POP QUIZ #2

(Something Else To Relieve Your Lockdown Boredom)

As promised, here is another mind-lifting quiz from Professor Emeritus Larry L. Meyer who can’t help himself from being compulsively sadistic. That said, some of you who know me and my mission know what I’m up to with this quiz and those to come. Yes, I have an urgent case to make, and mean to do so with a series of quizzes on the blog and with a book (it will be my tenth) now in progress.
See if I can’t convert you to my cause.

OK? Pencils out. Answers on Saturday.

Identify the individuals pictured below by name, position, and political party. Maximum Points: 24.

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Good luck!

ANSWERS TO YESTERDAY’S POP QUIZ

MEANT TO RELIEVE YOUR LOCKDOWN BOREDOM

Yes, the four faces below belong to, top left moving clockwise: Governor David Ige of Hawaii, Governor Kate Brown of Oregon, Governor Gavin Newsom of California, and Governor Jay Inslee of Washington. It should not surprise you that all four are Democrats and their states should soon constitute the nascent Nation State of Pacifica.

In the “did you know?” department…did you know that the state of Hawaii has had only one (one-term) Republican governor in the state’s last 54 years?

That the state of Washington hasn’t had a Republican governor since 1987?

That the state of Oregon as well hasn’t had a Republican governor since 1987?

That three of the last four governors of California were Democrats, the one Republican exception being none other than “Arnold the Terminator,” who almost terminated the Golden State itself, before leaving the post in 20ll with the eastern press somewhat smugly proclaiming the imminent bankruptcy of California and an end to its highfalutin ways?

Not so fast! To the rescue came Democrat Jerry Brown, who worked the usual Brown Family magic and in a mere 8 years raised California to be, all by its lonesome self, fifth “nation” in total wealth in the world—yes, the world!—ahead of Great Britain, France, and India.

Do you see the path that I see out of these Disunited States?

Kudos go to Kenneth Bash and Maryann Celinder, both of whom scored an A+ on the assignment; this pair seems destined for a place on the Dean’s List.

Keep your pencils at the ready. Education is alive and kicking in California.

TODAY’S POP QUIZ

(Something to relieve your lockdown boredom)

As some of you may know, I’m a long-retired Professor Emeritus, having taught Journalism and Literature at CSULB from 1978 to 1993.

I miss a few things from those years…primarily the good feeling of being in a profession that makes a positive contribution to the world. On the personal, not-so-admirable side of my teaching methods, I miss dropping surprise pop quizzes on my students to keep them sharp.

You may call my resurrection of such a practice sadistic; I justify it by preparing you for citizenship in a new nation, Pacifica, which just a few days back was midwifed into existence by none other than our own Governor Gavin Newsom.

OK? Pencils out. You have one day to complete the assignment. Answers on Thursday P.M.
Identify the individuals pictured below by name, position, and political party. Maximum Points: 18.

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

Good luck!

Name:

Position:

Political Party:

HATS OFF TO GOVERNOR NEWSOM!

LOOK WEST FOR THE LIGHT

Some of you may know that I have been advocating for the last ten years that California break away from the so-called United States. Furthermore, the Golden State should take Washington, Oregon, and Hawaii with it and form a more perfect union of our own, to be called Pacifica.

Some of you chuckled, patted me on the head, said it was an amusing idea, then advised me to pay a call on my shrink. I have continued in my alleged madness to advocate such secession, now more than ever, with Gauleiter Trump and the members of his dumb Trumpenprole cult dragging us into the teeth of the Coronavirus plague. Let’s flee that feverish end while we still have time!

Some of you may have watched The Rachel Maddow Show Tuesday night when Rachel interviewed our own Governor Gavin Newsom. She was properly complimentary to our governor, saluting him for his loan of 500 ventilators to New York, New Jersey, Illinois, and other suffering states. She also praised him for his bold leadership in being first to decree a stay-at-home order, a measure that has (so far) resulted in less than .5 deaths per 100,000 folks. For his part, Newsom informed Maddow that California, rather than competing with other states and the federal government for protective masks in such short supply, would instead go its own way; his administration had assembled a consortium of three non-profits and a California manufacturer to purchase from an Asian source 200 million masks a month, with any surplus to be distributed to other western states.

Some show of leadership! Initiative! So absent at the federal level. But the most exciting and portentous words from Newsom for me were that he called California a “Nation State.” Yep, he called it as it is—California, with the fifth largest economy in the world—a Nation State and the core of my Pacifica! Adding a tweak to my hopes, Newsom told Rachel of his close relations with Governors Kate Brown of Oregon and Jay Inslee of Washington. Now all we have to do is gather David Ige and Hawaii into the fold. Yes, hope flickers in the West. Just think—a mulligan, a do-over, the birth of a nation! Pacifica!

NB: Some of you may have missed today’s twitter message from our president, so I’ll dutifully pass it along: “HAPPY GOOD FRIDAY TO ALL.”

LOOKING FOR SILVER LININGS

Notes From the Plague Years

Have you noticed how blue the skies are these days? How far you can see? How quiet the world around us is?

Nice. It took me a few days to notice the pleasant change, and another day or two to account for it. It was the lockdown: no planes to stain the atmosphere with spent fuel, few cars to spew their pollutants into our breathing passages. This would have been the way earth was before the Industrial Revolution. Real nice!

I remember the 1950s as a young reporter in downtown L.A. breathing smog so dense you could actually taste it.

A Los Angeles Times photograph of not-so-scenic downtown Los Angeles in 1955.

But progressive California took action against air pollution and over the years became the world leader in curbing such pollutants as unburnt hydrocarbons and oxides of nitrogen; the air quality improved considerably, though not to the degree we’ve seen the last few days.

Then I read Wednesday’s news that President Trump has rolled back auto emissions standards imposed by Obama in 2012 that required automakers to average 54 miles per gallon of gas by 2025. Trump dropped it to 40. It is estimated that such a standard would pump nearly a billion more tons of carbon dioxide into our already-warming atmosphere. The is merely the latest in a three-year effort by Trump to undo regulations reducing smog, particulate matter, and greenhouse gasses into the air we breathe.

As you know, Trump doesn’t believe in global warming. But he does believe in revenge. His latest action targets both President Barack Obama, who pushed passage of the clean-air law, and California, which rejected him in the 2016 election by a hefty margin of 4,269,9078 votes. (Wow! What a thrashing.)
I’m starting to wonder which is the greater threat to the Golden State, the Coronavirus plague or the Stable Genius. And I must wish success to California as it leads some 20 states in fighting the Trump’s rollback in the courts…possibly all the way to the Supreme Court.

’Til then, I’ll enjoy the soundless blue skies…until doomsday arrives, and I have to climb up to my cross and sing that wise ditty those Monty Python guys gave us: “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life.”

MARCH MADNESS PART 1

Journal of the Plague Months

Maybe I’m overreacting, but from the time the Corona virus made its lethal debut in Wuhan, China, I’ve been looking to my President for help. Why? Because the CDC experts have identified me as being in the prime target group for extermination. (I’m not divulging my age beyond admitting that I was born when Herbert Hoover was president; you do the math.)

The death rate is 15% for my age group, so I’m seeking reassurances that I will be spared; I’m working on a book that I have to finish.

True, I got a tremendous number of cheery words from President Trump in many incredible don’t-worry-about-it tweets and on the telly.

Then, just three days ago, Dear Leader said, “A lot of good things are going to happen.” What could that be, I wondered. Had I finally bought the right Lotto ticket? Had Vladimir Putin finally fallen on his sword? Nope to both.

Two days ago the World Health Organization branded the rapidly spreading Corona virus (COVID-19) a pandemic. That really scared me.

Two nights ago our President read to the nation a ten-minute speech to allay our rising fears. He seemed tired. Low-energy. And I didn’t understand much of what he said, except he wants to help out the oil companies and was banning all travel to the U.S from Europe. The latter seemed a rash step to me. Wasn’t the virus already here?

The speech got bad notices, even from Republicans, and although his aides walked back some of what he said, yesterday’s stock market dove into a downward death spiral, taking my pension funds with it. What calamity is next?

You know what? I’m starting to think our President, Donald J. Trump, lies! And probably more than once! Can you believe it?

As your most trusted online reporter, I mean to find out. I promise to get back to you with what I learn, pronto…if not sooner. And please remember this vulnerable aging pauper in your prayers.

CORONAPHOBES RELAX!

TRUMP AND PENCE TO THE RESCUE!

I end my 30 days of mourning the death of our Constitution to bring you some good news. Fear not the coronavirus that is ravaging the world! President Trump assures us that he has it under control; he even promises “a miracle,” with the virus “disappearing from our shores” by April. Does that mean we don’t have to wash our hands and wear masks after all?
In a related bold move the president appointed on Wednesday Vice President Mike Pence “Czar” in charge of defeating the budding pandemic. Secretary of Health and Human Services Alex Azar will keep his post, becoming the third member of the public relations task force verbally fighting the disease. (Apparently, the Center for Disease Control, its budget cut the last two years by Trump, will play a lesser role.)
And yesterday this terrific trio held a news conference at which President Trump praised Pence for doing a great job just three days after accepting the assignment. Pence agrees with his boss that the threat was under “firm control” and that the average American didn’t have to wear a mask. (He didn’t say whether we still have to wash our hands.)
Pence is a devout, born-again Christian and no friend of science. That may explain why he is on the record as having said that tobacco does not kill folks, and why, when a much-criticized governor of Indiana, he failed to act promptly and effectively in an AIDS breakout.
Know that not everyone thinks Pence is the man for the job. His tardy response to that Hoosier AIDS breakout in 2015 was “I‘m going home to pray on it.”
You might try praying on it, too…maybe for a vaccine…if you’ve got any prayers left that you haven’t spent on the stock market.

Last seen in Washington, D.C., in the company of 50 gutless senatorial accomplices who falsely claim descendancy from Abraham Lincoln.

UNABLE TO ANSWER THE PRESIDENT’S CALL TO DUTY

THEY ALSO SERVE WHO ONLY SIT AND WAIT

I wish I could volunteer to put my aged shoulder to the wheel per our President’s wish and our nation’s good.

You may have missed President Trump’s challenge of Wednesday last for us to protect American geniuses. In case you missed the call made at the World Economic Forum in Davos, he spoke first of protecting Elon Musk, visionary founder of cutting edge Tesla Motors and Space X.

“I was worried about him [Musk], because he’s one of our great geniuses, and we have to protect our geniuses. You know, we have to protect Thomas Edison, and we have to protect all of these people that came up with, originally, the lightbulb, and the wheel and all of these things.”

I certainly admire Mr. Musk, and wish him well. But he may not want or need my vote of confidence. Truth is, I sold my 100 shares of Tesla stock before it tripled in value. My bad.

And there’s nothing I’d like better than to protect Thomas Edison, but I’m afraid he died two years before I was born, so that’s a no. As for the wheel thing, though I hate to admit it, I don’t Time Travel well. The very thought of boarding a time machine and being shot back 5,500 years to ancient Mesopotamia to protect someone whose name I do not know seems a fool’s errand to me. Besides, I simply lack the stamina to travel such a distance…or is it time?

Perhaps I can compensate for my shortcomings by taking on a less onerous task closer to home and please the scholarly community while I complete my life’s work. Yep, Bigtfoot has been spotted again, in the state of Washington. I can make it that far and finish my long-in-the-writing doctoral dissertation : “Sasquatch Is a Distant New World Relation to the Yeti of the Himalayas.” All I need to do is collect a few stool samples for DNA comparison.

That done, know that I’ll be sitting close to the phone, awaiting Stockholm’s call. Confession. I’ve already written my acceptance speech.

SAVED! DESTINY HAS FINALLY FOUND ME!

RETURN TO PARADISE

There I was, squirming in my dread, awaiting anxiously this coming week’s show trial of Gauleiter Trump, managed by fixers Moscow Mitch and Looney Lindsey, in which the orange committer of many crimes is deemed not guilty by Senate Republicans and hunting season is opened on his accusers and detractors. Yeah, I’m both of those—small time to be sure—but nevertheless an enemy of the cult of Trump and his Fascist clowns; they will doubtless seek payback for my constant carping now that he’s sure to be acquitted. I fear the coming purge.

How do I save my liberal hide? What do I do? I’m too old and brittle to head for the mountains and hide out in a cave, armed only with my cane. I needed help.

Then it came! Salvation! In the form of a letter in my mailbox. From a stranger with a proposition I just can’t refuse. It read:

Dear Larry Meyer:

I am aware that this letter comes to you as a surprise as we have not met before or handled any business deals in the past. Nevertheless, I have contacted you with genuine intentions and I hope I can trust you with this inheritance opportunity which will be explained below.
I retrieved your contact address in my search for the next of kin to a deceased customer of our bank Mr. George Meyer, a citizen of your country, who lived and died in London, Ontario, Canada, of cardio arrest. Unfortunately, this customer died intestate leaving his bank account with an open beneficiary status. All efforts made by our bank to locate his relatives have been unsuccessful, so I decided to write to you as I have monitored the account for the bank for five years now and no one has come forth with any claim. I would like to present you to our bank as his next of kin to claim this dormant account worth $9.2 million U.S. dollars.
You will apply to the bank as an extended relative to the deceased customer while I work from the inside to make sure all needed information and evidence are provided to you to back up your claim. The account has an open beneficiary status, which is why I have contacted you to come forth to claim the funds as the next of kin and beneficiary. Since he is from your country and you both have the same last names, it’s easy for you to become his official next of kin. If we do not make a claim to the funds now, the funds would be reverted back to the system as an unclaimed estate.
I assure you this transaction would be handled under due inheritance procedures and every necessary arrangement will be put in place to make you the real beneficiary of the inheritance. It also requires all confidentiality at this stage and I believe that you are ready to keep this absolutely discreet until you are able to claim the funds from the bank. Once the funds are released by the bank, it will be shared between the two of us.
Please send your response to me indicating your readiness to proceed with this transaction and we will discuss more details as well as the procedure to achieve a successful completion.

Sincerely yours,

Maurizio Stefani

Dear old Uncle George! Or was he my third cousin? I barely remember him…but I must have a snapshot or two lying about…maybe of him watching me catch my first bluegill out of Lake Ontario…or some such puddle up there.

I must say, it’s about time I got a break. You see, I am a member of the Silent Generation, born between The Greatest Generation and the Baby Boomers, best known for…well, not very much. Yep, we’re the timid, forgotten, cowering meeks luckless enough to be born during the Great Depression, who never got our shot of Mojo..

Now, all that has changed for me with a single letter from Maurizio. (Yes, I’m a bit concerned with him saying that the legacy will be “shared between the two of us.” I think he’s deserving of a finder’s fee, certainly, maybe up to a very generous million, but not a penny more.) With the remaining $8.2 million I can flee the vengeance of Trump’s Biker Gangs before the impeachment trial ends and return to paradise, Bora Bora, where I spent so little time so long ago.

See that pad on the far left? That’s going to be mine, where I’ll see rainbows of tropical fish glide under my glass floor, brush up on my French, reread James Michener’s tales of the down here, listen to the mellow vibes of Dimitri Tiomkin, watch cumulus clouds build their towers of salmon pink and blood orange that fade to gray at each day’s end.

Wish you Libs, Dems, and rational thinkers were here, and out of harm’s way. But I’ll write to you if you let me know which prison you’re in—or gulag if Donald has farmed you out to Vlad.

Au revoir et bonne chance,

Lorenzo
General Delivery
Bora Bora
French Polynesia

WORSHIPPERS, TAKE COVER!

HOME ALONE

No wonder church attendance is dropping. No house of worship—church, temple, mosque, or synagogue—seems safe these days from some angry wacko entering during services and spraying the faithful with bullets. Witness the recent same-day shootings at a church in Texas and a synagogue in New York that together took three lives and left several wounded.

How do you explain this mayhem in holy places? I can’t. How do you curb it? I don’t know…unless we tighten our guns laws to keep weapons away from unstable minds. But that would infringe on their Constitutional rights, of course.

Leave it to those resourceful Texans to come up with a Texas answer to a national problem; they passed a law in 2017 permitting citizens to pack iron in a house of worship. So last December 29, when a deranged shooter entered the West Freeway Church of Christ in White Settlement and killed two congregants with shotgun blasts, two armed Christian men on the security team returned fire and killed the intruder on the spot. A manly and decisive way to solve a problem, no doubt.

But the Texas solution is not an option for me. I don’t have a gun. And even when I was trained to use a weapon back in the Korean War days, I was a lousy shot…with both a M1 carbine and a .45. Now, with the palsy I have acquired since then, I doubt I could hit the side of a barn if standing inside. So the Texas brand of rough justice is beyond my reach.

How do I stay out of harm’s way? Avoid all churches. Spend Sundays at home listening to J. S. Bach’s music to satisfy my spiritual needs, far from American psychos exercising their Second Amendment rights. Do you have a better answer? Better than the Texas method? Let’s hear it.

LINGERING QUESTIONS BEFORE THE NEW YEAR

A FEW LOOSE ENDS

I’m still trying to get over the latest weird turn in this tragicomedy we are living through. Explain to me how President Trump entertains Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov in the Oval Office (no U.S. press allowed) on the same historic day the House Judiciary Committee is writing articles of impeachment of the president. That’s irony some third-rate novelist would try to peddle. Sorry, even Hollywood is not buying. Too far-fetched.

That’s only the beginning of my puzzlements. Take the word “bribery,” a crime actually mentioned by name in the Constitution, but a word inadequate to describe Trump’s crime in the Ukraine. That word should be extortion—an offense that’s like bribery on steroids. Bribery is when I give you an apple (stolen from my neighbor’s tree in Trump’s case) for an orange from your tree. That’s a semi-criminal quid pro quo because Trump’s apple is not his to give. Extortion doubles down on the crime. Trump’s scenario says I’ll give you an apple from my neighbor’s tree for two oranges from your tree, and if you don’t deal I’ll let your neighbor burn down your whole orchard. That’s bribery with barbs.

Much is made of the July 25 phone call between Trump and Zelensky. Trump says it’s “perfect.” Dems say it’s unconstitutional, if not treasonous. From the released transcript of the call there are ellipses indicating deletions from the original. With an apparent late onset of consciousness of guilt, someone moved the actual log of the call from accessible and routine storage to a top-secret cache where it shares space and status with black ops. Why not settle the dispute and declassify the “misfiled” transcript from top-secret status, where it does not belong, and make it public? That should settle the matter. And clear the air.
It appears the common wisdom that GOP senators will exonerate the President when he is tried in their chambers, no matter the overwhelming evidence of his guilt. So what happens to the crimes which Trump’s associates committed, but were acquitted of? Would they with a change of administrations stand trial for their crimes of obstruction of justice, obstruction of Congress, and perjury? Is there a statute of limitations here? Forgive and forget, and thereby set a precedent? For proven-guilty minions of Trump? Someone should address these questions so citizens would know whether or not crime pays.

Don’t hold your breath. Justice is having a hard time these days. I fear it’s been deep-sixed wearing concrete shoes.

REMEMBERING A GREAT POET BORN IN 1757

A belated happy birthday (November 28, 1757) to William Blake, great poet-artist of 18th century England. Rarely do literary talent and mastery of the visual arts reside in the same person, but William Blake was one of the few exceptions. Born to a London tradesman, he got little formal education, save for a brief apprenticeship to an engraver at the Royal Academy. Self-taught, his distinctive poetry derives from a boyhood immersion in Christian mysticism, and it certainly did not fit in with the literary protocol of his time. His fondness for lyrical sound and rhyming quatrains (as we have in Tyger, Tyger), a throwback to Elizabethan times, did not conform to the prevailing style of his age. The few critics of his time who even recognized the poor and marginal man living in London’s meaner streets considered him and his verse to be “insane.”

Yet Blake’s reputation as a poet (and an artist) has survived most of his contemporaries, an original genius more read (and appreciated) today than ever before. His words are not always easily understood, but his art is there to illustrate his heavenly world that made him a solitary, though serenely happy, man. His wife once said “I have very little of Mr. Blake’s company. He is always in Paradise.”

Southern Californians are blessed to have a great collection of 77 items of Blake’s art housed nearby, at the Huntington Library, Art Gallery and Gardens in San Marino. And those looking for a Christmas gift for an art-loving Christian friend might want to consider William Blake by Martin Myrone and Amy Concannon (Princeton University Press), a beautiful book celebrating the multi-gifted prophet-saint of what we now call social justice.

The Tyger

by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, 

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears: 

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

In the forests of the night: 

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

HEARSAY TO BECOME HEARDSAY?

MILLIONAIRE HOTELIERS SHOULD NOT CHANGE CAREERS IN MIDLIFE

I think I heard it first from Kellyanne Conway, ectomorphic champion of The Chosen One and discoverer of the heretofore unknown existence of “alternate facts.” One of those facts was that charges of bribery against her boss in the Ukraine Affair were based on only hearsay, not direct evidence, and therefore not relevant. Apparently that pithy bit of insight was shared by virtually all GOP members of the House Intelligence Committee, who repeated it as though it were enshrined in the Republican Book of Common Cant.

It must have buoyed spirits in Donald J. Trump’s base, though. Not so with me and other radical freethinkers who thought the lack of “direct evidence” might have another explanation. That would be because Trump gagged all his subpoena-defying co-conspirators and ordered them not to appear before the House Intelligence Committee hearings. He also refused to hand over documents subpoenaed by the Committee. An effective short-term ploy…until the Constitution catches up with him.

Tomorrow, if all goes as planned, the public will hear hearsay become heardsay, and Trump’s wall of obstruction will likely be further breached. That’s when the president’s ambassador to the European Union, Gordon Sondland, will testify publicly for the first time about his July 26 morning cell phone call from Kyiv to the president in Washington. As has been widely reported, Sondland loudly assured Trump on that call that he had met with the Ukrainian President, and that President Zelensky “loved his ass” and was eager to investigate the Bidens for him. Unfortunately for the pair, their voices we overheard by the Ambassador’s three dining companions, members of our diplomatic staff in Ukraine. One of them, David Holmes, blabbed. Oops!

Mr. Sondland, already flirting with perjury charges, has not proved to be one of those “best people” the President promised us. He used an unsecure cell phone at Russia’s door, a blunder of the highest order. He lacks respect from his peers. He’s perhaps best described as the Inspector Clouseau of the diplomatic world.

Yet Sondland, a successful hotelier, seemed well-qualified when Trump appointed him. He had no experience for the new job. He was a rich business man who prided himself on “being transactional.” And he contributed a million dollars to the Trump campaign.

Look to find Gordon under the bus, soon.

In closing, I’d like to say a word in defense of hearsay. Did you know that the consensus view of Biblical scholars is that none of the four Gospelers—Mark, Mathew, Luke and John—ever met Jesus personally, or heard him speak? (Neither did the Apostle Paul of Tarsus, though he claimed to have seen Jesus after his death on the cross.) Doesn’t that make The New Testament hearsay?

Try telling that to the world’s 2.2 billion Christians. You might want to start with Devin Nunes, Jim Jordan and Kellyanne.

HEARD AT THE HEARINGS

THE GOP’S CATCH 23

A surly Devin Nunes launched a heated if vague tirade defending President Trump.

Artwork by Chris Sears, chris.sears.art@gmail.com.

Devin “Numbnuts” Nunes got yesterday’s Impeachment Hearings going for the Republicans with a rambling, scattershot screed targeting the Democrats, the two witnesses, the Department of Justice, the FBI, and anyone else who dared even think of impeaching our president.  Where was the Ranking Member of the House Intelligence Committee going with his diatribe?  What was the focus?  His central point? 

In time, one emerged: all the evidence against Donald J. Trump, “The Chosen One,” was hearsay (“second-, third-, or fourth-hand testimony,” according to Nunes).  As such, we were not supposed to believe it.  This theme was echoed by a parade of Republican congressman who brandished the word “hearsay” for the entire impeachment hearings.  Show us some real proof, they dared.  Where’s your direct evidence traceable to the president boss? 

Wham!  That’s when I realized that Trump and his sleazy band of hucksters were more resourceful than I had thought: they’d played their Catch 23 card!  Meaning?  Well, any “direct evidence” would have to come from close associates—Acting Chief of Staff “Mick” Mulvaney, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, Attorney General William Barr, his Personal Attorney Rudy Giuliani, and a few other lickspittle members of his inner circle, who have refused to obey congressional subpoenas and thereby denied the investigators access to “direct evidence.”  Moreover, the same pack of loyal Trumpers refused to turn over specific documents that might incriminate Trump…and themselves.  

So what’s an impeacher to do?  What will it take to convince timid Senate Republicans to vote “yes” on impeaching the president short of overwhelming proof of his guilt?  An uphill climb, to be sure.

Yet, a spark of new hope did light yesterday’s hearing.  Acting Ambassador to Ukraine William B. Taylor, Jr., Vietnam war hero and longtime distinguished public servant, shocked listeners when he amended his previous testimony to include what a subordinate, David Holmes, revealed to him last Friday.  Holmes, a political counselor at our Kyiv embassy, told Taylor that he had dined with EU Ambassador Gordon Sondland on July 26, the day after the infamous call between our president and President Zelensky that triggered the impeachment hearings.  From the Kyiv restaurant, Sondland used his cell phone to call President Trump and discuss the “investigations” the Ukrainians were supposed to carry out on the Bidens, which Holmes overheard.  Wow!

Sondland, you may recall, was the Seattle millionaire in the hotel business who bought himself an ambassadorship with a million-dollar contribution to the Trump campaign.  A bumpkin widely disliked by his peers, he had committed in Kyiv a big no-no—using an unsecured cell phone in one of most insecure sites in the world.  You may also recall that Sondland had previously testified before the impeachment committee, then had to hurry back to change it to hopefully ward off a charge of perjury.   

Now he will come back to answer more difficult questions from the committee next Wednesday.  That is after David Holmes testifies in closed session tomorrow. 

Caveat donator!

Late Bulletin: Now there is a second diner from the Kyiv dinner, an attorney by the name of Suriya Jayanti, with her story to tell.

VETERANS DAY OBSERVED

BY A VET OF THE ALMOST-FORGOTTEN KOREAN WAR

Portrait of Air Force Private Larry L. Meyer, Fall of 1951.

Decided to observe Veterans Day by remembering my own service for the first time.  (At my age, you never know if you’ll get another chance.)  Served in the United States Air Force from September 25, 1951, to June 8, 1956, as a rawinsonde operator in the Air Weather Service, providing hard data to forecasters.

Duty Stations: Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, for basic training; Chanute AFB in Rantoul, Illinois, for weather school; rawinsonde operator at Komaki AFB in Nagoya, Japan; weather records checker at FEAF (Far East Air Force) Headquarters, Tokyo, Japan; rawinsonde operator at Eglin AFB, Fort Walton Beach, Florida; rawinsonde operator at Wheelus Field, Tripoli, Libya; rawinsonde instructor for NATO at Lages Field, Azores (Portugal); temporary duty at Rhein-main Air Base, Frankfurt, Germany; rawinsonde instructor for NATO at Mikra Air Base, Salonika, Greece.

Honorably discharged at Manhattan Beach, New York with the lowly rank of Airman First Class.

Oh to be young and thin again!

THE CRIME THE IMPEACHERS MISSED

LET’S ADD AN ARTICLE

The Democrats are on the record that President Donald J. Trump’s articles of impeachment will be narrowly focused, concentrating on just a few of his many crimes and misdemeanors: abuse of power, obstruction of justice, and obstruction of Congress.  That’s all?

Maybe they are right in their reasoning.  The American public—conditioned in this digital age to receive information in fleeting visual bits—can’t handle too many charges; you’ve got to keep it simple so they can understand.  (We are told the Mueller Report was too long for them to read, with too many big words; besides, they didn’t make a TV flick of it.)

I still demur.  I think at least one more article of impeachment begs to be added: witness tampering, a crime punishable by up to 20 years.  Our blustering bully of a president flaunts that crime before our eyes and ears almost daily.   Most recently he lashed out at the anonymous whistleblower who exposed his unconstitutional extortion of the Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky for dirt on Joe Biden, his presumed political rival.   

“He must be brought forward to testify,” thundered our would-be emperor, the “he” being the rightly fearful whistleblower.  “Written answers are not enough.”  Really?  Where does Trump get off using the imperial “must?”  He’s the target of the impeachment inquiry, not its chief prosecutor.  He has no control over what Congress “must” do.  It’s what is meant by a separation of powers, the system of checks and balances that is enshrined in our Constitution.  Though I’ve heard he won’t or can’t read more than a page at a time, he might at least have one of his literate subordinates read it to him over, say, a month of Big Mac lunches.

One more thing about the whistleblower’s “written answers” being not enough.  Wouldn’t the president admit that the same applies to him?  We all remember, during the Mueller probe, that he stalled the investigation for almost a year before submitting his own written answers that were so vague as to be useless.  Why didn’t he appear personally to answer Mr. Mueller’s questions, as he repeatedly claimed he wanted to do?  We all know what is now common knowledge: because his attorneys knew anyone who had told more than 12,000 lies in office (Washington Post figures, through August 5, 2019) would incriminate himself before you could say “no collusion.”

President Trump saved his most lethal venom for those “spies” who had “ratted” on him by informing the whistleblower of what Trump had said on his extortionary phone call of July 25 to Ukrainian President Zelensky.  In a private rant to U.S. UN staffers, Trump said, “You know what we used to do in the old days when we were smart?  Right?  The spies and treason, we used to handle a little differently than we do now.”  (Gotcha boss.  Like hang them!)

Trump’s chilling words just might explain why the whistleblower is so reluctant to reveal himself or herself, and why Republicans in the administration continue their clamor that he or she do so.  (Ever notice how few whistleblowers blow their whistles in a police state?)

More chilling words from Trump were aimed at former ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovitch, a career diplomat of sterling reputation who got the gate when she refused to go along with his extortion scheme.  She was ordered back from  Kyiv to the U.S. in a day without explanation.  Turns out Trump’s freelance hand grenade, Rudi Giuliani, put in some bad words about her with the boss.  “The woman was bad news and the people she was dealing with in the Ukraine were bad news.  So I just wanted you to know that,” Trump explained (presumably to a grammar school audience).  “She’s going to go through some things.”

Haven’t we heard that kind of talk in movies about the mob?  Kinda makes you reconsider a career in the Foreign Service, doesn’t it?

Of course witness tampering, witness intimidation, are long-standing practices in the Trump Administration.  We all remember Michael Cohen, Trump’s personal lawyer now in prison, who, among other things, paid off a porn star and Playboy bunny for services rendered with campaign funds for his client.  When Cohen turned on his capo dei capi and blabbed to Congress about the evils his boss had done, Trump more than once told the world that Cohen’s family had ties to the mob.  No one really called him on it.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough Godfather and Good Fellas movies to last me two lifetimes; and I certainly don’t want to live in this real-life sequel we share.  So how many more crimes do we let this gangster get away with before someone takes the nuclear football away from him?

NOBODY’S PERFECT

FIRING MY ALIBIS

First, I take personal responsibility for your sudden plunge in fortune.  I can’t begin to guess the millions you folks lost betting on the Houston Astros, my choice to win the World Series.  Yes, your own trusted baseball guru failed you for the first time to give you winners in October’s playoffs.  (I’m letting the hoots and boos die down…awaiting the applause for my being so honest and forthright to drown them out.)

Know that I was not alone among the failed oracles who knew the Houston Astros were the best team.  The Washington Nationals?  Lucky.  A fluke…one of those cases where one team gets hot and the other can’t score after the sixth inning.  (In a universe governed by chance, all things that can happen will happen.)

Here I add another mea culpa for picking the Dodgers to win the National League pennant.  They let me down again, they let you down again, just as the Dodgers always let everybody down.  When will we learn?

Not to be too defensive, but it was a tough year for handicappers.  And I think my picks held up rather well, overall.  Review my final-six in each league (correct picks are in bold face).

I continued my winning ways by picking New York over Minnesota and Houston over Tampa Bay, then completed my mastery of the American League by taking Houston over New York.  Why, that’s downright perfect.

Make that five out of six in the final six in the Senior Circuit, with the feckless Cubbies folding first, followed by the Braves and Dodgers bowing out early.  Then the Braves and Dodgers betrayed me big-time, and the rest is sad history.

(Note though, I did have the newly crowned champion Washington Nationals among my teams in contention.)

OK, I’ve fired my last alibi.  Wait ’til next year!

To ease your financial pain, just remember my guarantee is still in force.  My picks for next year’s baseball season will come to you absolutely free!

P.S.  Houston’s departing pitching ace Gerrit Cole, the former Orange Lutheran High School and UCLA Bruin star, is now a free agent and in the Scott Boras fold.  Rumor has it that he wants to move west.  If true, the Dodger and Angel owners might want to dust off their checkbooks.

THE CRAZIES HAVING A CRAZY TIME IN CRAZYTOWN

TWO ROTTEN TOMATOES

A mugshot of Republican Representative Matt Gaetz, taken in 2008, after his arrest on a DUI. Representing Florida’s First District, this young Republican, a student of Roger Stone and devotee of Donald Trump, led last Wednesday’s Republican assault on Congressman’s Adam Schiff’s closed-door impeachment hearing. Such leadership and derring-do added to his growing reputation among the GOP as “a guy with balls.”

What a Double Feature for Impeachment Week!  True, I would have preferred the High Drama first, on Wednesday, and seen the Low Comedy second, on Thursday…you know, as a bit of comic relief.  But that was not to be.

Led by the eternal frat boy Matt Gaetz, the GOP House Rep from the Florida Panhandle (known to some as “Trump’s protégé”), 47 or so Republican members of the House on Wednesday morning crashed a closed-door meeting.  Inside Chairman Adam Schiff’s three committees were considering the president’s impeachment; the Storm Troopers burst through security, shouting and brandishing their cell phones—a violation of security rules that possibly opened the proceeding to foreign ears.  And with their juvenile antics delayed the deposing of a witness by five hours.

Call it a farce that fell flat on its face, and might have been written by Aristophanes drunk on ouzo.  But it proved a point, I suppose: there are no boundaries that the GOP Pocket Protector Brigade won’t go to disrupt the orderly conduct of governance and save their Chosen One, He of the Great and Matchless Wisdom. 

I wish I could speak better of the “high drama” that followed on Thursday.  Nope.  Can’t.  Lickspittle Lindsay Graham got his Clown Show rolling early by lobbing a two megaton smoke bomb at the House of Representatives on behalf of his golfing chum, Donald J. Trump.

How?  Specifics?  Well, the Senator from South Carolina introduced a non-binding Senate resolution condemning the House’s Democrat-controlled committees for denying Trump his constitutional rights to a fair trial, denying him the right to confront his accusers, holding their investigation “in secret,” and even failing to vote on whether or not to launch an impeachment investigation.

A quick barrage of incoming fire from the savvy dispersed the smoke, and  Graham’s canard lay there, naked and dead.  The particulars?

First off, since when does the Senate dictate to the House how it conducts its business?  Toothless blather meant to mislead and obscure. 

Second, there is no House rule requiring a vote to begin an impeachment inquiry.  Period.

Third, inquiries are held behind closed doors for very good reasons.  That way future witnesses do not know what previous witnesses have testified to, and cannot tailor their testimony to “get their stories aligned.”  The non-public nature of the hearing also discourages congressional questioners from “showboating” to impress their constituents back home with their mastery of performance art; more committee work gets done in less time.  Last, closed-door questioning protects witnesses’ privacy and reputation should the case not go forward.

Fourth, Trump should be denied the “right” to confront his accusers.  He has made it clear, on film no less, how he thinks “spies” (read whistleblowers) should be treated: you know, the old fashioned way…hint, hint.  Without protection of those brave souls who speak out against government wrongs, they would be…uh, dispatched, and we would in time become just one more Banana Republic. 

Fifth, every impeachment in American history (Trump’s would be the fourth) has differed in how it was handled; there is no settled procedure, no precedent that must be followed.  Each case brings its own circumstances, begging ad hoc actions and solutions.

Finally, Donald J. Trump is not being denied “due process.”  Constitutional law is not statute law.  And as Fox News (yes, Fox News!) commentator Judge Andrew Napolitano opined, “Democrats are following the rules.”

My DC Drama review?  A clinker followed by a clunker.  Or a bummer followed by a bust.  Put another way, neither the Storm Troopers nor Trump’s Tee-Time Pal did anything but prove again that our government is badly broken.

To finish on a brighter note, did you know that no Kurds were slaughtered by Turks while Bill Clinton got his nine blow jobs in the White House?

CORNERED!

PRIMITIVE REFLEX RESPONSE ILLUSTRATED

The diagnoses of President Donald J. Trump’s mental condition have peppered the media in recent days—“unhinged,” “off-the-rails,” “meltdown” are just a few of the words describing his signs of mental deterioration.  Media mavens have remarked on how the encircling pressure of impeachment has loosed from the self-described “Chosen One” a series of shrill screeds directed against his perceived enemies.            

A few examples?           

“Shifty Schiff” (Adam Schiff, Chairman of the House Intelligence Committee) “is a traitor that should be impeached.” 

“Nervous Nancy…is as guilty as [Schiff] is.”

 “Mitt Romney never knew how to win.  He is a pompous ass….”

And of course his Taxi Driver takeoff angrily aimed at Reuters’s reporter Jeff Mason, who in a press conference dared to ask him about his Ukraine dealings.  “Are you talking to me?” Trump caustically demanded.  When the reporter repeated the question, Trump launched a tirade against the reporter and the press that included, “I have answered everything.  It’s a whole hoax and you know who’s playing into the hoax?  People like you and the fake news media that we have in this country.”

Such outbursts as these have been labeled by some mind scholars as examples of “primitive reflex response.”  Sounds like an accurate description of the cornered President’s behavior to me.

The Stable One’s angry “counterattacks” mined from my mind a memory from Boy Scout days.  My troop was on a mid-morning hike in the San Bernardino Mountains; I was third or fourth in line marching along a gently rising trail when we heard ahead an alarming sound.  There, about six feet in front of the lead scout, was the sound source: a rattlesnake.  We all knew it somehow, despite never having seen nor heard one before.  It was coiled, head up and fangs bared, tail raised and rattling its defiance.

We reacted as most boys would at the prospect of a thrilling adventure in the wild.  The first four of us stopped and formed a tight semicircle beyond the snake’s striking range, gathering rocks; then we began our barrage from multiple directions.

The strangest thing happened.   Instead of turning tail and slithering off into the safety of the chaparral, the snake stood its bare ground, and each incoming rock it struck at with its bared fangs.  The uneven battle lasted not much more than a minute.

When its death throes ended we warily approached our kill to inspect it: it was a Western Diamondback, native to the territory; it had seven rattles, which meant it was at least two years old (no telling how many it had shed in the strife of daily life); its head was crushed and its fangs broken.  Troop 498’s campfire that night was more rowdy and raucous than usual as killers and observers celebrated.

Remembering that day now is not as glorious as it was then.  My part in the killing doesn’t wear well.  What right did I have to participate in the snake’s killing?  I had invaded its home, and it was just defending itself, as living things will do…an example of primitive reflex response.  In perhaps a lame defense, I still wonder though, why didn’t it retire, retreat, go into hiding?  I’ll never know.

Wait!  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not equating our president’s conduct with that of a poisonous serpent.  That would be so unfair to the rattlesnake.