump’s claim of moral equivalency between the two sides in Charlottesville is that the white supremacists and neo-Nazis seem very comfortable with a world where there’s slavery, fascism, and open carry of firearms, while the counter-demonstrators generally favour more freedom and less guns. They also managed not to commit vehicular womanslaughter.

Of Further Interest

Gratitude to President Obama
Thought of the Day: People Are Good
People Are Good Everywhere

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Anthony Scaramucci: First Day Report Card

Comparing Scaramucci to departing Sean Spicer on criteria like the Hostage Video Factor, Sphincter Rating, Comic Potential, Effusiveness, and Hair Helmetry…

Up and down this nation of joy, this nation of plenty, there is visible mourning going on. Whether on park benches in the humblest of burgs, or the gold and cocaine flecked halls of Hollywood production studios, comedians of various ranks and strata are crying into their sleeves, donning black fedoras, and dolefully humming the tune from Chopin’s Funeral March. Spicey is gone.

The incoming Anthony Scaramucci had a good first day by (admittedly low) Trump administration standards. No post press conference surgery was required to remove foot from mouth. He did not offend Holocaust victims or misrepresent easily checkable facts in an obvious way. While fencing with reporters, he maintained something passing for a sense of humor, and did not become peevish or petulant. He did not hand late night comedians material on a silver platter as his predecessor did; instead they’ll have to dig for it.

This brings us to the first of our comparison criteria: the hair helmet. I have to admit right off the bat that Anthony Scaramucci has a better hair helmet than Sean Spicer. For those unfamiliar with this fashion staple, here are a few examples beginning in the 1950s:

Ex. 1: The classic hair helmet sported by Lloyd Bridges in the 1950 sci-fi extravaganza Rocketship X-M

Ex. 2: The modern variant embraced by Anthony Scaramucci

Ex. 3: The hair helmet worn by Eddie Munster in The Munsters

Ex. 4: The Paulie “Walnuts” Gualtieri hair helmet from The Sopranos. (The addition of “wings” does not actually result in flight.)

Ex. 5: Leona “Pistachios” Helmsley was one of the helmet’s few female proponents.

Ex. 6: Barack Obama experimented briefly with the hair helmet, but found it too unwieldy.

Having a hair helmet held in place by a combination of Dippity-Do and Plaster of Paris is clearly an advantage for any incoming communications wonk (or even Chief of Staff), so we have to give Scaramucci the edge here. But how will he fare on the Hostage Video Factor? This is defined as the extent to which a spokesperson for the president looks like they’ve had a gun put to their head and been forced to mouth words praising their captors for their kindness and good treatment, while all the while their eyelids are blinking in Morse code: “HELP ME! I DON’T WANT TO BE SAYING THIS. THEY MADE ME!”

Spicer was, of course, a passed master at this. Armed with a flotilla of alternative facts and a hornet’s nest of moxie, he would grit his teeth and try to defend the indefensible, but you could often tell his heart wasn’t in it. In his waning days, he would fall back on the boilerplate response that “The president’s tweet speaks for itself,” which was really his way of saying “The president’s tweet was so insane, counterfactual, and off-the-wall that I won’t even bother trying to defend it.” By contrast, Anthony Scaramucci is a slick salesman. He rates no better than zero on the Hostage Video Factor because he actually enjoys retailing Donald Trump as World’s Greatest Statesman to a gullible public.

This brings us logically to the Effusiveness Factor. Sean Spicer was rarely effusive in his defense of Trump, but rather adopted the manner of a grim Republican institutionalist. To Spicer, Donald Trump was the latest product churned out bearing the Republican brand, and therefore had to be defended for the sake of the party. Picture a customer service rep who tries to tell people complaining about a mail-order pain reduction gizmo which actually electrocutes them that “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature!” That’s Sean Spicer, but to his credit he did it mechanically and joylessly, with little effusiveness and quite a bit of bumbling.

On the other hand, Anthony Scaramucci is the guy who tells you: “What you’re feeling isn’t really lethal electricity coursing through your veins, it’s joy. I love this product, I love this brand, I love Donald Trump, I love the team. I love Junior Mints, they’re so refreshing!” (Then he blows you a kiss.)

Scaramucci’s “love” for Donald Trump is love for a product successfully marketed using discreditable techniques — a product which may be hazardous to your healthcare and comes with a long list of side effects, such as burgeoning cynicism that American democracy can really work, that it won’t crash-and-burn while aping reality TV.

Love is a profound spiritual emotion. When it’s wasted on things undeserving of love, this tends to cheapen life and discourse. Despite his riches, Scaramucci (or “The Mooch” as he’s known on The Street) is a cheap money man on the make for political power. He’s so childishly enamored of that power, it comes naturally to him to make gushingly absurd, over-the-top statements deifying the object of his affections (whom he previously scorned). The Mooch is by nature a fawning flatterer of This Year’s Princeling, ready to trumpet tiny hands as gargantuan mitts, and to rewrite history favouring the Monarch.

When it comes to Comic Potential, Sean Spicer rates a perfect 10 for reasons that have become all too obvious. (If anyone’s memory is flagging, just look to the Beeb’s “Best Sean Spicer memes and ‘facts’.”) Spicer was the teacher you loved to sass because you knew how easy it was to rile him, and it was worth being sent to detention just to see him throw one of his hissy fits. “Don’t you dare shake your head at me, young lady!”

Whereas, Scaramucci — despite his monolithic hair helmet and effusive praise of All Things Trump — only rates about a 3 for Comic Potential. He’s a skilled manipulator who knows how to inoculate his presentations with dashes of humor so that they don’t seem quite so outlandish; and like a good knuckleballer, he knows how to change speeds and mix in different kinds of junk to keep reporters off-stride. Though he doesn’t hail from Hollywood (but rather Wall Street), he epitomizes the maxim that “The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that you’ve got it made.”

One might liken Scaramucci’s use of Trump to the old Wall Street pump-and-dump scheme. Right now the Mooch is pumping Trump like a biomed stock that just went public, but it’s easy to picture him dumping Trump, timing the moment to a nicety so as to position himself as one of the rubes who was fooled by the gaudy patter, rather than one of its purveyors. “Oh how it pains my heart to have to say this,” Scaramucci might opine at some future date (next Sunday A.D.?), “but it appears the man I believed in so deeply secretly colluded with the Russians. I want to prove to you that I’m honest in the worst way. So even after the impeachment, as a patriotic American I plan to stay on and help our great new president develop the trust of the American people, which he so richly deserves…”

This brings us to the Repulsiveness Factor. Sean Spicer was frequently irritating, but never repulsive. People sometimes felt a little sorry for him because, through whatever vicissitudes of life, he became the guy whose job it was to put lipstick on a pig day after day. You could feel sorry for Spicey the way you felt sorry for Rhoda Morgenstern because her job was dressing department store dummies.

But for those who see through his charm and feelgood manner, Anthony Scaramucci is not a sympathetic figure. When we hear him claim that Donald Trump has “good karma,” we instinctively want to throw up. Obviously, Trump has bad karma for acting like a creep in myriad areas of life, up to and including an election campaign which he won through dirty tricks and low rhetoric, ultimately becoming the poster boy for the Ugly American. Indeed, writing in the Guardian, comedian Frankie Boyle refers to Trump as “a man so obnoxious that karma may see him reincarnated as himself.”

Seriously, between Scaramucci and Trump, you could make the world’s biggest fluffernutter, with Ivanka supplying the white bread (using peroxide as needed, if Kellyanne hasn’t bogarted it all).

Though Sean Spicer’s college nickname was “Sean Sphincter,” to me Anthony Scaramucci moves in wider circles. 😉

Regardless of political persuasion, one thing we can probably all agree on: When it comes to Donald Trump’s new wartime consigliere, there’s a lot to unpack — especially above the scalp.

Michael Howard

The views expressed are my own, and do not represent any other person or organization.


Sidebar: Is Scaramucci Trump’s Mini-Me? Let’s consult The Daily Show

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