April 30, 2019--Trump Roast

Trump again Wednesday night absented himself from the White House Correspondents' dinner. The one where presidents traditionally are roasted but then have the last word. The chance to get even with the press and other attendees.

Most of the reporters claim that Trump avoids these affairs because he is still smarting from what Barack Obama said about him in his remarks at the 2011 dinner.

Recall that at the time Trump was still hustling his birther claims. That Obama was not born in the United States, rather in Kenya, and therefore should not have been allowed to run for the presidency. In other words, he was an illegitimate president.

Obama retaliated by mercilessly ripping Trump to pieces in front of the Washington establishment.

Here's a sample--

“I know that Trump’s taken some flack lately, but no one is prouder to put this birth-certificate matter to rest than the Donald. That’s because he can finally get back to the issues that matter, like did we fake the moon landing? What really happened in Roswell? And where are Biggie and Tupac?"

It could well be that Trump doesn't want to open himself to more mockery. But it also could be--and this is my view--that Trump totally lacks a sense of humor. Not just humor at his expense (though with his ego that can't be much fun) but any humor whatsoever.

Can you recall one instance, just one, where he said something funny or laughed heartily at someone else's amusing remark? At most with Trump we see an occasional frozen smile that is more grimace than chuckle.

In contrast, recall how much FDR, John Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, and Barack Obama enjoyed a laugh or two. Even those at their own expense.

Also recall that all of these presidents had dogs. Even humorless Nixon had one. Checkers. 

So Trump has no dog and no sense of humor.

It also may be that Trump's total lack of humor suggests he has Asperger's Syndrome (AS), a developmental disorder characterized by significant difficulties in social interaction and nonverbal communication, along with restricted and repetitive patterns of behavior and interests.

Humor, specifically jokes, involve cognitive capacities that are often challenging for individuals with Asperger's.  According to researchers who have studied the nature of humor, flexible thinking is important to understanding jokes. Punchlines in jokes are funny partly because they are unexpected. Additionally, according to these researchers, big picture thinking is essential in understanding jokes, as it allows the listener to understand how the surprising punchline coheres with the joke's set up. 

As individuals with AS often demonstrate rigid thinking, a desire for sameness, and difficulty with sustained thought, it seems that individuals with Asperger's would have difficulty reacting to and employing even simple forms of humor.

About humor, at the end of Annie Hall, Woody Allen looks directly into the camera and says--

"It reminds me of that old joke--you know, a guy walks into a psychiatrist's office and says, 'Hey doc, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken.' Then the doc says, 'Why don't you turn him in?' Then the guy says, 'I would, but we need the eggs.'"

Allen was talking about how no matter how crazy they can be we need relationships.

We also need humor. But when it comes to Trump, I wouldn't expect any eggs.

October 16, 2017--Whatever Happened to ISIS?

It wasn't very long ago that ISIS or ISIL or the Islamic State caused widespread fear in the Middle East and the West. Very much including in the United States.

Almost daily, for many months, ISIS would release a video of the hideous torture and beheading of captured Americans, Europeans, and Muslims. The map of the area showed ISIS's metastasis occurring as more and more territory fell before its brutal, seemingly unstoppable anschluss.

As recently as 2014, ISIS declared itself a caliphate. Which meant that they claimed religious, political, and military authority over all Muslims. All Muslins worldwide. In the region (beginning in expanding parts of Iraq and Syria) with visions of taking over all of the Middle East and ultimately at least as much of Africa and Europe as the previous caliphate of the 7th through 15th centuries occupied.

This terrifying aspiration did not seem far fetched. 

The Iraqis, torn by internal strife between the Shia majority and the Sunnis (who joined ISIS in large numbers), the Iraqi government and military felt powerless to resist. Syria was torn by a hopeless civil war and resisted becoming involved; and no one in the West, including the United States during the last years of the Obama administration, had a response that felt credible. 

And then there were the Russians who saw this divisiveness and chaos as an opportunity to exert influence and even dominance.

But then toward the end of the Obama years and continued and expanded during the early months of the Trump administration--yes, that administration--the U.S. military did two things that appear to have been decisive--somehow after more than a decade of frustration, we were able to train elements of the Iraqi army to actually fight effectively and supplied close-in tactical air support as they took on the previously unvanquished ISIS fighters. 

Slowly the map of the area controlled viciously by ISIS began to contract. As recently as last week the last of their caliphate strongholds, Hawija, fell to the Iraqis. Thousands while retreating were killed and then, rather than dying a martyrs' death, other thousands surrendered, mainly to Kurdish forces who have been in the mix as critical fighters.

A few things--

First--ISIS will continue to inspire and take credit for individual acts of terrorism. As hideous as this it, it's not a caliphate.

Then--though Donald Trump has a checklist of Obama initiatives and achievements that he has made his agenda--to obliterate Obama's political and historical existence is what more than anything else guides Trump. But in spite of this, in regard to ISIS, his military people saw an effective strategy and Trump doubled-down on it. Soon he will be all over Twitter and the media taking credit for "defeating" ISIS. What he boasted during the election campaign.

He is entitled to some of that credit. This is culminating on his, forgive me, watch. Maybe, doubtful, but maybe he will learn something from this--about the big things (war and peace) he might act more moderately than what many are fearing. North Korea a case in point?

Last--seemingly hopeless situations can at times resolve themselves. 

Hawija

February 24, 2017--Jack, On Immigrants

"So tell me what you and your friends would do about the more than 10 million illegal immigrants."

It was the morning after the Trump administration unveiled a new executive order that outlined plans to round up and deport millions of undocumented workers and their families and Jack was sounding excited.

Before I could respond, he continued, "My boy was back on his heels last week what with the Flynn fiasco, Kellyanne Conway, and that press conference. But with this he's back. And the general he appointed to replace that crazy Flynn is everyone's favorite. Even your crowd's."

"Well I do agree about General McMaster but about the immigration executive order, I'm not so sure."

"Perfect bleeding heart material for you liberals. Feeling sorry for all those displaced Latin Americans. See, I didn't say 'Mexicans.'" I sensed that made him feel good about himself. "But we've got a lot of problems and needs of our own not to have to worry too much about them."

"Well, they're here and for the most part are hard working and law-abiding. I just read that the crime rate among undocumented people is actually lower than among citizens."

"Probably from your New York Times. But aren't they all doing illegal things? I mean, just being in the country without documents or visas is itself illegal."

"So you'd round up everyone? Even the so-called Dreamers? Young people who were brought to America when they were very young children?"

"Maybe not them and as I understand it for some time at least the Trump immigration police will leave them alone."

"Just send their parents back?" I hope he heard my sarcasm.

"You know your American history."

"And?"

"And wasn't it true that when your grandparents as well as mine came to America, because they didn't have the money, many left family members behind? Isn't that a version of the same thing? Isn't it in the nature of immigration itself?"

"I'll have to think about that some more. But it is true that for almost everyone--though they faced a lot of discrimination--they had legal status. They in most cases were sort of welcomed here as laborers, to build railroads, or settle and work on farms in the Midwest."

"Don't we have a guest worker program here that allows people to legally cross borders so they can work on farms and restaurants?"

"We do," I acknowledged.

"But we're getting sidetracked," Jack said. "I come back to my initial question--what would you do about the millions and millions of illegal immigrants? And I should remind you that your president Obama was the deporter-in-chief. He rounded up and sent back about two and a half million. More in total than all his predecessors combined."

"That's true but he didn't do it in the same kind of mean-spirited way. Unlike your president." It upset me that I was beginning to sound like Jack.

"Sure, Obama didn't publicize it because he didn't want to get legal Hispanic-Americans all upset. He wanted their votes. And pretty much got them."

"Can we forget Obama? Trump is now our president, so let's limit ourselves to what he's doing. Not much good as I see things."

"So you're Ok with all the illegals living here, sending their kids to our schools and hospitals, and . . ."

"The evidence is overwhelming that from an economic point of view, from a cost-benefit perspective, immigrants, even undocumented ones, contribute more that they get in government services. In other words, in bottom line terms, we get more in return than we pay out. Also, most of the unassimilated immigrants do work that, forgive the expression, real Americans don't want. Like a lot of the restaurant and field work. How many Americans do you know who want to wash dishes, cut lawns, or pick lettuce?"

Jack was silent so I said, "I take that to mean you don't know too many field hands who are citizens."

"Up here plenty of the farmers are Mainers. But to tell you the truth there are also a lot of Hispanic agricultural workers. Again, we keep getting off the subject. So let me try again--what would you do about the millions of illegals? Just let them be? Make them all citizens?"

"First of all, can you find another name for them. 'Illegals' sounds really nasty."

"Let me come at this another way. You live half the year in New York City, right?"

"Right, but where are you going with this?"

"You're a so-called sanctuary city, right?"

"Right. But again?"

"Which means that you don't cooperate with federal immigration enforcement people."

"Not entirely true because if an undocumented person commits a felony in most cases they do get turned over to the ICE people."

"But basically, if they obey the law, illegals, sorry, illegal immigrants, can stay in the city as long as they want, get drivers licenses, have any kind of job, etcetera."

"Basically true. And most New Yorkers are fine with that. In fact, we feel good about being welcoming and tolerant."

"We're not talking abut refugees, right, but people who came here or overstayed their visas to live and work?"

"Again, I don't have all day so can you get to your point because it feels as if you're building up to some revelation."

"I'll cut to the chase."

"At last." I was feeling exasperated with Jack. I liked him better when he didn't call so much. I did have things I wanted to get to and he has the ability to get under my skin.

"You have any immigrants living in your building?"

"I haven't checked but I assume so."

"They'd have to be rich ones, right, considering how much apartments sell for?"

"That's true," I admitted.

"So you're OK with where you're living?"

"Pretty much."

"It doesn't disturb you that your place isn't diverse?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"That everyone, I assume, is pretty much like you? All rich and . . . "

"There are some who have lived here for decades, before prices shot through the roof, and they are more modest than most of the rest of us. And again, your point is?"

"That you live pretty isolated from your typical illegal immigrant. My guess is, and it's an easy one, that you don't have any Mexicans who snuck across the border living in your building."

"Could be."

"And so this subject for you is pretty theoretical because the only illegals you maybe encounter are working in restaurants, cleaning up after you're finished with dinner?"

"Could be." I was starting to feel defensive.

"I'll bet you don't wake up in the morning and meet any in your elevator when you're heading out for breakfast. Except if someone is renovating their apartment and some of the illegal construction workers are around."

"Could be."

"How would you feel if somehow one morning you woke up and half the apartments in your building were occupied by Guatemalan or Syrian refugees?"

"That is . . . ," I sputtered.

"Go on. You can say it. You'd hate it."

"I don't know. This is all so crazy."

"But it's not theoretical to people here in Lewiston, Maine, where more than 5,000 refugees have been relocated. Altogether, including the refugees, there are only about 35,000 living in Lewiston. Some for generations. They wake up in the morning and see their neighborhoods and downtown turning into Somali enclaves. Ask them, from your Manhattan sanctuary, how they feel about that. And these are good people. But it's not how most want to live."

"But other places like Buffalo, New York, seem to be welcoming refugees and undocumented people because they contribute to their economy. Things are pretty bleak up there and new arrivals rent places, do the work that a lot of local people don't want to do, and buy things from Buffalo merchants. So it appears that it's good all around."

"I read about that too. In your Sunday Times, and I get it. But in just as many places, again like Lewiston, nobody asked the local people what they wanted. Refugees from Somalia just began to show up with the assistance of the U.S. government."

"I can understand that. I want us to be welcoming but local people should have a say in relocation programs. And I'll concede that refugees are not the same as undocumented people."

"As long as they don't move into you building."

I was out of gas and didn't respond.

"I hear you, you've got other things to do. I'll call you next week."

I said to myself, "If you must."

Somalis In Lewiston Maine

January 12, 2017--The Obama Bubble

I continue to hear from some friends that I am spending too much time criticizing progressives and not enough taking on Donald Trump.

Guilty as charged.

As I have said repeatedly, I plan to wait to see how Trump actually governs before getting too agitated about what he might do. And between now and then, I plan to continue to seek understanding about what happened in November, actually what happened politically in America the past few decades, turning my attention to what Democrats did to inadvertently assist Trump's victory and recommend ways in which we might act to recapture that part of the electorate who have been traditional Democrats but who this time voted for Trump.

On Tuesday night, in his farewell address, President Obama focused on some of these same concerns.

As reported by Yahoo News, he warned that only renewed citizen engagement can save American democracy from the threats of economic dislocation, racial resentment, and the hyper-partisanship that festers inside insulated "bubbles" where everyone looks and thinks the same.

Obama said--

That's what our democracy demands: it needs you. Not just when there's an election, not just when your own narrow interest is at stake, but over the full span of a lifetime. 

If you're tired of arguing with strangers on the Internet, try talking with one of them in real life. If something needs fixing, then lace up your shoes and do some organizing. If you're disappointed by your elected officials, grab a clipboard, get some signatures and run for office yourself. Show up. Dive in. Stay at it. 

Sometimes you'll win. Sometimes you'll lose. More often than not, your faith in America--and in Americans--will be confirmed.

Great speech. He told it like it is and offered some needed tough love.

 

September 9, 2015--Take My Husband, Please

Suddenly everyone is talking about funny.

Last night Stephen Colbert took over the Late Show. People have been anticipating and talking about it for nine long, long months. Would he be as funny being Stephen Colbert as he was inhabiting his crazed right-wing persona? People wondered if what we will get on CBS as opposed to the Comedy Channel will be the "real" Colbert.

Illusion and reality. Remember that from your introductory college lit course?

We managed to stay up late enough to see at least a little of the new show and it only served to remind me how much I miss his old one. Not that he wasn't funny. It's just that he wasn't so trenchantly and deliriously funny. But time will tell.

It will help if he'll soon move on from all the self-referential shtick that made up so much of last night's monologue.

One of his guests was Jeb Bush, about the least funny, low energy politicians in America. OK, you got me, there's George Pataki. And Ben Carson. And, to be fair and balanced, Martin O'Malley.

These days you can't run for the presidency without appearing on the equivalent of Laugh In (Richard Nixon) or Arsinio Hall (Bill Clinton in shades playing the sax) or John McCain on Saturday Night Live (of course Sarah Palin too--both as herself and in Tina Fey's realer-than-life incarnation).

When he was running, Barack Obama showed up everywhere, from Jay Leno to doing skits on SNL to boogying with Ellen to trading quips with Letterman and Kimmel.

Wooden candidates from Michael Dukakis to Al Gore, some say, lost the presidency because they lacked a sense of humor. They were missing the "likability" factor.

Speaking of likability, do you recall back in 2008 how when candidate Hillary Clinton was faulted for not being likable, during one of the debates, Obama was asked what he thought about that?

With impeccable timing he said, "She's likable [one beat, two beats] enough." He was roundly criticized for that.

But you know (one beat, two beats) he was right.

She was, and is, not a natural politician and thus comes across as not that likable. Which these days can be a fatal problem.

But that's about to change.

Her campaign over the weekend announced that they're going back to the drawing board and the new Hillary Clinton they promised will be likable.

The scripted, extra-careful, humorless Hillary is about to be funny.

And, risking a gender-bending reaction, it was announced she will be more spontaneous. In the words of her campaign managers, she will speak "from the heart."

What they failed to note is that claiming they can just turn on the funny switch and thereby humanize Hillary is further confirmation that her campaign, and the candidate herself, is an artificial construct.

One minute she's sober and presidential, the next she's hanging out in the back of the press bus knocking down beers and cracking jokes with reporters and getting booked on Ellen and The Tonight Show.

How phony will her new personality seem? I suspect she will come across as pandering and desperate. And it will ironically underscore what many think about her--that she's inauthentic.

Yes, Hillary makes fun of her 'dos ("The hair is real, the color isn't"), which is sort of funny, at least the first time you hear it. But the fact that it is now part of her anti-TRUMP stump speech--he clearly has hair issues--makes it less funny every time it's repeated.

Pretty pathetic.

But, hey, this is 2015! Get with it. It's all about social media and because of social media it's all about being cool and likable. And being likable means you have to be funny.

Even if you aren't.

March 25, 2015--Ladies of Forest Trace: Wit & Wisdom Concluded

Here are the final six brief conversations with my mother about Obama, Oy Vey: The Wit and Wisdom of My 107-Year-Old Mother--

Five

“The visiting nurse says I have an infection.”

“I suspected that. The cut on your ankle?”

“It could be worse.”

“Things always could be worse.”

“There you go being philo-physical again.”

“Sometimes I do try to put things in perspective. Hoping that maybe it would help—“

“For me there is only one kind of help.”

Fearing what she might be thinking I cut in to say, “You’re doing fine Mom for—“

“No ‘fors’ or ‘becauses’ tonight. I just want to go to sleep.”

Six

“It has a subtitle.”

“A what?”

“The book, Obama, Oy Vey, has a subtitle so everyone who hears about it, even if they don’t know what oy vey means will—“

“They can talk to me.”

“About?”

“About what I’m an expert in.”

“An expert?”

“An oy vey expert.”

Seven

“So talk to me about this wisdom business. About the wit we don’t have to talk.”

“You mean from the subtitle of my book about you?”

“What other book would I be talking about?  All I can read is the puzzle. And then only the acrosses.”

“You know how they say that one of the good things about getting older is that you acquire wisdom and--”

“About what I am acquiring I’d rather not discuss.”

“I’m not talking about those kinds of things.”

“But those are the things I live with. Every day. That’s my life.”

“I know about how frustrating it is for you to get older and—“

“What then are you talking about? The wisdom. The wit I know you said we are not talking about.”

“Not me. You’re the one who decided that.”

“Decided what? What do I decide these days?” She thought for a moment then added, “Maybe when to lie down.”

I let that pass and said, “What you have learned over all your years, are still learning, and which you are teaching--that’s the wisdom—“

“You call it wisdom when you can’t remember what day it is? How much wisdom is that?”

“Wisdom is not about remembering those kinds of things. It’s about—“

I could tell from her breathing that she had fallen asleep.

Eight

“Give me a for-instance of the wisdom part.”

My mother had returned to our interrupted conversation of a few days ago.

“For instance the time I asked you about Henry Cross.” I could hear her struggling to take in air.

“What a lovely boy. A wonderful family. Do you remember his mother, Bessie Cross?”

“Yes. She took care of me while you went back to work. To teaching. And how Henry slept in my room weekdays so Bessie could have a second job at night.

“And his aunt and uncle. Aunt Sis and Uncle Homer. Wonderful people. Do you remember them?” I knew recalling these times was making my mother happy.

“Yes. And that they came from South Carolina. Were field workers. Henry too during summers. They picked cotton.

“The things they needed to put up with.”

“Not just there,” I said, But here up north as well. Right in our own neighborhood.” I paused to let the memories wash over her. “As an example of your wisdom, do you remember just a few years ago when I told you the story about Henry who, as a Negro, was welcomed on the block where we lived in Brooklyn until he was old enough so that maybe, maybe one of my friend’s sister might be interested in him and then how I was told not to bring him with me when we played street games?”

“I had forgotten that until you reminded me about it.”

“And what did I ask you?” I took the chance to push her to recall something that would frustrate her if she couldn’t remember.

“I remember that too.” Her voice thickened to almost a whisper. “You asked me—“

I felt a gathering of tears and feared I had pressed too hard. So I completed the story for her.

“I asked you what I should have done when Henry was declared to no longer to be allowed to visit and how when he learned that he left East 56^th Street, never to return. And how I let him leave, staying behind with my friends.”

Tears filled my eyes as well.

“I told you that you should have gone with Henry.”

“That’s the for-instance about wisdom you asked about.

Nine

“I’m not much of a reader anymore—except for my puzzle—but there’s one more thing I know.”

“What’s that?”

“That the subplot of your book isn’t true.”

“You mean my subtitle.”

“That’s what I said. It isn’t true. The oy vey book.”

“Obama, Oy Vey: The Wit and Wisdom of My 107-Year-Old Mother.”

“That book.”

“You mean about the wit and wisdom part? I hope you agree that there’s a lot of both and—“

“Not that.”

“Then what’s not true?”

“I’m not your 107-year-old mother.’”

“But you are,” I insisted.

“Not until June.”

It was dawning on me what she had in mind. “I think—“

“Not until the 28^th. June 28^th. Then I’ll be your 107-year-old mother. Until then the book is not true.”

Self-satisfied, she chuckled and hung up.

Ten

“And remember—this I am remembering—now and after I am gone—“

“Do we need to talk about that?”

“Yes, we do.”

“All right then.”

“Now and after I am gone I will love you forever.”

To get information about the book, click below:

http://www.amazon.com/Obama-Oy-Vey-Wisdom-107-Year-Old-ebook/dp/B00UMPGYAS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1427239604&sr=1-1&keywords=steven+zwerling

March 24, 2015--Ladies of Forest Trace: Wit & Wisdom

Here are the first four of ten brief conversations with my mother about my just published book--Obama, Oy Vey: The Wit and Wisdom of My 107-Year-Old Mother.

The other six will be available tomorrow. The link to the book is at the very bottom of this posting:

One

“You’re what?”

I mumbled, “Writing a book.”

“I can’t hear you. My batteries are dying.”

“A book,” I said louder, “I’m writing a book” my mother leaned toward me as if needing to read my lips.

“A book?”

“Yes.”

“About education? Like your other ones?”

“No. This one is different. It’s about--” I was muttering again.

“About your travels? You’ve been everywhere.”

“Not exactly.”

“Whenever I turn around you’re somewhere else. Always running, running.”

“That’s not true, Mom, we spend months here in Florida every year to be close to you. And—“

“And then you run away to who knows where.”

“Also not true. We go to New York then to Maine and then come back here. We’ve been doing that now for seven years, as I said, to be--”

“Be with me. This is what you tell me. While waiting for me to—“

I cut her off. “Not waiting. Just to get away from the cold winters and to be able to see you often while—“

“While the same thing happens to me that happens to my batteries.”

Two

She had me there since what she was saying was, in part, true. It was Rona’s idea seven years ago, when my mother turned 100, that since there would likely not be that much time remaining and we were not obligated to be anywhere particular, why not spend a few months a year close to her and enjoy some of her final days. And now those final days have stretched wonderfully and miraculously to almost seven full years and she is nearly 107.

“So then what is this book about?”

“You.”

“What?”

“You. The book’s about you. About the things we’ve talked about the past six or seven years.”

“About my aches and pains?”

“Some of that. But not that much since you’ve fortunately been blessed not to have too many of those or anything worse.”

“Worse it could always be.”

“And you’re not a complainer like so many—“

“Alta cockers.”

I ignored that and said, “The book is more about how you reflect on the meaning of your very long life, your ideas and concerns about the next generation, the changes you’ve seen, the things you are still looking forward to. Are passionate about.”

“That I can tell you in one sentence.”

“What’s that?”

“That what I look forward to these days is my next nap. So hurry up before I fall asleep on the phone.”

In fact on occasion she has nodded off while we were talking so I rushed to say, “Let me give you an example.”

“Speak louder.”

Three

“Was I dreaming?”

“I don’t know. About what?”

“What else.”

I knew about the what-else. “That’s understandable, Mom. After all—“ I was struggling to be honest but couldn’t bring myself to be. For what purpose, I asked myself. Sometimes it makes more sense to ignore and pretend.

“Did you say you’re writing a book?”

“Yes.”

“So I do remember things. One or two things.” She chuckled.

“More than that.” That at least was half true.

“About me?”

“Yes. And me. The things we’ve been talking about. For years. How much you’ve taught me and--”

“Now all I have to talk about is what they make me for lunch. Cottage cheese and fruit and sometimes chicken soup. About this I know and talk about. So about cottage cheese you’re writing a book?

“Not exactly.”

Four

“What’s it called then? The book.”

“I’m not sure you’ll like the title or some of the things I’ve written. But still I want you to know what it’s about.”

“I don’t have all day so just—“

“Obama, Oy Vey.”

“What’s that?”

“That’s what the publisher is calling it.”

“I know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The goyim won’t buy it.”

To get information about Obama, Oy Vey, click below--

http://www.amazon.com/Obama-Oy-Vey-Wisdom-107-Year-Old-ebook/dp/B00UMPGYAS/ref=sr_1_sc_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426862310&sr=1-1-spell&keywords=steven+zwerlinc