August 20, 2018--George Lindberg's Nightmare: The Donald J. Trump Presidential Library

I received this email from my good friend George Lindberg--

Dear Steven

When you get in a slump because of insomnia, remember you at least have control of how you spend your awake time.  You can change the channel or shut it off at whim.  I on the other hand have no trouble falling asleep or staying asleep.  My problem is what happens while I am asleep.  

The other day you and Rona set some wheels in motion.  It all started the evening following your musings about the numerous presidential libraries you two have visited.  I have never been to any so I can only wonder what would be on display.

As I drifted into slumberland, I made the mistake of wondering what the Donald J. Trump Presidential Library would be like.  Steven, I can’t shut him off . . .

The dream always starts the same way.  I'm driving down I-95, heading toward Queens, the birthplace of Donald, where from a sign I notice that the name of the Throgs Neck Bridge has been changed to the Thongs Neck Bridge. When I get to Jamaica Estates, his boyhood home, I find myself at the new Donald J. Trump Presidential Library. Built on an old swamp that wasn't drained but filled in.

There was some talk of locating it on the campus of Trump University, but no one could locate it and the Wharton School people said, “No way."

In keeping with Trump tradition, the library has been set in a hot-sheet motel. In my dream it is always a pay by the hour place.  I park in a new seven story parking garage.  Funny thing is mine is the only car there.  A welcome sign tells me the place was built on land that was cleared after evicting 5,000 immigrants. 

As I enter I am required to show proof of citizenship.  Lucky for me (it’s a dream remember) I have my birth certificate with me.  Stepping in the foyer a holograph of Ivanka appears, suggesting I genuflect as I pass the life size (both height and width) portrait of The Donald.   “But,” she says, “By no means should you take a knee.”

Behind me is a gentleman who is apparently of foreign decent.  When he apologetically states he has no identification, Poof, the holograph disappears and the booming voice of Donald descends from the heavens, proclaiming --“OUT, OUT, GET THE S.O.B. OUT.  YOU'RE FIRED.”

I had to move on as I was being charged by the hour.

My recollection is that all the walls were painted a brilliant lily white.  Ivanka is back suggesting I follow the main corridor and at the end not to miss what's at the far right. She also urges me to look around in the High Tariff gift shop and purchase an official DJT gift with the presidential seal made by our good friends in China. She adds, “Please be sure to buy something in the apparel closeout section."

As I walk down the main corridor a screeching sound is heard and a golf cart comes careening around the corner from the alt-right.  It has been customized to look like the original clown car from the 2016 campaign.  At the wheel is Steve Bannon.  Except his hair is combed and bleached blond.  He says, “Get in.  I’ll show you around."    

Room after room passes by but I’m able to read the name plates on each door.

There is the Insults room, with dozens of printed tweets posted on the walls. The first one I see is about Rosie O'Donnell.

The Fake News room has an old teletype machine clacking away.  Lots of stuff is coming in from Fox News.

The Immigration room. On quick glance there are several pictures of families being reunited.  Including dates showing reunions occurring some five years after separation.

The Military Parade room has photos of veterans groups taking a knee.  I notice as a veteran I was in one of the pictures.  Head bowed, fist in the air.

There is the crowded Wives room.

The Promises Made room includes an audio introduction by Jon Luvitz.

The Apprentice room has Meatloaf songs piped in.

In the Law Suits room where there is a life-sized portrait of Roy Cohn.

The Miss Universe room has a for sale sign on the door.

A Space Force room includes mock ups of the first space warriors Trump wants to send to the moon.

There is a wax museum of many of the most prominent players from Trump World --Giuliani, Sessions, Bannon, Kellyanne, Hope Hicks, Anthony Scaramucci, and many more.

Right next to it is the Robert Mueller room and next door to that the Pardon room.

There is the Ladies room with wax likenesses of Stormy Daniels, Karen McDougal, a couple of Russian working girls, and even Rosie and Megyn.

The Putin room contains memorabilia from all their good times together.  With a newly-released video. I need to get back there to watch it.

I pass the Rocket Man room.

Steven, in my dream I asked Steve Bannon to show me the basement, but he said it was closed.  Something having to do with the base crumbling.

When we get to the end of the first floor hall, I see broom closets that are devoted to black people.  One is for NFL and NBA players, including LeBron James, and another for Maxie Waters and someone named Omarosa.  That name is crossed off and "Low Life Dog" is spray painted in its place.

Bannon tells me there is a wall half built around the library but contractors walked off the job when the residents in Queens refused to pay for it.

There are several floors just like this but the sun is coming up and so I rush to get out.

Sitting out front in a lawn chair I see former CIA director, John Brennan.  He told me they won’t let him in without a security clearance.

Driving home I can hear Tom Bodett saying, "Come back soon. We’ll leave the light on for ya”.

The road is smooth yet my car is rocking and bouncing.

A voice in my head says, "George, George wake up you’re having that nightmare again."

                                            *   *   *

I wrote back--"Somehow having 'library' and 'Donald Trump' in the same sentence is an oxymoron."

George said, "This is supposed to make me feel better?"

Site of the Donald J. Trump Presidential Library

August 6, 2018--All the President's Women

Rona can be skeptical. Even on occasion a little cynical. And so when it was widely reported that First Lady Melania Trump appeared to be showing signs of independent thought, when First Daughter Ivanka in public spoke critical words about her Daddy, and then when it was reported that Hope Hicks on Saturday was seen sneaking onto Air Force One to join Trump on a flight to a rally in Ohio, Rona was quick to conclude that all female family and special friends, all hands were urgently summoned on deck as recent polls show Trump's support among college-educated women approaching zero percent. He can't win reelection with only middle-age, to quote Trump, "low-IQ" white guys on board.

First the First Daughter--

Ivanka went a version of rogue last week. This was previewed by her and husband Jared showing up again at their senior-advisor White House jobs. They had been AWOL for months while things were unraveling as if to stay as far away as possible from it and the widening stain. Perhaps concluding they had nothing to lose before they themselves were scooped up in the same net.

And though Ivanka refused to answer probing questions during her interview last week with AXIOS, she did concede that the separation of young children from their parents at the Texas-Mexico border was "a low point" in the Trump presidency and that she is"vehemently opposed" to family separation. 

Then there was Melania-- 

After porn star Stormy Daniels and Playboy model Karen McDougal hit the headlines with their claims that Trump paid them off so they wouldn't reveal their trysting, as if she were hearing this for the first time, the First Lady absented herself for a number of weeks (including to the hospital), made a couple of solo visits to the border, and while there--contravening Trump's policies--she showed some empathy for the plight of migrants.

Then, when she resumed traveling with Trump and appeared with him at the NATO and EU meetings and after that the visit to England and the Helsinki summit with Putin, on the flight home, the president caught her sneaking a look at CNN. He went ballastic, demanding that on AFOne, Fox News was to be on all TVs all the time. Melania demurred saying loud enough for many to hear that she'll watch what she wants, thank you very much.

And then, after Trump railed against LeBron James, when Melania said she'd be open to visiting with him at the school he is funding in Ohio for at-risk kids, Twitter and switchboards lit up across the country, suggesting that James is more untouchable than the Pope, who, during the campaign Trump got away with trashing. Sniping at James, though, calling him "low IQ" (Trump's favorite epithet for black people) may be a red line that Trump crossed at great risk as LeBron is very popular among Trump's base of dead-enders.

Finally, Hope Hicks--

This one I don't get. If they are fooling around, Air Force One is not the best place for that. But perhaps because the Mueller probe is closing in fast (there's the Manafort trial underway, new threatening information about the collusion meeting in Trump Tower (Trump finally admitting yesterday it was about getting dirt on "an opponent"), Michael Cohn leaking one of his tapes, and the deposing of Trump's H&R Block accountant, the president is unraveling. The various rallies at which he recently appeared exposed a seemingly desperate man fighting for his life. Holding Hope's hand and being assured by her how wonderful he is and how unfair everyone is being to him could be a version of just what the doctor ordered. That is, if Trump had a real doctor.

So, in spite of Rona thinking this is a carefully choreographed piece of political manipulation designed to show Trump's compassion for children in order to offset the hemorrhaging of support for Trump among women, I am inclined to see it as every woman for herself.

For them it's about life after Trump. Five minutes after he leaves the White House Melania, understandably, will be looking to cash in her prenup and be rid of him. Can you imagine what even one day with him must be like for her?

Ivanka had or has an independent life in New York City among the wealthy, progressive, youthful elite. She needs to beat a path back to them if she wants to resume life as she knew it. But don't expect this to work. She could by now be toxic.

Hope? I suspect she will be the last one to walk away. There is something between them that is even stronger than family. If you're inclined, she's the one to feel sorry for.

With Hope Hicks

March 20, 2015--Betty Carol's (Concluded)

There were not just a few folks squeezed together at a table by the window. The rest of the place was bustling. There were about ten tables and all but one, which we slipped into, were full. And opposite an open kitchen, along a counter, there were six stools, five of which were occupied. There was also a line at the counter of at least six men waiting to pick up takeout food.

The grill was sizzling and at least half the people were talking simultaneously so the place had a homey buzz. And the aromas emerging from the kitchen incited our appetites, which on their own were quite advanced.

"Are you sure it's almost ten o'clock Rona whispered. "I mean, look at this place. Lumberton seems to be quite a small town and it feels as if half the people who live here must be having breakfast."

"And, it looks as if they all know each other."

There was lots of cross table talk as well as joshing and back slapping at the counter. Black and white together, though at the tables white folks appeared to be sitting primarily with other white folks and the same was true for the black customers. But there was enough cross-race byplay to make it feel far from segregated. I was reminded of the fact that Greensboro, where the lunch-counter sit-in movement began in the 1960s, was not that distant.

"How far we've come," I said to as if myself. But I know Rona heard me, understood, and nodded.

"Let's order," she said. "I'm starving and could go for some eggs and grits."

"Me too," I said. "And I see they have country ham. My favorite. All for $4.75. You can't beat that price."

"Don't get used to it," Rona said, "We're headed to Manhattan where, if we go to Balthazar for breakfast, half a grapefruit costs $11.00."

"Maybe more," I said."We were there three months ago and there's inflation to consider." I was attempting to make a joke.

"Let's just enjoy ourselves," Rona said, "and for once not think about the cost of things."

By then one of the waitresses came by with a steaming pot of coffee. With a smile she poured two cups and said she'd be back in a minute to take our orders. And as promised, she was and we both ordered scrambled eggs, grits, country ham, and homemade biscuits.

Looking over at the table behind Rona I ogled the stack of biscuits. The man who had ordered them winked as if to assure us that we chosen wisely. And um, um did we ever. The eggs came perfectly scrambled, floating on top of a large plate of anything-but-instant grits; and a sliver of country ham, just as leathery as I like it, accompanied it on a second dish with our own stack of biscuits.

Everything was delicious and as we gobbled the food the waitress returned repeatedly to refill our cups. Though it was easy to see that we were not locals, in fact from the location of Betty Carol's and the fact that Lumberton has few if any tourist or historic sites (I learned later that it was the setting for David Lynch's Blue Velvet) anyone unfamiliar had to be from out of town. But, as a sweet courtesy she asked, "Are you from here?"

"Not really," Rona said. "We're from the city. I mean, New York City."

"Now that's some place to be from," she smiled broadly. "I think about getting up there one of these days. I have family in New York."

"Where's that?" I asked.

"Never been there but my mother says right by the capital."

"That would be Albany."

"That's what she thinks. She's never been there neither. It's just somethin' we time-to-time think about doing. Helps keep us going."

"Well, if you do visit, try to work in a few days in New York City. It's not that far from Albany," Rona added.

"They say things up there cost a lot." I thought again about the $11.00 grapefruit.

"True enough. But if it's . . ."

"Be right by, honey. They're makin' a racket over there. Can't pour 'em coffee fast enough. If that was me, you'd have to carry me out a here, what with all that caffeine. But I'll be right back."

While she was serving the men at the counter, the stream of people coming in for takeout didn't abate, though it was getting close to the time they shut down breakfast and switch to a buffet lunch. Having noticed that, Rona and I had wondered if we should stop eating our breakfast and also think about lunch. I had gone to the bathroom and needed to skirt by where they were cooking fried chicken and okra for the buffet. I had reported to Rona what was in the works.

"All you can eat for only seven dollars," I said.

"There you go again talking about the cost of things. Can't we just . . ."

Before she could finish her thought our waitress returned, still smiling. "All the fellas are askin' 'bout you. Specially when I told them where you're from. Jackie over there, the one dressed like Snoop Dogg--the one standin' by George-Willie--he has been tryin' to make things happen for himself here but there's nothing going on but this." She swept the room with a broad gesture. "Which is not big enough for him."

"What does he do?" Rona asked. I saw that he did in fact look a lot like Snoop Dogg. Minimally he was inspired by him.

"A musician," she sighed. "All the boys here are either musicians or playing basketball. Hoping they'll get a ticket out a here. Though as you can see, folks seem pretty happy to be in this place. Not just at Betty Carol's but in this town too. We do our complainin' but it's not such a bad place to be. Look around. People from all walks get along. Mind you, it's not perfect. What place is? But life's good here. Still, I understand. I have a couple of boys myself and all I hear about are LeBron James and Jay-Z. A lot of these boys don't want to work timbering or in one of the plants or do healthcare work. They have big dreams. Though I tell my boys it's the quality of life that counts. Family first but then there are all these fine folks here who have figured out how to live together. To my mind that counts for something.'"

"It does for me too," I said. "Those are good values."

"You folks plannin' on staying for lunch? Horace over there he makes some mean fried chicken."

"I'm all full up," Rona said. Her dish looked as if she has scraped it. "Maybe we'll take some with us to nibble on the road."

"Sounds good to me," the waitress said, all excited. "By the way, my name's Mary." She reached out to shake both our hands as we also introduced ourselves. "You prefer white or dark?"

"How 'bout a mix of both?" I said.

"Perfect choice," she said. "I'll have it for you in a minute. In the meantime, can I pour you some more coffee?"

"I've had more than my quota," I said, covering my cup with my hand.

"By the way," she said, "today's my 45th birthday. I know I don't look it," she laughed, "Gettin' to know you is my favorite present."

Back in the car, Rona said, "What did you mean about no one having any teeth? That wasn't very nice. They all looked fine to me. Mostly quite spiffy. Including that Snoop fellow. He had the Dogg's act down perfectly."

March 6, 2015--LeBron

I used to be the star of  my PS 244 basketball team. Not because I was that good but because I was overgrown--a full 6-4 at age twelve and stood a head above the other sons of Eastern European immigrants. Thankfully I didn't get much taller. My father, however, was disappointed. He was hoping I'd get a basketball scholarship to pay for college or, as a backup, a job at the the Ringling Brothers sideshow.

Therefore, and in spite of this, I have been a lifelong basketball fan. Less so, I admit, in recent years when my New York Knicks have become such a dysfunctional disgrace. For example, they lost the other night by 38 points.

Thus, it wasn't until this past Sunday, with the NBA season two-thirds over, that I watched my first game, the second half of the Huston Rockets-Cleveland Cavaliers showdown. I tuned in mostly because James Harden was playing for the Rockets and of course LeBron James for the Cavs. Perhaps the two best players currently plying the hardcourt.

I'm not good at remembering scores, but when I tuned in early in the third quarter, the Rockets we up by about 10 points. From a King James perspective that was essentially a tied game since at any moment he could go on a 14-0 run and the Cavs would as a result coast into the lead, which, with LeBron in charge, would essentially mean Game Over.

It didn't turn out that way. The score seesawed back and forth well into the fourth quarter and, at the end of it, was tied and there was a five-minute overtime. James Time, I thought. Game Over.

Wrong again. The Rockets wound up on top because LeBron messed up in all aspects of the game--his defense was suspect, he couldn't make crucial baskets, and even worse missed six of his last seven free throws. He's a 78 percent foul shooter so this was unexpected. Perhaps it was the result of his choking.

Though I suspect something else was at issue, something with cultural implications.

The Cavs are not really a team but rather a stage on which LeBron James is the only star.

James Time, unlike Michael Jordan Time, does not include or involve other teammates nor does James' brilliance and will to win lift his teammates' performance.

Here's the way the last ten minutes of Cavs' games proceed--

When they have the ball, James slowly dribbles it into the forecourt. His other four teammates retreat to the four corners of the other team's defensive end. James holds onto the ball, counting down the seconds on the shot clock. With 8-10 remaining, with his teammates continuing to stand far out of the way, he begins to attack the basket. Again, unlike Jordan, he rarely passes off even when he is triple-teamed and the other Cavs are wide open. He relentlessly elbows his way to the rim and throws up a shot, hoping to score or at the minimum get fouled.

The other night, since he was not making his free throws, the Rockets hacked him and he went to the foul line line where he repeatedly missed his attempts. As a result, the Rockets won by two points--105 to 103.

In my day, and among some current retro-NBA teams, basketball was a team game. Yes, there were stars but with the better teams all five players were involved, had chances to touch the ball and even shoot. There was no standing around as if they were an retinue of acolytes.

In the age of over-praise and social media, especially Facebook and Instagram. it is no wonder LeBron James refers to himself as the King.

For me--I can't wait for the baseball season to begin.

October 28, 2014--Gar-bage Time

It's Gar-bage Time in Washington, with the emphasis on the second syllable--Gar-bage.

As a basketball enthusiast, Obama knows about Gar-bage Time. It is now that time for Barack Obama and his administration.

In the NBA it's when LeBron James' team is 30 point ahead in the fourth and final quarter. Rather than continuing to run up the score and thereby taunt and humiliate their opponent, it's when the coach puts in the third stringers and they run up and down the court for the final 10 minutes making fools of themselves.

In this case, the Obama administration is 30 points behind and there's only a little over two years left in his term. He's entering the fourth quarter of his eight-year term.

I know, this will feel like an eternity. Just as it always does during Gar-bage Time. But with Obama there are things he and his team can do to avoid making fools of themselves.

Before turning to that, to drive home the basketball analogy, in 2004, just before delivering the keynote speech at the Democratic National Convention that launched him--the "One America" speech--to pump himself up as well as to give us a rare glimpse of his ego, Obama proclaimed, "I'm LeBron, baby. I can play at this level. I got some game."

He really said that.

That may have influenced the Nobel Prize Committee, which in 2009 awarded him a premature Peace Prize, but for those of us paying attention during the first three quarters, Obama's initial six years, to paraphrase Lloyd Benson's barb delivered to his hapless VP opponent Dan Quayle, who had the chutzpah to compare himself to John F. Kennedy, "I know LeBron James, and with all due respect, Mr. President, you're no LeBron James. In fact, you don't have that much game."

I should add that Quayle, George H.W. Bush's VP nominee, actually won.

Overnight I was thinking about what the first Wikipedia paragraph will say about post-presidential Barack Obama. Currently, the first sentence says he is the "first African American too hold the office of President." I assume that will remain and certainly the first paragraph will include Obamacare; but when it then comes to sum up the rest of the essence of his presidency, to highlight his major achievements, these will include extracting us from two George W. Bush wars, finally tracking down and killing Osama bin Laden, and playing a leading role--even before he was elected--in supporting measures to prevent the Great Recession from becoming the Second Great Depression.

Then, the rest of the Wiki entry will be a list of disappointments and out-and-out failures.  Here's a list--

The Obamacare rollout
The VA hospital scandal
The IRS scandal
The Arab Spring which quickly devolved into the Arab Winter
The Ebola response
The return of the Cold War
Reupping the Patriot Act and expanding its use
Supporting the extension of Bush's tax cuts
Edward Snowdon
Red Lines in Syria
Angela Merkel's cell phone
Losing the Democrat majority in the House and, soon, the Senate

So, in the face of this and the public's disenchantment with him, how can Obama avoid two-plus years of Gar-bage Time?

By being bold. Show that like LeBron you do have game.

Prodded by Nancy Reagan, Ronald Reagan during the doldrums of the last year's of his presidency, in the midst of Iran-Contragate, made a deal with the Soviets to effectively end the Cold War.

I can only imagine what Michele is now pushing for--

• An easy one--bring Cuba back into the fold of Western nations
• Stop the continuing flood of deportations being carried out by your administration and stand up forcefully and repeatedly for the "rights" of undocumented immigrants who are essential to our economy
• Put what little is left of your political capital on the line and honor your Nobel by personally and directly intervening in the Arab-Israel nightmare. If necessary, begin the process of cutting Israel loose since they are at the heart of the ongoing problem. Ignore the Israel Lobby. You don't need them. You're not running for anything anymore.
• Reiterate your agenda even though there is no chance whatsoever of any of it being enacted into law. Maybe some of your lofty ideas will influence future presidents. As with Teddy Roosevelt.
• Speak more about race. Reread your own amazing speech delivered during the heat of the Reverend Wright affair and get back to those themes. Many of us think much of your problem with Congress and with too many Americans is lingering racism. Who other than you can do this in ways to help get more of that malignant affliction behind us. 
• Most important, devote much of your remaining time talking about the American Dream to disaffiliated young people. Poor, middle class, and wealthy. Too many of them fear for the future. And they are right to do so. Someone has to help them understand what is happening and figure out how to deal with a host of new realities. 

Or, you can continue to drag yourself dispiritedly up and down the court, feeling sorry for yourself, running down the clock. And, one more thing, put Air Force One in the hanger and if you go anywhere travel commercial.

February 19, 2014--The $44.2 Million Man

In this land of plenty, salaries are outrageous. Especially at the low end.

The current federal minimum wage is $7.25 and hour, which means that if you have a 40-hour-a-week minimum-wage job you make $15,080 a year. Well below the poverty level of $23,550 for a family of four.

At the other end of the spectrum, they are even more outrageous.

Corporate CEOs are among the most extravagantly paid.

Jamie Diamond of JPMorgan Chase, in spite of the fact that on his watch the bank agreed to settle federal lawsuits for $20.0 billion, in 2013 was paid $20.0 million in salary and bonuses. That comes to a neat $9,615 an hour.

Lloyd Blankfein, CEO of Goldman Sachs, in spite of the fact that Goldman was successful sued by the Feds for upwards of $1.0 billion, was paid $14.7 million last year.

Michael Duke, CEO of Walmart, with thousands of stores and hundreds of thousands of employees worldwide, with annual sales topping $470 billion, was paid $20 million in 2013.

The new CEO of General Motors, Mary Barra, will earn $14.4 million this year, partly because GM doesn't want to be accused of sexism if they paid her anything less.

At the higher end of the CEO scale, Tim Cook of Apple, netted a cool $40 million in 2013.

Turning to sports, LeBron James of the Miami Heat is earning earned $19.1 million from the team and will bank much more than that from his various endorsements and TV commercials.

If Alex Rodriquez were permitted to play this year for the New York Yankees, he would have taken home a cool $25 million. Instead, he is suspended for the season because of illegal drug use and will take home zilch. But not to worry, after 2014, the Yanks will still owe him $61 million, whether or not he ever plays another game.

Baseball commissioner Bud Selig made less than A-Rod. "Only" about $18 million.

Gary Bettman, National Hockey League commissioner made a measly $8.3 million in 2012, the last year figures were published.

Then there is the $44.2 million dollar man--Roger Goodell, commissioner of the National Football League, where star quarterback Payton Manning makes "just" $18.0 million per.

Not a bad deal for a league that plays a 16-week season and then a month of playoffs, culminating in the Super Bowl.

What does the NFL commissioner do to justify receiving such an annual fortune? How many auto plants around the world is he responsible for? How many trillions in investments does he manage? And for that matter, how many touchdown passes did Goodell complete? How many quarterback sacks? And has he ever had any concussions?

And what are we talking about? Over-steroided post-adolecents running up and down a field in shoulder pads and helmets. To oversee this they give the commissioner more than $40 million a year? How we have lost our way.

To top off the Goodell story, as reported in the New York Times, there is a part of the NFL that is set up as a not-for-profit. All well and good if that is to fund charitable activities; but it also appears that it is a cover-operation to slip tens of millions to Goodell, whose on-the-books, for-profit salary last year was a paltry $3.5. The rest, nearly $40 million, came from the non-profit organization.

As I said--outrageous.