Yes, you could say I’m a one-trick pony.
But you read the title and still you clicked, so I think you have to take some responsibility for your disappointment.
This will probably be my last post about coyote poop, unless I see it actually being delivered.
So there’s that.
Melania won a settlement this weekend, in which “the British paper the Telegraph apologized and agreed to pay ‘substantial damages’ after retracting a story that claimed, among other unflattering things, the former model’s career had been struggling until she met Donald Trump.”
Our Melania also, according to the story just quoted previously, won a “$2.9 million settlement with the Daily Mail over its false report in 2016 that she had worked as an escort and an unspecified settlement in 2017 with a Maryland blogger who reported similar unfounded rumours and also was forced to retract a post that Trump may have suffered a nervous breakdown after her speech at the Republican National Convention.”
This is all from the Telegraph. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of these stories. So, Melania, I am merely quoting what I have read in the news. Please don’t sue me.
Wherever the truth about all this lies, Melania represents a drastic departure from the paths forged by other First Ladies. Much like her husband, she’s a different bird entirely.
“When they go low we go high” couldn’t be about Melania’s comportment in response to unfair attacks. No, if that were a phrase she uttered or understood, it would be about the damages she’d be able to go after, as soon as she got ahold of her pitbull attorney. (Same one Donald uses too, apparently — but I guess not Michael Cohen…)
So Melania, like Donald, doesn’t like bad press. And like Donald, she’ll sue your pants off if she can. And also like Donald, she has no compunction about going low herself when it serves her. The #deplorable pretty much speaks for itself.
I won’t post any of the hundreds of online images of Melania from her ‘modeling’ days, but if you Google “Melania Trump career” and check out the images, you’ll be treated to quite a collection of pictures that, I guess, appeal to a certain type of guy.
Every once in a while a creepily seductive photo of Ivanka finds its way into the mix. Hard to know what to say about those, except that at some point in the coming years Donald will be answering for a lot (either to the Special Prosecutor or to the Creator that he and his base purport to believe in — most likely both).
But back to Melania and her terrible ‘mistreatment’ at the hands of the press and the public. People who have intimated that she was at one time an ‘escort’ surely have had ulterior motives and haven’t been willing to admit how cultured and classy she actually is.
Love this video – rather long but interesting in that it ends with Trump sharing threats to sue the makers of a documentary if it’s inaccurate. And he speaks for Melania constantly. But as noted above, she made her bed.
Last, here’s Ivana talking about her book. No one actually needs to watch the whole thing, but I share it mostly for Melania to see. Yes, sweetie, this is you in a few years. Seriously. you’ll have some kind of surgery, maybe more than once, and write a book, I’m sure. You’ll make the rounds of marginal talk shows, and maybe Donald will sue you if he isn’t in prison.
At @ 3-minutes in Ivana refers to her “Fabulous kids.” I’m not sure I agree, Ivana, but your delusions are clearly an important part of your life. Those kids of yours may not have had time to get in trouble while you were raising them, but they seem to have had a lot of free time lately. Clearly, Donald’s influence took over at some point. And smart? Not so much…
So anyway, back to Melania and her lawsuits. In the upside-down, inside-out universe inhabited by Trump, his circle, and his base, it appears they truly believe they are being wronged and are just standing up for themselves. Cognitive dissonance really isn’t an issue when you are deluded.
So Melania has no problem with:
Indeed, the most bullied woman in the world deserves nothing but our sympathy, in her mind. And if she doesn’t get that sympathy, well, she’ll sue the crap out of you.
God but these people are inspiring!
So today in the Upper Midwest the projected high temps are going to be in the negative double-digits. Putting that in perspective, it’s warmer in Antarctica right now. And, as further sobering perspective, schools have been closed in a number of cities and mail delivery has been shut down due to the deep freeze. “The USPS announced in a tweet Tuesday that no mail will be delivered Wednesday in Iowa, Minnesota, North and South Dakota, eastern Montana, western Wisconsin, and western Illinois.”
And predictably, the avidly-attention-seeking @realDonaldTrump shared a tweet about this, putting his ignorance on display yet again. The science and spelling-challenged Fake POTUS wrote: “In the beautiful Midwest, windchill temperatures are reaching minus 60 degrees, the coldest ever recorded. In coming days, expected to get even colder. People can’t last outside even for minutes. What the hell is going on with Global Waming? Please come back fast, we need you!”
Meanwhile (and again predictably) this ignorant man pans a ‘low-level staffer’s’ book in a tweet. The end result is that this fool is actually publicizing the book on his big fat Twitter platform. The tweet reads “A low level staffer that I hardly knew named Cliff Sims wrote yet another boring book based on made up stories and fiction. He pretended to be an insider when in fact he was nothing more than a gofer. He signed a non-disclosure agreement. He is a mess!”
Team of Vipers: My 500 Extraordinary Days in the Trump White House is the title of the book by Cliff Sims. And reviewers seem to differ with Trump, not surprisingly. “‘Sims’s vivid portrait of Trump shrewdly balances admiration with misgivings, and his intricate, engrossing accounts of White House vendettas and power plays have a good mix of immersion and perspective. The result is one of the best of the recent flood of Trump tell-alls.’ —Publishers Weekly”
The “admiration” part makes me question Sims’ judgment, but I suppose if he worked there, he must have imbibed quite a lot of Kool-Aid. And I’m not including a link to his book, because I’ve no need to help a former viper make money off the other vipers. I just enjoy watching them all turn on one another. (And of course there’s Chris Christie’s self-serving ‘tell-all’ that I’ll leave unnamed just because.)
And no matter how cold it gets, Matthew Whitaker is here to remind us all that when you lie, you sweat.
Meanwhile POTUS’ tiny fingers are furiously tweeting away in his sad bedroom at the White House.
How lonely it must be, to know, somewhere in the depths of your reptile brain, that you’ll never win your father’s love, that Nancy Pelosi (aka ‘Nancy’) has humiliated you, that your base is pretty damn base, and that even the likes of Mitch and Lindsay are starting to peel away like paint coming off a rotting board.
The end is near, and those custom-made tiny handcuffs are gong to keep you from slipping out of their grip.
The world is filled with amazing things, starting with this: It’s right in the middle of the trail we walk in the woods near our house.
Coyote poop.
I intended to get a photo of it yesterday. But then I didn’t.
So, I think it’s coyote poop. What else could it be? It’s pretty huge, and if it isn’t coyote poop, then I’m thinking it may be appropriate to be scared.
And this may actually be more information that you want, but there’s a lot of hair in it. Some poor creature(s) devoured by the ravening beast in our woods. Yikes! The photo here is from the web and is an approximation of our sample, albeit on pine needles rather than snow.
With more snow on the way today, our coyote poop will be buried the next time I pass it by. I’ll probably unknowingly step on it with my snowshoes. Then it will be effectively obliterated by the snowmobiles coming through. Come spring it will have melted back into the earth.
It’ll be gone. But I’ll remember the odd, intriguing, slightly disturbing ‘otherness’ of the coyote poop in the middle of the trail. The Trickster paid us a visit, passing through and gently taunting us.
There was a time when I found lots of ‘stuff’ somehow comforting. But no more. At this stage of my life, I find myself very drawn to culling, tidying, and divesting.
Unfortunately, I am still drawn to gadgets. More often than not, once I have them I find them a bit less magical than imagined. So there’s definitely some before-the-fact culling that I need to start doing for myself. But it’s the after-the-fact divesting that I’ll be focusing on here.
My habit, for the past several months, has been to work on letting go of small things, sometimes-but-not-always mementos, that collect dust and were meaningful at one time. But these aren’t things that I actually use or need. And in particular, I don’t need them to commemorate the moments or the people they are connected to.
So, I have been in the habit of photographing those objects, writing a brief essay about them, marking their import, and then letting them go. I’ve got a collection of those essays on my laptop. The process has freed me up to let go of small things as I lighten the load, as it were.
So today, as an example, I’m highlighting something that isn’t of sentimental value but fills the divestment bill. It’s this small basket that I’ve had hanging on the shelf above my desk for nearly a decade. It’s filled with markers and highlighters, none of which I EVER use.
Okay, maybe I used the black marker once, about three weeks ago. But really – an entire basket just for that?
So, I’m going to pull down the basket and take it to the kitchen, where I’ll check to see if anyone wants any part of it. If not, the contents will be gone shortly thereafter. As for the basket, I’ll see. Perhaps I’ll use it to hold something else. I actually have my eye on another ‘container’ that I can let go of.
I wonder if the random objects in my room feel at all concerned about being culled. As my eyes scan the nooks and crannies here, are they cringing and trying to hide? Hmmm, maybe my knick-knacks and tchotchkes are afraid of me? In my eagerness to tidy and divest, am I creating an atmosphere of terror?
I’d never thought about it that way.
Am I an ogre?
I’ve never (until fairly recently) bought into the idea that practice is important. My life just didn’t lend itself to sustained effort. There were too many interruptions in a volatile household.
And the things that spelled success in school came fairly easily to me. So, mostly, I didn’t need to practice. Indeed, the subjects that required practice, like math and music and foreign languages, were pursuits that I shied away from. I did (sort of) get the idea that practice was important in athletics. But even there, when it got hard, I was inclined to back off.
This lesson has come as something of a surprise to me. But it’s impossible to ignore. If I don’t exercise one day, the next day it’s more difficult. The muscle I built on Tuesday will be gone on Thursday if I don’t keep using it.
Humbling and a little bit daunting, I find that I simply have to devote increasing amounts of time in order to maintain a certain level of fitness and function. It’s definitely still possible to improve on those levels, too. But then if I stop, the gains melt quickly away. And the whole enterprise takes place within the framework of the sobering inevitability of loss.
So I’m learning that a regular routine of exercise is very important. And slacking off, unlike in the past, has real, palpable consequences. As I go through my routine now, I recall some of the exercises my grandmother used to do. I remember finding them quasi-amusing in my youthful hubris. Now I see what she was doing and I’m at once impressed and taken aback (“How the hell did I suddenly get to be this old?!”)
Recently (like, on January 1, 2019) I recommitted to my blogging. This is something I’ve done pretty regularly since 2009. Generally, I’ve had the same success with that commitment as I did with quitting smoking. It was a resolve that I repeated over and over, ’til the last time, when it held.
So, is that where I am with this writing? I don’t know for sure, but something is definitely feeling different. Perhaps it’s because my goals are less grandiose and more in line with the simple act of practicing. Lowered expectations enhance the sustainability of the enterprise. This, in turn, has a very real and positive impact on the results and, by extension, the rewards.
And yes, the rewards are palpable. Even one month in I find that I’m shaking off some of the rust. The words come more easily and exotic, long-forgotten synonyms are rising up from the depths. Confidence and creativity peep out from the underbrush, and I’m more willing to take risks and explore.
But, not getting ahead of myself and slipping into grandiose complacency is vital. Practice is the key. What emerges will emerge organically, from the sustaining work of focusing on the next step, then the next.
Just keep showing up and just keep doing it.
So this morning, even though I’m running a little bit late, I wanted to be sure that you all were up-to-date on the latest developments in Trumpland. What I’m beginning to feel is that there’s something actually pathetic about the man.
And I suppose that may be true of all authoritarian types. Bullies all, their childish foibles and vulnerabilities drive their urgent need to wield power and be in control. Ultimately, these so-called ‘strongmen’ have a lot that they are trying to hide. And if they weren’t generally so thuggish and nasty, there would be pathos in their desperate strivings.
So, the latest example from Trumpland has to do with his doctored photos. Yes, apparently the orange dude is having someone clean up his image. So fare, three photos have been found, two of them recently posted. Gizmodo broke the story, which was then picked up by the Washington Post and the BBC. I am hoping it has legs — too juicy to just let it die.
The strangest part of what is already an incredibly odd story is that, among the things altered, has been the length of Trump’s fingers. Seriously, folks. Here’s what the Gizmodo piece has to say about it:
Donald Trump, an unindicted co-conspirator whose own lawyer admits that the president was trying to secure a real estate deal in Russia as late as November of 2016, has been somewhat sensitive about the size of his hands ever since journalist Graydon Carter described Trump as a “short-fingered vulgarian.” Carter was writing for the now-defunct Spy magazine in the 1980s when he made the observation and the insult has reportedly bothered Trump for decades. Carter claims that the president has even sent photos of his hands to Carter with the fingers circled in gold Sharpie.
“To this day, I receive the occasional envelope from Trump,” Carter wrote in 2015, before Trump won the presidency. “There is always a photo of him—generally a tear sheet from a magazine. On all of them he has circled his hand in gold Sharpie in a valiant effort to highlight the length of his fingers. I almost feel sorry for the poor fellow because, to me, the fingers still look abnormally stubby.”
Gizmodo
So, while the US Government is shut down because of a presidential tantrum, his sycophantic minions are at work lengthening his fingers in social media posts. (And yes, his base probably thinks this is all a big Deep State plot. And yes, we are the laughing-stock of the entire damn world.) Here’s Chris Hayes’ take on the whole odd debacle — watch Thing 1 and Thing 2. (Note to MSNBC — you should make it easier to embed your video clips!)
Stephen Colbert, in an epic take-down of this tiny man, offers some further edits that, I think we all can agree, would be most welcome. Watch to the end!
So happy to see the news that the late great Roy Halladay is a first-ballot Hall of Famer. His records, not to mention his demeanor, surely put him in the ranks of the all-time greats.
Meanwhile, as you may have gleaned from a recent post, I am not at all unhappy to see that Curt Schilling continues to be snubbed by the HOF voters. Here’s an exhaustive comparison of the stats for the two pitchers. Looks like he of the bloody sock will have to wait for another round of votes, while the clock on his eligibility continues to tick.
So, statistically speaking, he ranks right up there with the greats. But, as some would argue (myself included) induction into the Hall of Fame is about more than just stats. It elevates and shines a light on a person. And with Mr. Schilling, what’s illuminated isn’t at all pretty. Indeed, it’s a wee bit like turning on a light in a roach-infested kitchen and watching hundreds of little creatures scurry back into the shadows.
Of course, President Trump’s endorsement did what it usually does. (Funny, what happens to everything he touches.)
But, alliteratively speaking, it’s Schilling’s sickening soul that most significantly sullies his stats and sinks his ship. Yes indeedy, he has a right to speak out. And HOF voters have a right to vote as they see fit.
My hope is that in his final years of eligibility he continues to fall short. As with Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds (albeit for different reasons) Cooperstown needs to be reserved for the true greats of the game. And by that I mean, at a minimum, athletes who didn’t cheat and are generally-acceptable human beings.
Sorry, Curt, you’ve eliminated yourself on the latter count IMHO.
Several mornings lately I’ve heard a familiar birdsong as I’ve walked to my car. Not yesterday, mind you, since it was well below zero and no wildlife was making even a peep. But other than yesterday, my avian friend greeted me at least twice last week, sounding unseasonably spring-like, offering hope of things to come.
It’s definitely been a cardinal paying these visits. And they’ve given me pause.
First, it was the springtime feel of the birdsong. But as I thought about it, I remembered that cardinals are viewed, in many cultures, as apparitions or as messengers from the other side. Since these appearances roughly coincided with the anniversary of my mother’s death, this was striking to me. And, indeed, the fact that the bird’s song immediately garnered my attention made it all feel pretty personal.
So I pause now and try on the idea that this was an outreach from the spirit world. Honestly, it feels a little weird to seriously consider this. And even more weird-feeling to consider its being my mother. I’ve come to see her as not having much genuine awareness of or concern about me in life. So the idea that she’d have developed that capacity in the years since 1975 is foreign.
But what if she is/was reaching out somehow? It’s a thought that I actually don’t know how to hold.
But now I’ve gone there.
So should I assume that the universe is inviting me to try holding it? And how do I need to stretch in order to do that? What unused muscles shall I enlist? What self-protective tensions shall I release?
Opening my heart, even just a crack, to this foreign idea disturbs a staunchly ingrained and long-held worldview.
It lets in air and light.
It unbalances me.
At once disorienting, uncomfortable, and compelling, surely it’s a worthwhile thing to do then. How could something this jarring not be worth exploring further?
Having brought myself to this place, with the help of a small red bird, surely, I’m called to continue…
I want to be unfollowed by some of the more egregiously hateful and asinine jerks on Twitter. There it is — an ‘ambition’ that’s a total waste of time.
Of course, I’d love it if Pinocchio himself were to block me, but I know that’s doubtful, as he’s so obsessed with Nancy and his wall. The likes of Annie Coulter and Jimmy Woods are high on my list, too. I occasionally try a tweak or two in their direction but have so far failed in my attempts to adequately annoy them. I’m not saying I’ve given up, though. Just going for lower hanging fruit – like this dude…
Today my focus is on @Gehrig38 — aka Curt Schilling. He of the bloody sock and the absolutely #deplorable views. What a sick and ignorant waste of skin this guy is! I am so sad to have to admit that he was ever a Phillie. But at least it was long ago and far away.
His Wikipedia entry begins with a listing of his ‘former’ statuses: “…former Major League Baseball right-handed pitcher, former video game developer, and former baseball color analyst.” Kinda reminds me of James Woods, the former actor. Both are clearly has-beens who are still (somewhat pathetically) trying to garner attention.
In his present-day life, the shill is apparently a Breitbart aficionado, as well as being an avid Trump supporter. Oh, and it sure looks to me like he is also a grifter or, at best, a really really inept business person.
But perhaps what bothers me the most about this self-serving right-wing shill is his appropriation of Lou Gehrig’s name and legacy. As if the Iron Horse bore any similarity to the small man that is Curt. Indeed, the two couldn’t be more different.
For example here’s what Gehrig did very quietly and out of a sense of civic responsibility in retirement (after his devastating diagnosis):
In October 1939, he accepted Mayor Fiorello La Guardia‘s appointment to a 10-year term as a New York City Parole Commissioner (Gehrig had moved from New Rochelle to Riverdale to satisfy a residency requirement for the job) and was sworn into office on January 2, 1940.[82] The Parole Commission commended the ex-ballplayer for his “firm belief in parole, properly administered,” stating that Gehrig “indicated he accepted the parole post because it represented an opportunity for public service. He had rejected other job offers – including lucrative speaking and guest appearance opportunities – worth far more financially than the $5,700 a year commissionership.” Gehrig visited New York City’s correctional facilities, but insisted that the visits not be covered by news media.[85] As always, Gehrig quietly and efficiently performed his duties…and he quietly resigned from the position about a month before his death.
Wikipedia
Meanwhile, in retirement, our friend Mr. Schilling has spent his time launching sketchy money-making schemes, pushing cray conspiracy theories, and celebrating threats to journalists. A self-righteous swamp-dweller extraordinaire, Schilling’s failed video-game business sounds an awful lot like the many failed businesses of his idol Donald “Pinnochio” Trump. Propped up by fame, empty scams (aka “deals”) and tax-payer money (or Daddy’s money, depending on what’s closest to hand) these geniuses ultimately had to admit failure.
And who suffered? Not them, although victimhood is a central part of their schticks. Poor Curt and Donald, hounded by nefarious conspiracies fomented by far-left ‘crazies,’ they live in a scary world of pure projection.
Honest-to-god, if they weren’t so hateful, I’d feel sorry for the both of them.
But they are, and I don’t.
Here endeth the lesson.
JordanCornblog 