Name That Donald

Announcing a new contest, right here on Mad Dog Democrat: Name That Donald.

As we all know, the Donald has named "Crooked Hillary" and throughout the primaries he came up with catchy little derisive epithets which had the effect of sticking with his opponents and pricking them.


Here's a speech for Hillary to give on this topic:

Ms. Clinton:

Fellow citizens: I have been considering how to respond to Mr. Trump's name calling style of campaigning and I have been looking for a way to describe Mr. Trump as he has insisted on describing me as "Crooked Hillary."  Of course, I am trying to stand especially straight as I speak, but I realize a nickname is a tough thing to shake, as anyone who has a younger sister named "Pooky" or a brother named "Sparky" can attest.  
Nobody ever called me "Crooked" growing up. In fact, I had some trouble shaking the goody two shoes image, as a kid. So maybe "crooked" isn't so bad. 

But now I consider how to respond when considering Mr. Trump. 

1/As I think of Mr. Trump's typical approach to public speaking, that style which whips up the Ku Klu Klan members in the crowd, the Birthers, the White supremacist elements down in the front rows:    There we hear Dim Donald or the variation Dimwit Donald and Donald Dimwit and   Dumb it down Donald and Duh, Donald and Dumb and Dumber Donald. or simply: Brain Dead Donald

2/ Then there is Mr. Trump  as he works his way through his Miss Universe contestants:  Debauched Donald, Decadent Donald. Dissolute Donald. 

3/ Or then there is Mr. Trumps claims to have been a great businessman while bankrupting his Atlantic City casinos: Deceitful Donald. Diabolic Donald. Duplicitous Donald.

4. How do we describe the man with his  plans to make Mexico pay for the wall:  Deranged Donald?

5. Of course there is the candidate who describes me as the worst Secretary of State ever: Desperate Donald.

6. But then, think of Mr. Trump trying to stay on subject while he delivers  any kind of a policy speech: Dysfunctional Donald.


More research needs to be done.

Thank you, I appreciate your willingness to listen to the woman who Mr. Trump describes as crooked. Considering the source, I take that as a compliment.

Lilac Days on the Seacoast

Usually, I head for the beach on my bicycle, but the past few weeks, I've headed inland, taking old country roads through Kensington to Exeter.  This week the lilacs have been in bloom, lining the roadside and perfuming the air. Spring has come in fits and starts, but mostly it's been cool, in the 60's. That's fine, because the days are dry and clear and it's easy to ride without getting dehydrated.

The horses along the way are getting to know me. They lift their heads, but they no longer trot away from the fences along the road. They snort: "Oh, it's just him. That dumb guy on his bicycle." 

I keep my iPod plugged in, and listen to my playlists.  Randy Newman is wonderful on long bike rides. How could I have missed so much Randy Newman all these years?  For two hours I have him to myself. And George Carlin. And boogie woogie musicians I cannot even name, and did you know Jonny Rivers did the best "Rockin Pneumonia and Boogie Woogie Flu" ever?  

I had a friend I used to walk with, along the Potomac River, along the C&O canal towpath, and he was appalled by people walking in all that primal splendor wearing head phones. You had the chittering of Kingfishers, the rat-a-tat of piliated woodpeckers, the rush of the river, the wind in the trees. Why would you want to block all that out?  

I never argued with him.  But when I walked alone with my dog, I plugged in. Stevie Wonder,  Ritchie Havens, Ray Charles, Joe Cocker. Have you ever listened to the piano player in Cocker's band?   What a marvelous age we live in.  A piano player plays in England and I can walk along the Potomac, deep in woods inhabited by foxes, muskrats, beaver, deer, listening to what that guy did on Abbey Road. 

Sometime in the early 1960's I asked my father what age, what time in history, he would have liked to live in. He was sitting in his leather sling chair, reading. He read. That's mostly what he did, as far as I could see. He did not play ball or fish or hike. He read.  
When I was tired enough, I read, too. History was my favorite.  The Civil War, of course, was in my blood, growing up where I did. I fantasized about hanging out with Lincoln. From my house in Maryland, I could have walked to his house, less than 10 miles away. I would have just watched him and listened. I might have advised him. (Get rid of those loser generals. Get to Grant and Sherman.) You could just hang around the White House then. Or, the age of knights and kings. Or maybe, the age of exploration, in sailing ships. 

My father put down his book briefly and looked at me, one of those rare occasions when he seemed to notice me.  It wasn't often I asked a question he considered interesting, as far as I could tell, but he said, "Well, this age."  He did not seem annoyed at the moment, to have been interrupted. The question was not without some merit. "The present," he affirmed.  "This is the best time to have ever lived."

"What?" I sputtered.  With all the nuclear bombs ready to drop on us? With racism in every city?"
"Every age has been beset with hate, fear and terror.  We've made progress and we benefit from it now."

He picked up  his book  and returned to whatever he was reading. 

I wandered off considering that 1960 might in fact be a better time to be alive than 1860.  In 1960, Lincoln's beloved son would not have died from typhoid. We had better sanitation and antibiotics.  My father saw the virtue of the present where I had lived in the romantic past. 

Now, I remember that, as I pedal along the roads of Rockingham County, New Hampshire. 

Why Trump Can't Lose

Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public, H.L. Menken reminded us. 

Now, as we look at Secretary Clinton sputtering and fuming in frustration, and we see how well the tactic of becoming an eight year old works for the Donald, we can see the future and it is grim. 

Like many insiders, Hillary Clinton has lost the capacity to see herself from the outside.  She simply ignores her greatest lesion--she appears to be part of the system which Bernie Sanders and even Trump depict as corrupt.

Central to all this are those speeches she made millions giving at $250,000 a pop. Well, we all do it, she says. Obama did it. 

But that's the problem. For the assembly line worker in Methuen, saying, "Well, it was perfectly legal," does not work.  To the assembly line worker, the idea of a politician calling up a CEO and asking for a few thousand dollars for his "war chest"  or for the party coffers looks indistinguishable from asking for a bribe.  

And Hillary says, "Sure. I did what everyone does."

Then, says the woman on the line, everyone ought to be thrown out. You're all crooks.

It doesn't matter to that lady on the line if Trump says keep all the Muslims out. She doesn't like what the Pope says about divorce, or contraception, and she may not like that her gay son cannot take communion, but she's still a Catholic. She can accommodate a lot of things she doesn't like in authority figures, as long as the things she sees as most important are still intact. So, if Trump is a guy who chases skirts, or calls illegal Mexican immigrants rapists, or wants to halt Muslims at the borders until we can figure out a way to screen them, well, how different is that from what the Democrat running for Senate in New Hampshire has said?


The fact is, as the candidate Trump focuses his attacks on Crooked Hillary, he can slide away from his xenophobia, from anything, because he lives in the moment, in the present. He can't remember what he said yesterday.

Hillary lives in the past. So she beats on, a boat against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
.

Marketing the Anti Trump

Where can I get this puppet?

surely, there must be a way.  It's simply a matter of getting Don Draper together with Bernie Sanders and Bernie Frank and Elizabeth Warren and Warren Buffet and maybe James Taylor and Susan Sarandon and Loren Michael and some local Hampton Democrats and we'll all sit around Smutty Nose brewery one night and come up with a Saturday Night live version of the Donald, which we can package as 30 second ads in a campaign which will be so revealing and so compelling and so truthful that even the dimmest citizen, even the guy who was all set to vote for The Donald because, well, he hasn't thought much beyond that marketing campaign from the Donald which has captured the prevailing narrative.  The Donald marketing campaign: Make America great (White) again,  and we'll all be winners and the Democrats are the party of Disaster.  It's all out there.

All we need is a well crafted answer.

In the Oval Office

And, just as important, we must do the same for Kelly Ayotte, who is actually a much more difficult problem, because, unlike The Donald, she is very careful to present herself as completely safe and conventional. 
Kelly, as the quintessential  all American girl, a mother who raised a warrior son. A sweet woman, who  became a hard nosed prosecutor before she went off to the United States Senate where she became the dream girl of the Tea Party Republicans, and dated Joe Arpaio, the toughest sheriff in the country, the guy who rounded up all those illegal alien rapists and paraded them down the street in pink underpants. She became the poster girl for every Right Wing nut, and she played around with the good ol' boys from the South, while the folks back home in New Hampshire thought she was just attending Senate hearings and keeping her nose clean and powdered.

Is this a mask or a puppet?

This may be, as Don Draper once observed, one of those things which looks easy, which everyone thinks he could do, coming up with a few, succinct ideas and images which illuminate, but actually, it's maybe not so easy. 

Scott Brown: Don't Cry For Me, Massachusetts

After all, everyone from SNL to Stephen Colbert to Rachel Madow has had a crack at the Donald, but nothing has so much as pricked his surface. He is Kevlar coated. The guys who believe in him (and they are mostly guys) cannot be shown the emperor no matter how nakedly inane he may be. 

But what about that part of the slumbering electorate who hasn't formed a clear opinion? 

That's the puppet we need

Is there time? Is there a way?

New Hampshire In the South

May 19, 1864,  the battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse ground to a surly conclusion.  Grant disengaged his army from the bloody fighting with Lee and moved South, toward Richmond.  He predecessors had always retreated north, licking their wounds when beaten by Lee in Virginia, but Grant simply rolled away and moved South, hoping to draw Lee out of the Wilderness and into the open.  Grant had lost 33,000 soldiers and Lee 18,000.  But Grant had more soldiers and his plan was simply to keep fighting Lee, not to capture Richmond but to destroy the Army of Northern Virginia. 

With his army were men from New Hampshire. There had been men from New Hampshire at Gettysburg, and there were men from New Hampshire in Louisiana. 

They died from measles, diptheria, hepatitis, farm boys who had no immunity to diseases found among crowds.  And they died of malaria in the tropical South.  Some died from bullets and explosives. 

Why did they leave New Hampshire?  How did so many individuals decided to sign up, to march off to war? 

You see their names in the rolls and in the casualty lists: Blake, Foye, Marston, Philbrick, Batchelder, Merrill, Sanborn, Chase, Bean, Dow. Names we still see on stores, commercial trucks, street signs (what few we have here), parks.

What were they thinking? 

Since the Revolutionary War, Hampton and the surrounding towns kept militias, amateur groups of men with guns who met twice a year to march around. Some went off to fight in the Mexican War, but after that enthusiasm for military adventures waned and the militias were disbanded. The Civil War brought something different: recruitment of regiments for a known war. 

Slavery would have continued-- for who knows how long? -- had it not been for men from New Hampshire and other Northern states who were willing to enlist.

One can only imagine whatever lives they were leading here was not attractive enough to hold them. 

We can speculate, dream, but we can never know. All we know is what they did, not why.

What Mr. Trump Knows about The Donald

He doth protest too much.  When David Cameron accused the Donald of being a number of unappealing things,"He is divisive. He is stupid and he is wrong,"  the Donald shrugged off all the other adjectives but he objected: "I am not stupid."  At stupid, he draws the line. "I'm not stupid, okay?"

It's remarkable how often the Donald defends his own intelligence by simply declaring how smart he is, by saying he went to an Ivy League school (Penn), one of the best, by saying how smart and rich he is, as if those two things are mutually validating, by simply declaring he is brilliant. "I use all the best words." Well, that proves his case, right there. Anyone smart enough to use the best words cannot be stupid, ipso facto.

On some level, you have to believe, he knows  the sad truth. He has had enough experience to inform himself of his own intellectual limitations.

He can see the look in the eye of his interlocutor, as he answers a question inadequately or...stupidly. He knows, on some level, he hasn't got it. 

This is one of those profoundly unsettling experiences in life:  coming to grips with your own limitations.  Hopefully, you have enough strengths you can say, "Well, I may not be the smartest person in the world, but..."

Intelligent Republican

I particularly liked the response of a real estate developer I was talking with as we sat together in a steaming, stinking gymnasium during a lull in a wrestling tournament our sons were  doing.  This man was very rich, not Trump rich, but rich enough, probably the richest man in the gym. "I never was very good in school. Didn't get very far in math. But I sure learned how to add and subtract. Turned out in business, that's all you need."

He took satisfaction in knowing he didn't need to be an "A" student in calculus, and he didn't need to have high SAT scores and his lack of Ivy League credentials didn't matter in the testosterone fueled world of constructing suburban malls, which is where he made his money. He had enough intelligence to find his niche and exploit it. 

So many people from the Ivy League have certified  intelligence but never manage to find a niche.  

Reading about the genius of birds, about animal intelligence, I am now realizing just how varied this thing we call "intelligence" really is. 

Mr. Trump has some sort of intelligence, just not the kind he envies. He is intelligent enough to know, deep down, how very limited his capacities are. He may have a "genius" for marketing or for sensing what an audience wants, but those types of intelligence, as useful as they may be in winning the Presidency, would not likely be sufficient to perform well in that Office. His rambling riffs on the world are entertaining, the way, say, Louis C. K. is amusing, but when you ask him whether he is going to send troops to Syria or Libya or whether he will nominate Rush Limbaugh to the Supreme Court, you need better answers than, "I know the guy. I like him."

Apes, it turns out, have all sorts of intelligence unrecognized by human beings. When asked to perform certain tasks, like identifying objects hidden from view by touch, they perform very well, but after a few trials, they do not. Turns out, they bore easily and simply stop trying. 

This may be the best we can say for Mr. Trump. He bores easily and simply stops trying. But then, the comparison of the intelligence of the Donald to that of the chimpanzee may be an invidious comparison, insulting to the chimpanzee.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPD_m2laITc

The Wrong Poster Child: Transgenders as Victims

When Michael Brown, the 18 year old Black male who was shot in a suburb of St. Louis, became an example of Black youth violated by white police, discerning minds around the country said, "Uh-oh, maybe not the best example you would want for the victimization of Black youth."

The images of the massive Brown beating and intimidating a slight South Asia convenience store clerk as Brown stole some small cigars was enough evidence to suggest this 18 year old was no child and was, in fact, a thug. It was enough to make some people wonder if this particular 18 year old might, in fact, have stormed into the police car as the police asserted and tried to wrest the policeman's gun from him.  If Brown was shot in the back, that still has to be explained, but if you imagine a policeman physically attacked, you might imagine he didn't want this particular 18 year old running around looking for another victim.

But the knee jerk reaction ensued:  he was Black and shot dead, so he was innocent and he was used by well meaning, but misguided, people as a good example of a major societal ill, namely violent racist White police.

The same sort of mindless rush to embrace transgenders in locker rooms and bathrooms seems to be exerting gravitational pull on President Obama, who ordinarily is thoughtful, in a lawerly sort of way, weighing both sides of the argument, and choosing a reasonable path toward solution. Not so with his response to transgenders in bathrooms and locker rooms.

Mr. Obama, and many Democrats continue to cast this debate as one about victimization of innocent people who are simply different, who are struggling to be accepted, or at least to be left alone, in a cruel and mocking world. Mr. Obama and others see these people as being similar to homosexuals in their position of being ostracized, demeaned and denied basic human rights, like the right to marry whomever they love, something which affects nobody but themselves. 


Let's first agree there is a significant difference between a bathroom, where there are stalls which conceal people using the bathroom from each other, and a locker room, where women strip naked in front of each other, walk naked into a shower and shower naked. 

Let us also agree that nobody of good will should wish to hurt the feelings or threaten the psyche of a fellow citizen, even if that citizen is odd or frankly deranged. Everyone ought to be treated with respect.

But, suppose, for a moment,  that a person who has male external genitalia, walks into a locker room with thirteen year old females with female external genitalia and strips down to use the shower with these girls.  Is it unreasonable for these girls to express discomfort with this? 

And if their expression of discomfort made the person with the testicles feel demeaned and abused, should we say that his/her discomfort should prevail over the discomfort of the girls?

Suppose, just for the sake of argument, that at least some physicians who deal with transgender people who believe that, unlike homosexuality, most if not all transgender people have significant psychopathology.  This psychopathology may have understandable biochemical roots.  But it is psychpathology, palpable and real and not simply another way of being.

If you believed transgender people have a disease, in this sense, would it affect your analysis of their rights to use locker rooms or even bathrooms which have been designated for "women?"