August 30, 2019--Trump's Second Thoughts

If I believed he had first thoughts I might feel a bit optimistic that Trump is having second thoughts about his ill-begotten China tariff policy which, if implemented, would drag the global economy down to the same level England will shortly experience after they Brexit.

For weeks Trump has been in full Twitter as he excoriated China and its leaders and how they dishonestly manage their economy. All to our disadvantage, Trump has been fulminating.

But then last Friday when the Dow Jones Average shed 700 points Trump hit the panic button. He has been using the Dow as his personal barometer of how well the economy has been doing on his watch. 

Not so good the bears were now saying. Talk of inflation was also in the air. Not the kind of economic news any president wants to run on when seeking reelection.

And so he had second thoughts. 

When asked about the tariffs during the G-7 meeting in France he said that sure he is having second thoughts. He has them all the time about everything. And "that's a good thing." 

It is easier, of course, to have multiple thoughts about everything if you don't believe in anything other than your own wellbeing. 

But as with so much, it depends on the second thoughts. To rethink engaging in a ruinous trade war, having real second thoughts is a good thing. With emphasis on "real." 

What is in fact underway with China is not anything resembling normal negotiations or diplomacy but rather a play on Trump's part to enhance his domestic political standing. Period.

Here's how it is working with the tariffs but it equally applies to how he approaches background checks or immigration. Actually, with Trump how it applies to everything.

He's a master of having it both ways, or even more than both ways. In his case, this is easy to get away with since his supporters (a shrinking pool polls are now showing) are low-information voters (I'm trying to be kind) and as such are not as concerned as evidence-based voters when it comes to flip-flops and contradictions and facts.

For Trump's people he is incapable of flip-flopping or acting inconsistently. Wherever he says, whatever he does is by definition true and consistent. If it comes from him, truth is not the issue. Though in a perverse way it is because, ex cathedra, whatever he says or does is or becomes the truth.

Then there are direct political advantages for him to having multiple thoughts about the same thing--it gives his believers (and  I consider them believers) more to embrace, more to accept, more rituals and incantations by which to be guided.

So, when it comes to tariffs some of his supporters can be for them while others can oppose them, all the while both being for HIM. Which after all is the point.

August 28, 2019--The Spiders of Pemaquid Point

A friend asked me to repost this. It is from August 14, 2009 A little more than ten years ago--

There’s not much opportunity here to see big game. Rarely if ever are there any moose to be spotted along the coast of Maine. Wildlife action of that kind tends to occur inland. So here near Pemaquid Point, in compensation, I have taken to watching the many spiders that are especially hard at work this year because all the spring rain has spawned an unusual number of mosquitoes. And though they dive-bomb us at dawn and dusk, for spiders they are a delicacy. Rich in the protein that they need to sustain themselves and out of which the silken material from which they spin their webs is composed, the oversupply of these pests has kept the local spiders working overtime.

If you are skeptical, I can assure you that I do have some experience as a very amateur naturalist. One time, in South Africa for example, after the work I was engaged is was completed, Rona and I trekked out to a game camp near Kruger National Park. A very expensive one. At first, all poshly accommodated—we were met at the entrance by a post-Apartheid black man in a crisply starched White Hunter’s outfit who offered us a frosted glass of something orange, which tasted like a mimosa, to help us relax and compensate us for the bumpy flight in on a six-seater—I was immediately suspicious about the authenticity of the experience that awaited us. Mimosas and stalking big game somehow didn’t go together even blended in a rich imagination. I, after all, had grown up reading Jungle Book stories and spending time at this Ngala Game Lodge promised to be very different than squeezing under a mosquito net in a tent in the bush.

And so, as I usually do in these circumstances, I behaved dismissively, of course blaming Rona for dragging me to this expensive Disneyland version of the Veldt, and immediately began to make cynical fun of the guide’s cheerful promise that during our three days there we would be certain to see the Big Five, which he informed us, since this was the first we had heard of this notion, were the five most desirable animals to encounter—the lion; the African elephant; the cape buffalo; the leopard; and rarest of all, the black rhinoceros.

And with that he had one of his “boys” whisk us to our hut (some hut with a marble and slate bathroom about the size of our one-bedroom apartment back in Manhattan) and told us not to be late for dinner, which that evening was to be served by a roaring fire on which various slabs of game meat were to be roasted. “Be sure to have the impala steak,” he said, smacking his lips, “It is very special.”

The next day, on the first of our six game drives—one each morning just before dawn and another every evening prior to sunset—we spotted two cheetah within a hundred yards of our camp, which, rather than pleasing me, only made me more cynical. I think I said sotto voce to Rona, “I’ll bet the reason these cheetahs are right here is because they lure them close by putting out food.” And to the guide, who did not deserve my sarcasm, I added, “They don’t count toward the Big Five, do they? Maybe the Big Six?” He simply smiled back at me, undoubtedly having had, through the years, to endure this and worse from rich tourists.

And then within the first hour, after spotting a pride of lions at a watering hole and learning all about how it is lionesses who do all the cub rearing and hunting while the males hang around sleeping their way through the sultry days—it was clear that women’s liberation as well as freedom and democracy had arrived in South Africa—suspecting that the hotel owners had dug and kept the water hole full so that their pampered guests would not have to drive around all day in dusty futilely chasing after the first of the Big Five, restraining from allowing myself to be overly impressed, I came up with what I thought to be a witty counter to the traditional way of keeping score while on this version of safari—the obverse of the Big Five, the Tiny Five. “Maybe we should keep that list too,” I said to no one in particular, “You know, the termite—see all those termite mounds—the tsetse fly, the mosquito, the African Mantid [I had done my homework to come up with this voracious creature], and of course, my favorite, the dung beetle.”

I chuckled at my own cleverness; but when Daktari, our driver stopped suddenly with no big game in sight and directed us to get out of the Land Rover, I thought perhaps to change a tire, saying nothing, he pointed at the ground near where we were standing. There was nothing noteworthy to be seen—just a few pebbles and rocks. “There!” he pointed again, insisting, “Right there!” We bent closer to the ground, following the direction of his finger and indeed right there was one of my Tiny Five. “A dung beetle,” he chortled, “Just what you came all this way from America to see.” With that he knew he had me and his face exploded into a brilliant grin.

And there it was, about three-quarters of an inch in size, reared back on its hind legs and with its front legs rolling ahead of it what could only be a ball of dung at least twice its size. “You can put that on your list,” Daktari said. And I did because that amazing beetle was as interesting as any of the Big Five which, over the days, we accumulated. And to tell the truth, all my cynicism quickly faded and I had the time of my life.

Which brings me back to the spiders of our back porch—after close observing I discovered an ideal location for them not only because of the airborne protein supply but also since the spaces between the vertical posts that support the porch railing are an ideal distance apart for the construction of their so-called orb webs. Bear with me.

Much of this work occurs just before dawn, which is an ideal time for me to get distracted in observing natural phenomena, which is good for my mental health since I am a notoriously poor sleeper; and if it were not for my writing, and the chance to get lost in things such as spiders’ projects, I would be left desperately groping for ways to fill the time and push back, always unsuccessfully, against the tremors of non-specific anxiety that prior to sunrise invade my unprotected mind and sabotage any possibility of morning tranquility or a smooth transition to consciousness.

If the breeze is just right for web-building—not too fresh, not too indifferent--I notice that my spider companion from one rail post begin by extruding a foot-long silky adhesive thread which it leaves to hang unfettered in the air, knowing—if it knows--that it will then begin to float gently, carried on the breath of these pre-dawn zephyrs. With just the right amount of wafting this initial strand is lifted higher and higher until it appears to reach across toward the opposite post, in my case just an eight-inch span. And if there is then a slight additional uplift to the breeze it, miraculously, adheres to the adjacent post and what remains is a single, fragile swaying strand which bridges the gap and begins to shed a silken glow in the first light of the day.

My spider then puts on display its extraordinary tightrope walking skills—no less remarkable than those of the legendary Philippe Petit who pranced on a wire that spanned the two World Trade Center towers. As I raptly watch it carefully walk along that slender thread it extrudes another, strengthening strand of silk. It works its way back and forth, back and forth until these repeated passes and deposits have thickened that first precarious filament. Not unlike the way suspension bridge builders spin the cables that reach from anchor tower to anchor tower and then support the roadway. From Manhattan to Brooklyn, from Brooklyn to Manhattan, from Manhattan to Brooklyn, from Brooklyn to . . .

With this horizontal element now securely in place, and strong enough to support the rest of the web that will be suspended from it and anything it may eventually entrap—including the full weight of the spider which ingests its victims while clinging to the web itself--this aerialist architect is next ready to begin to fill in the rest of the vertical structure.

It does this, I observe, the way climbers lower themselves by ropes from the cliffs they have conquered—in their case by repelling themselves against the rock face as they drop toward the ground where they began; while in the spider’s case by again producing a silken rope at the end of which it dangles—again swinging in the breeze until it simultaneously is pitched to precisely the midpoint between the posts and, when thus positioned, rapidly drops the last few inches to the lower horizontal cross piece where it affixes its silken thread. It then ascends, again strengthening this first angled vertical line, as it laboriously hoists itself back up to the top rung, all along the way extruding another thread. And once there, it skirts to the other side and immediately lowers itself again, as before waiting until the wind catches it just right and swings it, dangling, to the center of that lower span and when positioned at that precise spot again plummets so it can affix its strand.

If one were to stand back at this point—as I wondrously do, distracted and thus no longer ensnared by fears—one sees the Y-shaped framework, which will contain the eventual web itself. All the heavy structural work has now been completed—it is time to apply the finishing touches, to fill in the details. The radials and the circular threads that might be thought of as the web loom’s warp and weft, which together will form the final cobweb fabric.

The radials bridge the center of the Y-armature and the concentric circular threads give the web its distinctive Halloween look. Typically, my spider mate constructs at least half a dozen radials and at least that many circular loops; and when they are sketched in, it spends quite a bit of time strengthening the webs center with at least five final circular strands. This is obviously where the real action will occur.

By the third morning I am beginning to notice something else: it appears that the spaces between each spiral are proportional to the size of the spider itself—specifically the distance between the tip of its back legs and its spinners. It is using itself, its own body as a measuring device! But before I got too carried away in the rapture of this back-porch discovery, I quickly realized that this technique must be hard-wired into many animal species. Including humans. After all where did we come up with a yard as a unit of measurement? Or and inch? Or, more obviously, a foot? Welcome to my world spider cousins! Or is it that is offering the greeting?

And then, hopefully it will be the spider’s breakfast time. It has put in a full morning’s work and deserves something nutritious and savory. I still have two hours to wait until Rona rises before I can get my less-wholesome blueberry pancakes. So with nothing better to do, to kill some more time, I wait along with it.

After about a half an hour, a frisky, early-rising mosquito begins to buzz about. Perhaps it too is a troubled sleeper. If it sleeps at all. Not wanting to interfere with the natural forces at work I do not swat at it as it dives toward my uncovered head. If it is to pay a price for what it attempts to inflict on me it will not be by my hand. I therefore do not choose to wave it off as I in compensation take malicious pleasure in noticing my spider friend waiting, patiently immobile off to the side of its web. It and I know what awaits.

The mosquito, which as a result of its first pass left a swelling and itchy welt on my neck, circles lower, seeking a second helping, moving closer, circling the warm veins throbbing in my ankle. To it irresistible. Sensing its approach I shift a bit—I confess with retributive intent since my foot is not more than a foot from the web—perhaps to help divert it toward its fate. And for once, man interfering with Nature yields a sustainable ecological result. No inconvenient truths. My mosquito tormentor, diverted in its flight path by me uncrossing my legs and thereby forced into a stall by a sudden downdraft is swept right into the center of the waiting web.

The spider, sensing the impact and the struggle of its prey by the vibrations transmitted through the web, begins to stir. It lifts itself, seemingly to me to stretch its legs and even yawn, and begins its slow ascent toward the middle of the web where the mosquito, as it squirms to free itself only, as if in a straight jacket, further entangles itself. Then, just as the spider approaches close to its prey, an exact body-length away, all struggles cease; and, I believe, if I had a magnifying glass, I would be able to see my spider companion licking the equivalent of its chops.

August 27, 2019--Go For It Donald!

When after the El Paso mass murders I heard that Trump was considering support for stricter background checks for people purchasing guns, I was pleased. 

When because the stock market was falling Trump was getting increasingly concerned about how this would effect his claim that his economic policies were working, especially the tariffs on Chinese imports, but now he was having "second thoughts" about his policies, regardless of his political motivation, I was happy.

When Trump also appeared to have second thoughts about "ordering" American companies to withdraw from China, I again was happy. 

But then when I caught myself hoping he would at last begin to act as something like a "normal" president, I had second thoughts of my own.

I too have been party to the patriotic sentiment that though I didn't vote for him, though I disagree with and often am outraged by his policies and behavior, still, as a responsible American, I have wanted him to succeed. 

For the sake of the country I have wanted whomever is our president to do well. To strengthen the economy, to maintain the peace, to enhance our alliances, to improve our social safety net, to reduce unemployment and the deficit.

In Trump's case, if I am honest, I want to see him fail. 

On his watch, until after the 2020 election I want unemployment to worsen, the stock market to continue to weaken, the debt to grow, our global alliances to be strained, international tension to build, and the Trump Supreme Court and the federal judiciary to hand down regressive, unpopular decisions.

In other words, I want to see things continue to worsen so that the political climate between now and the presidential election is so fractured and roiled that huge majorities in the right states are motivated to vote for whoever emerges as Trump's opponent.

I understand that this may sound nihilistic and will cause pain, but the real nihilist is an out-of-control Trump and as such he is responsible for spreading pain in America and much of the rest of the world.

Then when he leaves office I will resume hoping all our presidents succeed. Or at least I will pretend to.

August 26, 2019--That Was the Week That Was

With the economy faltering and threatening to slide into recession, with his poll numbers declining, with the Chinese decidedly not rolling over in the face of Trump's tariffs, with our allies South Korea and Japan ratcheting back their cooperative relationship, and his new best friends the North Koreans resuming the testing of ballistic missiles, and his old best friend, Anthony Scaramucci, calling him a psycho unable to continue to serve as president (he recommends a family intervention), rather than dealing directly with any of the real issues, lacking the cognitive capacity and political smarts to do so, Trump is slipping into his familiar mode--bluster, threaten, and blame anyone but himself--Fed Chair Jerome Powell for the economy for example--in the hope that he can bully his way through this tangled knot of self-inflicted crises and somehow figure out how to get reelected.

Here is a sample of diversions and crackpot ideas he came up with just this past week--

He tweeted an order to America's corporations to leave China, to stop doing business with them, to pull up stakes and come back to the U.S. 

He wrote:

“Our great American companies are hereby ordered to immediately start looking for an alternative to China, including bringing our companies HOME and making your products in the USA,We don’t need China and, frankly, would be far better off without them.”

He also announced that he is looking for a way to end birthright citizenship, claiming that the rule that protects it, enshrined in the 14th Amendment to the Constitution for more than 150 years and rooted in common law before, was “frankly ridiculous,” and that he was “looking very, very seriously” at ending a policy that in the past he has called “a magnet for illegal immigration.”

Further, fueling religious division, he questioned Jews loyalty to the United States if they consider voting for Democrats because a few congresswomen have had the temerity to raise critical questions about the Israeli government. He said--

"I can't believe we're even having this conversion. Where has the Democratic Party gone? Where have they gone where they're defending these two [congresswomen] over the state of Israel? I think any Jewish people that vote for a Democrat --it shows either a total lack of knowledge or great disloyalty." 

Accusing Jews of divided allegiance to America and Israel is one of the oldest of anti-semitic tropes.

Also last week, at a veterans' ceremony at the White House, draft-avoider Trump, when musing about the nation's highest honor, the Medal of Honor, said--"Nothing like the Medal of Honor. I wanted one, but they told me I don't qualify. I say, 'Can I give it to myself anyway?' [His staff] said, 'I don't think that's a good idea.'"

Finally, toward the end of the week, Trump engaged in some off-the-cuff eschatology. Once again musing, in the midst of answering a question about the ongoing trade war with China, Trump turned from reporters, looked to the heavens and proclaimed, "I am the chosen one."

Later in the day his staff tried to walk the comment back, saying he was not claiming to be the Second-Coming but only that he was the president chosen to deal with China. That he was just making a little joke.

What is it that Freud says about jokes?

August 23, 2019--Empty Tank

My tank was a little empty this week and I didn't get much done. I will do better next week, beginning Monday morning.

August 21, 2019--Biden's Women

I'm trying. Trying to get enthusiastic about supporting Joe Biden. But he doesn't make it easy.

It's not just that he's a gaff machine. Most can be written off as a version of charming. Biden being Biden. Like the other day when he mixed up Burlington Vermont and Burlington Iowa.  

Though even with that, benign as it is, and though the contest for the nomination is not "Jeopardy," it also leaves the lingering concern that these kinds of mixups are not just innocent slips of the tongue but are symptoms of, OK I'll say it, old age. He is 76 and at that not a young 76. 

More concerning is the kind of thing he said the other day at a gathering in Iowa of mainly minority voters when talking off the cuff about the academic potential of at-risk children. He said that "Poor kids are just as bright and just as talented as white kids." 

What is one to make of that? This is more than a slip of the tongue. 

But according to Monday's CNN/SSRS poll it didn't put a dent in black voters' support for him. His numbers in fact have risen since June, especially among white women, particularly older white women. They love Biden and appear to be wiling to stick with him almost no matter what.

I am not saying they are like the Trump people who would stand by him even if he shot someone on Fifth Avenue. Actually, maybe even more would vote for him if he did. Biden's supporters appear to be quite locked in. It seems as if they will remain committed to him almost no matter what.

Some of this increasing support for Biden is the result of women coming to his defense as they see him attacked by the other leading candidates. Especially, counterintuitively, the female candidates. 

(See the results of the CNN poll which show Biden increasing his lead over his closest rivals--now up by 15 percent over Sanders and 14 percent over Warren, while Kamala Harris has the support of just 5 percent of potential Democratic voters.)

The response to Harris is the clearest example of women coming to Biden's rescue  She challenged, some said attacked, some say disrespectfully took on Biden, Barack Obama's vice President, during the first debate. Her poll numbers blipped up for a day or two as did her campaign contributions, but since that time they have trended downward. Recently they have been plummeting.

Perhaps because as they thought about it, potential Democratic voters perceived her to be more angry than passionately engaged with the issues. 

Some of this may be the result of gender bias--what behavior is considered to be appropriate for a woman when confronting a man--some of it may be Harris's hard-charging style, but some of it is Democrats who want to win in 2020 seeing in Biden the candidate most able to defeat Trump. Still the overarching concern of most Democratic voters no matter their demographics and ideology. And thus his people are quick to protect him.

In a political environment where the conventional wisdom does not apply, some of the familiar realities still pertain--especially about race and gender. We are by no means a post racial society nor are men and women running for public office regarded equally. 

It is ironic that much of this is being played out through Joe Biden's candidacy, considering his history when it comes to women and minorities is far from without blemish.

August 19, 2019--Buy Greenland? No, Buy . . .

It looks as if our real-estate-mogul-in-chief wants to buy Greenland.

If he knew anything about U.S. history one might imagine he's thinking Thomas Jefferson and the Louisiana Purchase; or Seward's Folly--the purchase of Alaska from, yes, the Russians--during the impeached Andrew Johnson's administration; or more arcanely the Gadsden Purchase which occurred when Franklyn Pierce was president and fleshed out our border with Mexico.

But, no, I think he's thinking about a non-governmental post-presidency deal for himself and his acquisitive family  He must have heard that the ice pack that covers 80 percent of Greenland is melting fast (not because of global warming since there is no global warming) and that means the land will soon be ready for "development"--condos, casinos, golf courses, hotels, and the like. Stuff Trump understands.

There is though one hitch--Denmark, which owns it, and the 50,000 people who are Greenlandians are fiercely opposed. But Trump will be visiting Denmark in a few months and will likely float the idea during his meetings with senior political leaders and perhaps bring along a suitcase full of Benjamins to lubricate the discussion. But that too is not going to work.

I have another suggestion--why not buy our 51st state. Israel. Yes, next time he sees him, which could be tomorrow, Trump should make an offer to his best friend, a real Benjamin, prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who could be on his political last legs and may soon be fitted for an orange jumpsuit.

To get a sense of just how much they are each other's poodle and are depending on each other to get reelected, consider what happened last week when Trump lobbied Netanyahu and got him in a flash to block two Muslim U.S. congresswomen who have been critics of the Israeli government from entering the country. During the August break they were intending to pay an official visit to Israel and were planning, transgressively, to meet with Palestinians.

From Trump's and Netanyahu's  perspective this was outrageous enough for them to see the political opportunity to make the congresswomen the public face of the socialist, anti-semitic Democratic Party. Along with AOC the Squad are even better to caricature and demonologize than Nancy Pelosi.

In the meantime, Donald Jr. is thinking timeshares in Jerusalem.

August 16, 2019--Have More Fun In Church

In England, church affiliation and attendance are plummeting.

Membership in recent years has declined by more than 50 percent. Down to 14 percent in 2018 from 31 percent 16 years earlier. And obviously related, attendance at Anglican churches in Britain fell by 15 percent from 2007 to 2017.

So, they have problem. What to do?

Some years ago my ex-wife and I spent two months driving around the English countryside in an attempt to visit as many cathedral towns as possible. There are about 50 of them and we managed to get to more than half, from Salisbury to York to Canterbury to our favorite, the Norman-style one in Durham.

If the diversity of the settings and the Romanesque and Gothic architecture that reaches back in the earliest ones to the 11th century doesn't attract worshipful crowds is the situation hopeless? 

Desperate, in an increasing number of cathedral cities they are trying a new tack--fun and games. In the churches themselves. 

As reported in the New York Times, inside the Norwich Cathedral they have installed a 55-foot-tall waterless slide, known as the helter skelter (no relation to the Beatles or Charles Manson) that wraps itself around the 12th century stone columns. It allows those who risk it to, in the words of the church's canon, "engage with our cathedral." There is also a two pound charge to climb to the top and slide to the bottom.

Canon Bryant says that by "sharing" their cathedral this way "lots of new people are having conversations about faith."

At Rochester Cathedral this summer one can play a round of miniature golf in the church's medieval nave. The nine-hole course has a bridge theme, which church leaders say was intended to spark conversations about "spiritual bridge-building."

From the Time's report it is not clear how much they are charging in green's fees.

Rochester Cathedral

August 14, 2019--Give Me Your White People

Politico reports that Ken Cuccinelli, the acting director of U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, was asked by NPR whether the words of Emma Lazarus' “The New Colossus,” inscribed on a bronze tablet affixed to the Statue of Liberty remain "part of the American ethos." 

"They certainly are," Cuccinelli said. Rewriting the poem he said, "Give me your tired and your poor--who can stand on their own two feet and who will not become a public charge."

Cuccinelli's comments follow the administration's announcement Monday of a "public charge" regulation allowing federal officials to deny green cards to legal immigrants who have received certain public benefits or who are deemed likely to do so in the future.

Critics of the policy have argued it is at odds with Lazarus' poem, which reads in part: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

This would mean that not only my but I suspect all of your ancestors would have at one time been denied refuge in America. Of course, so would Cuccinelli's.

What sort of a man is he?

A self-described opponent of homosexuality, Cuccinelli in his position as Virginia Attorney General defended anti-sodomy laws and prohibitions on same-sex marriage. Cuccinelli rejects the scientific consensus on climate change, and in his position as Attorney General investigated climate scientists, who he argued were engaged in fraud. He filed lawsuits against the Obama administration's Environmental Protection Agency. Cuccinelli sought to prohibit undocumented immigrants from attending universities, repeal 14th Amendment-guaranteed birthright citizenship, and force employees to speak English in the workplace.

And, yes, as a grandson of Irish and Italian immigrants by his own policies he also would not have been allowed to enter America. There's something to be said for that.

August 13, 2019--Back To School Bullet-Proof Backpacks

Back in my day at least once a month schools practiced take-cover drills. The teacher would yell "take cover!" and we would dive under our desks in order to protect us from the blast of an atomic bomb.

Needless to say, this was a futile effort. A flimsy desk provided no protection from a 100 megaton Russian A Bomb. All it did was provide the illusion of security. Instead, it just terrified us.

Now, as kids prepare to go back to school, stores such as JC Penny are seeing a rush of sales for bullet-resistant backpacks. These are supposed to protect children from mass murderers. 

They too provide the illusion of safety as they are not capable of stopping bullets from AR 15 assault weapons. The weapon of choice for school shooters. Ammunition from handguns? Maybe.

Although parents have been buying bullet-resistant backpacks from Guard Dog Security products for years, this is the first year that the Florida-based company has offered a specific backpack for school-aged children. 

The Guard Dog ProShield Scout backpack is available in teal, pink and black and sold at Office Max/Office Depot and Bed, Bath & Beyond stores and online retailers including Amazon where they sell for $99-$120. Shipping is included.

August 12, 2019--Jack: Women

Jack was waiting for us at the Bristol Diner. It was not as if we had an appointment to meet. In fact, I had been avoiding his texts and phone messages. I was trying to spend less time and energy thinking about, talking about Trump. There would be plenty of time for that, I thought, after Labor Day. It would still be more than a year until the election. Plenty of time for political talk. Yes, I had relapsed into Trump Fatigue. 

We were tempted to ignore Jack's patting on the banquette, signally he was holding two places for us. I whispered to Rona, "Maybe let's go to Crissy's. I'm not in the mood for Jack."

"I know what you're thinking," he said with a smile, "I promise not to keep you more than half an hour. Come, sit with me for a while."

And so reluctantly we shuffled over to him and slid into the booth.

"I'll just have coffee," I said to Sarah, "We can't stay very long today." Rona said the same.

Without so much as a hello Jack launched into his latest rant.

"I know you and your people care only about who can beat Trump. You're putting aside your concerns about where candidates stand on health care or immigration. You're whole focus is denying him a second term."

"That pretty much sums it up," I said, "Almost everyone I know is thinking about the election that way. There will be time for debates about policy after a Democrat is elected. I agree with Tom Friedman about that. He warns, if we want a revolution and Trump wins we will have a revolution not of our liking when, for example, he gets to appoint two more Supreme Court justices like Kavanaugh and Gorsuch."

"Though one thing," Jack said, "does show up on the screen with a lot of you guys."

"This I'm interested in hearing,"I said.

"With six women seeking the nomination, many of you this time around not only want to nominate a woman, but unlike with Hillary who turned out to be a terrible candidate, you want to elect one. Most realistic, considering the poll numbers, only two have a real chance of being nominated, with winning another story. Forget Gillibrand and Klobuchar. The only two who have a chance are Warren and Kamala Harris. At the moment they're the only ones close to Biden in the polls."

"That could be true," Rona said, "But I continue to wonder if America is open to having a woman as president. They tell pollsters that they are but I'm skeptical. Among other things by what he says and how he behaves Trump sanctions not only racism and white supremacy but also sexism. And in so doing exposes how extensive it still is."

Rona continued, "Even Trump's female supporters--and there are more of them than any liberal would like to acknowledge--can in their own way be quite sexist. Why else did so many of them vote for him rather than for the first woman to be the nominee of a major party? And don't tell me it was because Hillary was such an ineffective candidate or won the popular vote. The country's just not ready for a female president. Though with Biden unravelling because of gaffs, there could be a woman next in line."

I was surprised that both Rona and I were so easily drawn into political talk. Our fatigue was clearly not that deep seated.

"Let me give you an example," Jack said, "of why I too don't think you can elect a woman.

"I'm listening."

"So there was this terrible shooting in El Paso. And what happened? Joe Biden, Cory Booker, and that mayor from South Bend whose name I can never remember all gave major speeches about it. Booker even gave his from the pulpit of the church in South Carolina where there had been another massacre four years ago. Where a white guy targeted black people and where Obama spoke and sang 'Amazing Grace.'"

Jack paused and peered at us. "I see you're not getting it."

"Getting what?" I asked.

"What's missing from this picture?"

"Enlighten me."

"Women."

"Women?"

"Yes, Democrat women candidates."

"They spoke out," Rona said, "Among other things they accused Trump of being a racist and, even more seriously, a white supremacist. Which he is. I think you're splitting hairs. I felt they were very forceful. Very effective."

"But none of the women gave a speech. A big picture, presidential-style speech, one in which they put all the pieces together. About the history of racism in this country, about how various ethnic groups have been treated. They missed the opportunity that most of the leading male candidates--Sanders excepted--seized. To show how they would act if president and incidents of this kind occurred. As they surely will. These men not only made speeches of this kind but they also showed how they would behave as mourner-in-chief."

"I hate to agree with you," Rona said, "But, thinking about it now, I must admit the women may have missed an opportunity. My guess is that they didn't want to be stereotyped as emotional women by making a speech of this kind. That they didn't want to be perceived as being soft in a situation that calls for toughness."

"It calls for both," Jack said. "For sure it's a tricky line to straddle when a woman wants to show she can be both compassionate and tough-minded. Look at how Hillary got all tangled up in whether or not to vote for the war with Iraq. She eventually voted for it in large part to show she had cajones."

"Along with most other Democratic senators," I said, "Half of whom were thinking about running for president, she botched this and paid the price."

"So this wasn't so bad after all," Jack said.

"What wasn't?" I asked.

"Spending a little quality time with me." He laughed. "When was the last time we agreed about anything?"

Rona said, "I'm not sure we're agreeing now."

"Let's order some food," I said. "Sarah."

August 8, 2019--Visitors

No blogging until Monday. We have visitors.

August 7, 2019--Dunning-Kruger Effect

I hadn't heard of the Dunning-Kruger effect until good friend George Lindberg brought it to my attention.

He did so with his familiar sly smile, asking if I know anyone who might be afflicted. I tried to come up with someone from among those I know, but happily with no success. 

He pressed me further, dropping a hint or two. And then I got it.

I suspect you will not require any prompting.

Here's Wiki's definition-- 

In 2011, social psychologists David Dunning and Justin Kruger wrote about their observations that people with substantial, measurable deficits in their knowledge or expertise lack the ability to recognize those deficits and, therefore, despite potentially making error after error, tend to think they are performing competently when they are not. 

In short, those who are incompetent, for lack of a better term, have little insight into their incompetence—an assertion that has come to be known as the Dunning–Kruger effect. 

In 2014, Erik Helzer described how the Dunning–Kruger effect "suggests that poor performers are not in a position to recognize the shortcomings in their performance"

For this Dunning and Kruger were awarded the lg Nobel Prize. 

The lg Nobel, not the Nobel bestowed in Sweden but since 1991 awarded annually at Harvard to celebrate unusual or trivial achievements in scientific research, its stated aim being to "honor achievements that first make people laugh, and then make them think."

As usual, George made me laugh and think.

August 6, 2019--My Kentucky Friend

For a kid from Brooklyn I seem to have a lot of friends from Kentucky. Here's an email from ABO who is from those parts and among the best people ever--

S&R

That was a great dinner at Jill’s last night.  Loved it!!   

If, today for any reason (not Jill’s wonderful cooking) you’re feeling nauseous, don’t read this.  It’s about food offerings at the Kentucky State Fair. It’s hard to believe, actually.  I wonder what this has to do with Trump winning Kentucky?  

Consider the Hot Brown Tater Tots.  Maybe you would like the Philly Cheesesteak donut burger?  https://www.courier-journal.com/picture-gallery/life/events/statefair/2019/08/05/kentucky-state-fair-food-through-the-years/1923575001/

Next to this article is one about Rand Paul having lung surgery because of the assault from his neighbor, and another about Mitch’s broken shoulder when he fell yesterday.  Also a new nominee for district judge nominated by Trump who thinks the FBI should report to the President. 

Kentucky is falling apart.  There will be nobody left to vote for Trump after they all die because of eating at the State Fair.

Love, 

ABO

August 5, 2019--Strangers In Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning On the American Right

This seems to be the week I am recommending summer books. Not the usual sort for the season which are traditionally page turners. It's August, it's hot, who needs more aggravation. Sorry, but this is my way of having fun. So indulge me just once more and I promise to stop.

If you have been following my blog you know that for more than three years I've been struggling to dispassionately understand the Trump phenomenon (it is that), particularly the people who have been his most fervent supporters. Even when doing so, especially when doing so appears not to be in their own best interest. 

The best roadmap to these paradoxes is Arlie Hochschild's brilliant Strangers In Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning On the American Right.

Here is an excerpt from the New York Times review--

Hochschild calls this the “Great Paradox”--opposition to federal help from people and places that need it--and sets off across Louisiana on an energetic, open-minded quest to understand it.

A distinguished Berkeley sociologist, Hochschild is a woman of the left, but her mission is empathy, not polemics. She takes seriously the Tea Partiers’ complaints that they have become the “strangers” of the title--triply marginalized by flat or falling wages, rapid demographic change, and liberal culture that mocks their faith and patriotism. Her affection for her characters is palpable.

But the resentments she finds are as toxic as the pollutants in the Louisiana marsh and metastasizing throughout politics. What unites her subjects is the powerful feeling that others are “cutting in line” and that the federal government is supporting people on the dole --“taking money from the workers and giving it to the idle.” Income is flowing up, but the anger points down.

The people who feel this are white. The usurpers they picture are blacks and immigrants. Hochschild takes care not to call anyone racist but concludes that “race is an essential part of this story.” 

When she asks a small-town mayor to describe his politics, his first two issues--or is it one in his mind?--are welfare and race: “I don’t like the government paying unwed mothers to have a lot of kids, and I don’t go for affirmative action.”

In welfare politics, this is déjà vu all over again. It’s been two decades since Bill Clinton signed a tough welfare law aimed in part to end the politics of blame. “Ending welfare as we know it” would recast the needy as workers, he said, and build support for a new safety net. The rolls of the main federal welfare program have fallen by 80 percent from their 1990s highs--in Louisiana, by 95 percent. But reverse class anger is more potent than ever.

Liberals have long wondered why working-class voters support policies that (the liberals think) hurt the working class. Why would victims of pollution side with the polluters?

Theories abound. Thomas Frank in What's the Matter With Kansas? accuses the G.O.P. of luring voters with social issues but delivering tax cuts for the rich. Others point to the political machines built by ultra-wealthy donors like Charles and David Koch. Still others emphasize the influence of conservative media like Fox News.

Hochschild sees these as partial explanations but wants a fuller understanding of “emotion in politics”--she wants to know how Tea Partiers feel, on the theory that the movement serves their “emotional self-interest” by providing “a giddy release” from years of frustration. . . .

Many Tea Party adherents warn that more regulation will cost them jobs. (A small-town mayor says the pungent chemical plant “smells like rice and gravy.”) But Hochschild detects other passions and assembles what she calls the “deep story”--a “feels as if” story, beyond facts or judgment, that presents her subjects’ worldview.

It goes like this:

“You are patiently standing in a long line” for something you call the American dream. You are white, Christian, of modest means, and getting along in years. You are male. There are people of color behind you, and “in principle you wish them well.” But you’ve waited long, worked hard, “and the line is barely moving.”

Then “Look! You see people cutting in line ahead of you!” Who are these interlopers? “Some are black,” others “immigrants, refugees.” They get affirmative action, sympathy and welfare--“checks for the listless and idle.” The government wants you to feel sorry for them.

And who runs the government? “The biracial son of a low-income single mother,” and he’s cheering on the line cutters. “The president and his wife are line cutters themselves.” The liberal media mocks you as racist or homophobic. Everywhere you look, “you feel betrayed.”

Hochschild runs the myth past her Tea Party friends.

“You’ve read my mind,” Lee Sherman said.

“I live your analogy,” Mike Schaff said.

Harold Areno’s niece agrees, and says she has seen people drive their children to Head Start in Lexuses. “If people refuse to work, we should let them starve,” she said.

Actually, anger this raw may depart from the 1990s, when welfare critics often framed their attacks as efforts to help the poor by fighting dependency. The resentments Hochschild presents are unadorned, and they have mutated into a broader suspicion of almost everything the federal government does. “The government has gone rogue, corrupt, malicious and ugly,” one Tea Partier complains. “It can’t help anybody.”

Did welfare really “end”? Conservatives say no. Cash aid plummeted, but food stamp usage soared to new highs and the Medicaid rolls expanded. There’s room for debate, but the grievances Hochschild presents feel immune to policy solutions. As long as larger forces are squeezing whites of modest means, it’s going to “feel as if” people are cutting in line. In Lexuses.

None of Hochschild’s characters appear to have been directly hurt by competition from people of color. Their economic problems lie elsewhere, she argues, in unchecked corporate power and technological transformation. Still there’s no denying that demographic and cultural change have robbed white men of the status they once enjoyed. Hochschild doesn’t buy the racial finger-pointing, but she can see their pain.