Author: BC

A woman had finally had enough of her nasty drunk of a husband. Problem was she lived in a state that required those seeking divorce to jump through ridiculous hoops placed by good Christian lawmakers bent on “preserving” the institution of marriage. So, despite having a protective order from the court, and being watched closely by detectives worried for her physical safety, the woman is forced to attend three couples counseling sessions before her divorce is allowed to proceed to the next level.

At the counseling session, the mediator asks the husband what he thinks needs to be done to save the marriage. He promptly recites a list of measures he’s prepared to take to make things work. No more drinking, go get a job, no more sleeping with other women, etc.. The counselor then turns to the woman and asks what she thinks of his long list of promises. She makes clear the ship on their marriage sailed the last time she spent the night in the hospital after one of his beatings. There’s nothing he can do at this point to change her mind. She finally has the strength and will to get out of this nightmare and she’s going to do it. The husband then jumps up snarling, fists clenched and looks at the therapist. “See, this is the damn problem; she’s just so unreasonable. She won’t even listen!”

Any critic of the George W Bush Presidency looking for credence to argue just how bad things were need only point out his chief speechwriter was Marc Thiessen. Fully beholden to Reagan glorification, even as he constantly employed the Gipper’s memory to add bona fides to policies that yielded results nobody would want their legacy anchored to, Thiessen, like his former colleague Michael Gerson, has carved out a career as a syndicated columnist. But where Gerson has taken the admirable road of calling a spade a spade where this Administration is concerned, refusing to allow whatever agreement that may exist on policy obviate Trump’s avalanche of lies, ignorance and overt corruption, Thiessen has become one of the Donald’s more articulate spin doctors, a low bar indeed.

Thiessen thrice weekly dedicates his pen in full unapologetic support of Trumpism. Like Hugh Hewitt, another member of what passes for the intelligentsia in the Fox/AM universe, Thiessen provides ivory tower normalization for all Trump imbecility. The government shutdown is no exception.

Thiessen maintains the President’s recent offer proves he’s “the adult in the room.” That’s akin to saying I’m the target market for a great new type of comb. Yet and still, it may almost be as credible as calling a 2000-mile plus eyesore, requiring eminent domain usurpation of thousands of land owners, necessary to national security. It’s a ridiculous idea, created solely to gin up a base of nativists with the stipulation they wouldn’t have to pay for it, and is now foisting economic hardship on 800,000 hard working government employees only because nasty Fox/AM mouthpieces wouldn’t allow the issue to pass… the better to fill vapid air time with. Thiessen paints Trump as the epitome of statesmanship, offering a win-win solution to yet another crisis he is solely responsible for creating. Accepting that premise is merely another step toward the ruin this Administration incessantly lurches toward.

Of course, as another round of paychecks now look likely to go by the wayside, the stakes get higher by the hour. The temptation to give Trump his wall, or at least take his offer seriously as a basis for further discussions, while reasonable, even compassionate, should be resisted for several well documented reasons.

The hardships government workers now suffer are compelling and impossible to ignore. However, while the principles Trump and his poodle, Mitch McConnell, point to as the grist of their obstinence are inventions hastily created to keep up with Trump’s knee jerk pandering to Limbaugh and Coulter et al. which began this mess, the importance of forcing him to eat the full serving of crow he deserves can’t be overstated. Allowing Trump to emerge from this episode with anything Thiessen’s ilk can spin as victory denies the nation a critical opportunity to clarify for a decisive majority of critical “undecideds” how dangerously inept government by Fox/AM is. Negotiations about the wall are fine, but the government reopens right now. That has to be the first, last and always position.

Thiessen and the Trumpie braintrust will continue to provide false credibility to this President no matter how lazy, aloof and disdainful of actual governance he remains. At every turn of the immigration “crisis” Trump dreamed up when he announced his candidacy to people actually paid to cheer him, he has acted in the worst faith. Trump’s word is very close to worthless and nothing he agrees to now can be relied on later. Once any deal is reached with a DACA component the extremists will begin constant carping, and Trump will surely stew over their tweets. What he then does as bigots in his base threaten desertion, and Mueller’s noose tightens, is anybody’s guess.

Who really believes he can be trusted to keep his word? Or not concoct some sort of nasty mischief to redeem himself in their eyes? The only lesson he will have learned is closing the government works. Maybe the next time he’ll use the debt ceiling. GOP invertebrates will have learned backing him is still relatively painless; why wouldn’t they back him again? Giving Trump anything but total defeat will only make him more reckless. Megalomaniacs never consider what they did wrong, only what sycophants exude they did the best. Nothing good can come of it. The same employees now getting stiffed will live in fear it can happen again at any time, hostage to a paycheck to paycheck existence. You don’t deal with terrorists because they’ll only continue to terrorize you.

This POTUS has lied more than 8000 times since taking an oath he never meant to honor. This shutdown is based on nothing more than one subset of those fictions. Allowing him to create such needless suffering for no other reason than his cowardly embrace of right wing extremists, whose support he will likely employ to create yet another crisis when held to account for his criminal malfeasance, hurts the nation and will only further embolden him to act again counter to the national interest. When that inevitability plays out, Thiessen will be at it again, pretending this is a real President with a real policy agenda. Far better to nip it in the bud this time than have to relive it all over. BC

When I was in high school there was a place called “Father’s Hill” on the sprawling property of a Catholic school near my house. Father’s Hill was perfect for sledding, and for several years a very well kept secret. When the snow iced over, the ample descent provided as fast and long a ride as any incline in the area, providing hours of fun for a select group of neighborhood kids. Indeed it seldom had more than a dozen people enjoying it at any one time. Alas, it was too good a thing to stay under wraps, eventually word got out and the crowds came.

One significant stretch of winter weather in 1977 served to move Father’s Hill front and center as the spot to see and be seen among Winston Churchill High’s student body. One particular canceled school day there may have been a couple hundred kids on the grounds, reflecting a who’s who of the social food chain, many more interested in spleefs and Budweisers than sledding.

Father’s Hill abutted Bradley Boulevard, a well traveled road, and it was only a matter of time before somebody decided it would be fun to throw snowballs at passing traffic. What started as sporadic bombs thrown from longer distances quickly morphed into multiple attacks launched by a teenage mob from no more than 15 yards away, pounding vehicles with damaging force. Of course the owners of the cars were incensed by the brazenness of the pelting, and several got out to confront the growing group of rowdies, but faced with a tribe straight from Lord of the Flies, each member looking to outdo others and impress the sizable female contingent watching and taking note, thought better of it and retreated back to their vehicles surely convinced the nation’s future was not promising.

I now confess to being one of the first involved in the event. Not interested in sharing my hill with so many, I joined a group of cohorts intent on getting high and gazing at girls I wouldn’t have the courage to approach. We were perhaps 25 yards from the road, sheltered some in a small glen. Our accuracy rate was low and the odd strike was only once significant enough for a car to even slow its journey. This changed when a buddy launched a softball-sized bullet he had been packing for a while and scored a direct hit on a windshield. The car screeched to a halt and a middle-aged man, ahead of the obesity epidemic’s curve, got out and started screaming at nobody in particular. He couldn’t tell where the strike had originated, and after a couple of minutes of futilely looking for a culprit left the scene. Everybody laughed, and we received some momentary noteriety, however the episode announced to all there was a new game… and the biggest and most fearsome of my peers decided they wanted to play.

There is an apocalyptic feel to a large mob of lawless teenagers fully bent on breaching the constraints of society. The spectacle that evolved quickly that day at Father’s Hill was frightening. A couple of dozen well-to-do suburban teens pummeling cars from point blank range, daring the bravehearts with the courage to get out and challenge them. Although I was a party to starting the affair, I wanted nothing to do with what it had become. And as I watched with a crowd from a distance, mesmerized by its ferocity and sizing up my escape from cops who were sure to arrive at some point, I was seized by the horror of a sudden realization; my father took this exact route home from work, and he very well may be coming home early since it was a snow day!!

Nausea quickly enveloped me. Whatever common sense previous victims of this riot were displaying, I knew my dad would not recognize such limitations. The thought of my father confronting the group of hyenas assembled at that moment buckled my knees. He would likely do what he had always done throughout my life when engaged in confrontation: size things up and slowly remove his glasses, his face transformed to a strange blankness, like a shark ready to chomp something. The image made me lightheaded. What to do?! Should I stay and monitor things, interceding when I saw his car coming, hoping pleas it was my father would grant special dispensation? The humiliation of that option quickly eliminated it. Maybe I could go down Bradley Boulevard and pretend to hitchhike, waiting for him to drive by and then plead with him to turn around and take another route home. That strategy was abandoned because, knowing my father, he would want to assess exactly what was going on, a worst case scenario. Maybe he hasn’t left the office yet I reassured myself! I decided to go home and try to call him. If he hadn’t yet departed there was nothing to worry about.

My father’s secretary, Mary, had the world’s most pleasant disposition, yet her cheerful confirmation that my father had left his Georgetown office “oh, maybe 20 minutes ago” sent dread through me. Such timing had him on a collision course with disasterous peril. My mind raced. Should I run back and await the worst? Perhaps it wasn’t too late to employ the hitchhiking plan. Everything was jumbled, nothing seemed constructive. So I merely sat on the living room couch mindlessly watching a syndicated rerun of some kind and did what always came naturally as a last resort… prayed.

In between Hail Marys I pondered the situation and understood I no longer cared about any social abasement I may suffer. Screw those assholes, this was my dad God damn it! My mind’s eye had him taking shots from the nastiest of the mob’s ruffians, going down as others joined in. Just as I was certain the worst would happen, and got up to head back to Father’s Hill, my dad’s white Chevy Nova coasted down our driveway and disappeared into the garage. I took a deep breath and rushed downstairs to meet my father at the basement door, half expecting him to look bruised and battered. He walked through the doorway looking no worse for the wear, curtly informing me my earlier efforts at shoveling the driveway were “halfassed.” I exhaled in blessed relief and actually hugged him! Now he was worried and asked what was wrong? Was everybody alright? Yes, I exclaimed, everyone was fine. I casually asked if he saw the big crowd at Father’s Hill. No, he responded, he had taken the back route to avoid traffic. As always, my prayers came through.

It’s doubtful the boys from Kentucky captured for all-time having fun at the expense of Native American elder Nathan Phillips and others faced any similar predicament, and they were certainly not the destructive posse of punks trouncing the envelope at Father’s Hill more than 40 years ago, but they were a mob nonetheless. In fact, watching the video, which now is the subject of competing interpretations as the culture war and Fox/AM intercede to set the record straight, a woman onlooker can be clearly heard telling the boys they are behaving like a mob.

Partisans for the Catholic boys want it known Black Israelites started the whole thing, taunting the kids as they awaited their buses. Yet and still, regardless of who may have riled them up, the video clearly shows a large group of boys unconcerned with anything other than joining in with their peers and anatogonizing an outnumbered group of passive Native Americans with tropes void of any other usefulness. The clear image of so many kids unifying around nasty chants meant to proudly underscore the MAGA bigotry which nobody can doubt informed their actions should be as troubling to watch as my unhinged schoolmates were that day long ago.

When groupthink fully eliminates individual judgement and the will to deviate from shared behavior at odds with common decency, a major problem exists. Unlike truly senseless behavior 40 years ago, which no parent would condone or seek to revise in a brighter light, this weekend’s antics will continue to be debated; the Kentucky boys actually appear headed toward Fox/AM martyrdom, the innocent victims of an unquenchable appetite by fake news to villianize any who proudly support Trump. The sad reality is those kids were behaving no differently from so many adults they have observed at Trump rallies since his campaign began, becoming a mob unified against any and all different from themselves. MAGA’s children. BC

Up is down. Black is White. East is West. This is what government by nihilist decree does to reality as it carves out space for visceral measures supported for what they destroy rather than create. When…. if this Administration is driven from the scene it will be as if a hurricane finally passed; there will be only assessments of damages, nothing it wrecked will be anything more than destroyed vestiges of what existed before the disaster occurred.

There is a reason “Post-War” usually precedes descriptions of life after a devastating conflagration. Most of what guided routines before the cataclysm is unrecognizable after the event occurred. The choice in America now is whether our institutions, and those we entrust to run them, are capable of moving swiftly enough to preserve what our current pestilence is actively obliterating.

Everything the Trump White House pursues is done with the assumption it has a mandate to destroy what was created and nurtured before it arrived on the scene. The EPA, pollution standards, Global Climate Change initiatives, NAFTA, TPP, NATO, Civil Rights, Human Rights, the UN, Public Schools, the State Department, respect for journalism, respect for the FBI and Intelligence communities, post Great Recession consumer and financial protections… the list is endless. Virtually the whole of what he inherited to supervise, Trump has attacked with the fervor of one looking to raze all before him, Godzilla in Tokyo.

Was this what the majority of Americans wanted, demanded? Of course not. This agenda was slurred out at MAGA rallies in between assurances the system was rigged, his election prospects doomed. That GOP Senators facilitated a list of Cabinet nominees fully nefarious in their intentions toward the agencies they were selected to run, clarifies so much more than a breathtaking failure of leadership, it reveals a disdain for the public trust that’s meant to primarily inform their actions. Now Republicans appear fully subservient to a President reeling from one bombshell revelation about his corruption after another. As the noose tightens there is little doubt he will foist additional demands on the party he has thus far bullied to his liking, gift wrapped as litmus tests for devotion to conservative principles. Anything less than full support will surely be equated with betrayal.

Writer David Ignatius, reacting to the recent attack in Syria that claimed four Americans among the victims, contrasted the targeted town of Mabij before and after ISIS was driven away, which is another way of pointing out what was normal before ISIS ever got there. Instead of only black, women could dress in bright colors. Where there was nothing but tense anticipation of sweeps targeting all who acted in the myriad of manners forbidden by the fanatics, streets returned to the vibrant meeting places they had been, diversity no longer a crime punishable, as almost all ISIS-enforced offenses, by death. Ignatius’ point was to highlight the mission behind the presence of 2000 US special forces operators on the ground there, hastily withdrawn by Trump against the advise of virtually the entire national security community.

No sane person would equate the Trump Administration with ISIS, that would rightly discredit whatever they had to say. Yet and still, the image of a domestic and international community, far from perfect, but in active accordance on a cross-section of critical challenges, imbued with numerous programs guided by ambitious and hopeful mission statements, suddenly faced with the specter of new leadership ignorantly disdainful of their very existence, and willing to actively subvert the basic goals they were set up to pursue, is tragically appropriate. Trumpism has been nothing but a black cloud on progress and cooperation, a catastrophic tsunami of nihilist malevolence, foisted on anything that existed prior to its arrival. The consequences already are frightening.

On the campaign stump Trump had zero policy specifics. His wretched core was fine with that, resentment and grievance can be conveyed just fine with broad strokes. More than anything else, Trump sold an image of a doer, a human bulldozer ready to remove any obstacles to his MAGA inclinations. His way was the only way, and taking his word for it was just going to have to do because, well, look at the alternative. Incredibly, unfathomably, we elected the lowest common denominator based on his dystopian ramblings that things could only get worse if his opponent won.

Example A of nihilism on parade is Andrew Wheeler, the President’s selection to replace disgraced former EPA Chief Scott Pruitt, whose overt corruption exceeded even Trump’s bottom basement standards. The former coal lobbyist appeared confident this week his confirmation hearings were strictly pro forma. In fact, astoundingly, he exclaimed to a rightly incensed Edward Markey (D-MA) that he hadn’t yet felt it necessary to peruse a US government report warning of dire economic damage associated with the Climate Change neither Wheeler or his boss feel is too pressing a concern. Since the report came out in November, Markey was a bit incredulous Wheeler had yet to so much as glance at it. Wheeler, who’s a dead ringer for an age progression of Beevus, seemed smug enduring Markey’s criticism…. like a guy who understood it was already a done deal.

Of course, with the Senate’s current make up, for Wheeler to enjoy such confidence he’d have to be sure vacation state Republicans like Susan Collins (ME), Lisa Murkowski and Cory Gardner (CO), not to mention hurricane alley Senators Marco Rubio (FL) and Rick Scott (FL) were reliable yeas. Astonishingly, this group seems more willing to approve Wheeler than they were Pruitt, even though he was Pruitt’s dutiful deputy, and voices even more unequivocal animus toward the agency’s basic mandate, if that’s possible. It’s hard to think of states who benefit more from robust EPA oversight than Maine, Colorado or Alaska. Nor is any state in the union more in the crosshairs of elevated sea level distress than Florida. But the existential interests of the states they represent still don’t carry the day in this GOP. Seems a promise to keep his head down and not bathe publicly in the swamp like his predecessor is all that is required to sail through on Republican majority wings.

Willful destruction requires more than the vapid decrees of one inept man, it’s a team effort. At each turn this Administration’s intentions to stomp on every sand castle in its path have been abetted by a fully complicit GOP. Those billowing black clouds in the sky you see aren’t simply soot and pollutants liberated by relaxed air quality standards, they’re also the figurative menace Trump and his enablers continue to represent to most anything constructive. BC

“Mickey Mouse! Get in here. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Yes Mr. President. How can I serve?”

“Listen, those Clemson boys did a number on the bathrooms. I need you to get some plungers and take care of it. I invited some rank and file Democrats over to talk turkey and end this shutdown they own.”

“Er, Your Greatness, Sir, I don’t think they are going to have much say on the matter. Pelosi and Schu….”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t want to hear, Mickey! My gut says we can go around those two losers! Let’s pick em off one at a time, Nobody says no to Trump! I’ll put the elbow on em. Besides, we have a bunch of Wendy’s salads left over. Synergy, Mickey, that’s what makes deals happen. It’s in my book.”

“And a wonderful read it is, Sir, but they seem pretty tight on this one. It’s hard to see many reasons they’d cave. They do seem to have us a bit corner…….”

“God Damn it, stop being a little girl, Mickey! I’ve got em right where I want them. Ask Sean! Miller Time just told me things looked great, the border’s never been more dangerous, and the numbers couldn’t be better! Did you see how my wonderful ICE personnel respected my leadership when I visited? So loyal! You could learn a thing or two from them Mick!”

“Yes, I’m sure I could Sir, but 37 % approval is not very, er, substantial…. and 55% now strongly disapprove of your job performance. Umm, isn’t that a problem, oh Master of the Game?”

“What polls are you looking at, runt?! The latest NRA multiple weapon owners poll has me at 90 plus, and the GOP base is over 80! I’m talking about numbers that matter, ya little rodent! Ainsley told me I’ve never been more popular and make her weak in the knees. I’m not interested in distractions or haters. You’re as bad as the General. I thought we had an agreement! I put up with his crap because he was a tough son of a bitch, kind of bullied me around. You’re just a weasel, Mickey. Who needs you, if you’re not going to be fair to me.?”

“Sorry, oh GOAT of GOATs … hee hee, my bad. I promise I’ll work on that. Of course I’m unworthy and so lucky to have my 3 er 4 jobs. You can count on me.”

“Where are we with that bastard, Powell over at the Federal Reserve. He’s crapping on my Market Miracle. I don’t like it, not one bit. I may need to can his ass!”

“Well, Oh All Natural Locks of Gold, he does have a point. Very tough to have zero interest rates at full employment. It’s kind of, uh, you know, an economic principle.”

“Go get your things, you f**kin munchkin! I’m done with you! Principles! Do you think I won the greatest electoral victory in history worrying about principles. When they said I had no path, what did I say?”

“Uh, it’s all a rigged system?”

No! You little Keebler Wannabe! I gave them the Donald magic.! And sure as hell didn’t worry about principles. Principles… crap! That’s what they said about the Tax giveaway. Did I listen then?! And look where we are!! Jerry Jones called me and said he just christened his $250 million yacht, for God’s sake!! You think that would have happened if I worried about principles?!! The markets don’t like rate hikes… Stuart Varney taught me that long ago. God Damn it. I want to have a talk with that ingrate!”

“I’ll schedule it, Oh Mighty One.”

“See to it! And while we’re discussing things that piss me off, why are we still in NATO? I told Bolton I wanted out ASAP. He said he’d get right on it and now it’s just like Syria…. nothing happening. Vladi, er, I mean… Damn it, I made promises during the campaign and I mean to keep them!”

“But Oh Most Virile of All Men, I don’t recall you saying you’d leave NATO.”

“And why would you remember, you disloyal rat, you were busy dissing me during your own race! So unfair! Well, I said they weren’t paying their fair share, and they still aren’t. It’s not a good fit. I need room to spread my wings. Besides, none of them are on board with leveling Iran. Bolt keeps telling us that. NATO’s history. Make it happen.”

“Ok, sure Your Highness, but it’s going to take time, and you may get impeached.”

“Let em try! All we got on McClownell and Queen Lindsey! Nothing to worry about. It’ll be great ratings. Besides, everyone will be busy watching the War! It’s all I did back in Desert Storm. All day… shock and whatever!”

“You sure are brave, oh Winner of all Winners! A true inspiration. And who knew nihilist militarism was so fun and exciting. I’ll go get to work on another cabinet meeting to highlight how seamless your leadership is. And I’ll definitely be taking notes!”

“Good idea, Lil Mickey. But take care of those toilets first. Who says Big Macs plug you up?!” BC

As the hourly chaos this President deliberately creates continues to gnaw away at our system’s foundations, it’s appropriate to take stock in how our basic relationships weather these uncharted waters. An old high school friend posited the issue on an FB thread thusly: “I see so many threads along the lines of “if you support Trump, just unfriend me now” I encourage you to remember why the person was your friend in the first place.” It’s a valid point about a relevant concern; the collateral damage of frayed or destroyed relationships shouldn’t be taken lightly. There simply aren’t that many friends to be had, and fewer still new ones to be found; our world grows increasingly aloof.

Yet and still, many believe this Presidency is a crisis, and how people act in such circumstances can’t help but be noted and have an impact moving forward. Someone you thought you knew pulls a George Castanza during a fire, his status is bound to be reconsidered. Trump loathers have had two years now to consider what constitutes the proper balance between tolerating Trumpie inclinations and showing MAGAites the door. It’s a tough issue. Trump and his wretched core surely don’t make it any easier.

Central to the entire deal is the question of just how unprecedented is this Administration? How not normal is Trump, really? On election night his campaign had already offered more than enough evidence a very bad mistake was in the offing, but even up until Inaguration Day there were valid hopes tradition, the DC establishment, and the epiphany great responsibility often foists would succeed in raising Trump’s game. After all, the reasoning went, if he brought together the right team, his frailties could be offset.

Two years, 7000 certified lies, and one resignation after the other later those hopes are history, dashed at the feet of a psychotic with a taste for Adderall. Michelle Obama said with knowing certainty the Presidency clarifies exactly who a person is. Truer words were never spoken. We now realize it was more than a mistake…. the worst person in our country occupies the Oval Office. Each of us is going to do with that realization what we will, but it seems a bridge too far to expect our reactions unworthy of scrutiny by those who know us. For while it’s undoubtedly true our system once afforded clear dividers between politics and the rest of our routines, the luxury of categorization was the first casualty of Election 16’. Trump is not Romney or McCain – or even Cruz – he is a worst case the founding fathers feared and created contingencies for. Right now that safety net appears to have some gaping holes.

My friend’s missive stimulated much response, and there was a great deal of sympathy for the notion election results should not be allowed to leach into personal ties. Of course, Trump supporters were most adament about this point, voicing disdain for those who would violate such sanctity. Hysterics needlessly jeopardized friendships and impinged on free expression, according to this viewpoint. Leaning on Obama has become a go to response. Remember, we tolerated your support of that uppity scoundrel, not four, but eight years! Fair is fair. Equivalence is the wretched core’s Alamo, the final fall rope on nihilism’s sheer face.

Old documentary footage of interviews with German citizens who facilitated the rise of fascism, often by simply ignoring totalitarian servility in an effort to maintain friendships, yields often poignant footage of rationalization by the guilt ridden, regretful they didn’t do more when it mattered. Why ruin a whole evening, they sadly implore. These were very close friends… family. What were we to do? Nobody could have foreseen what was to come.

Indeed, for many the issue still hovers whether it’s all just crying wolf, even as Trump comes more unglued by the hour, actually shutting down the government to maintain credence with a bloc he is nothing without. Trumpies despise Hitler comparisons. Did we do that with Obama? Come on! That’s crazy talk! Low blow! It’s useful to remember that, while the Civil War’s divisions were often punctuated by stories of brother vs. brother, or one neighbor enlisting in the Union Army and another following Jeff Davis, the first skirmishes were attended by DC-area onlookers who brought picnic lunches, as if attending horse races. Few understood the genie about to be freed from its lamp. Things can get out of hand in a hurry. Ruin comes in many shapes and sizes.

But as Trump does his worst is it now about more than just his fans? Just how hard should one be toward neutral cluelessness? Life is tough, more difficult still when accepting the burdens of a whacked out President, fully backed by an automaton Senate Majority leader. The wretched core is one thing, what about those who just want to ignore the whole affair? Is apathy now a grievous character flaw? Is consciously ignoring Trump just as bad as supporting him? If a house is burning, are you going to much differentiate the person ignoring the emergency from the one cheering its occurance? Isn’t it just a few layers higher on the same onion?

“I’m so tired of both sides. I wish they’d all just shut up” has become a very common refrain. Since Inauguration Day, Facebook and Twitter have overflowed with those disgusted about posts of anything other than selfies and group photos of family and friends. A willful determination to deny government’s importance, democracy’s relevance. A constant flinch at anything other than one’s own parochial concerns. Has Trump rendered such obsessive self-centeredness a sin? Civic treachery?

Two years have done nothing but justify the worst fears of never-Trumpers. By every metric, many never before required, this Presidency is a chaotic threat to our nation, headed by a man fully guided by the propaganda outlets which relentlessly spin his nihilism for consumption by a base its product conceived and nurtured. There is nowhere to go but up, despite his hourly efforts to descend ever further. His is only a rabid quest for self-preservation; the national interest seldom interferes.

Of course every relationship is unique, and we all must decide for ourselves how deep and valuable different friendships are, but simply declaring it’s not appropriate to hold people accountable for views on all of the ugly biases and nihilism Trump clarifies on the hour is utter nonsense and, more importantly, normalizes the worst we’ve seen, and should pray to ever see in the White House. Can you be a good person and embrace Donald Trump? Sure. But that doesn’t mean you’re not horribly misguided and hurting your country, your neighbors and your family. Sadly, good people are not immune to such frailties.

Perhaps just as significantly, does holding your hands to your ears and screaming leave me alone make one a bad person? Of course not. But doing nothing in a crisis often causes as much damage as doing the wrong thing. The whole American experiment was based on citizens with skin in the game. Many were denied making their full contribution along the way. Now we’re faced with a danger that only grows when good people do nothing. Where this ship is heading all passengers are going to need a life jacket. The Titanic afforded no special safety deck for those denying its peril, every passenger faced the frigid North Atlantic. One can be decent, indifferent and screwed all at the same time. BC

On New Year’s Eve 1977, at a lavish state dinner in Tehran, thrown in his honor by the secretly ailing Shah of Iran, Jimmy Carter’s campaign centerpiece of promoting international human rights ran headlong into geopolitical necessity. Celebrating the New Year with a critical Middle East ally, whose regime, unbeknownst to virtually all of the US intelligence community, limped into 1978 as terminal as its namesake, the new US President toasted Reza Pahlavi as an “island of stability” in a volatile region, and went on to actually imply the Shah – whose dreaded SAVAK was working overtime to arrest and torture Islamic fundamentalists bent on overthrowing his autocracy – was a democrat beholden to the same values as his Western benefactors. Of course oil was the thing, and if lip service was required to keep the barrels flowing, then so be it. Such choices were simply geopolitical reality.

In fact, Carter’s CIA field operations had fully let him down, just how bad would be clear for the world to see a bit more than a year later as blindfolded US Embassy personnel were marched through the streets of Tehran, helpless accoutrements to seismic upheaval that preoccupies us to this day. The lesson was clear: American interests in the Middle East were not merely impacted within the lavish palaces of ruling families, but on the streets, where combustible mixtures of religion, nationalism, resentment of the West, and pure hatred imbibed by decades of despotism could create a new sheriff with grudges to nurse and little interest in existing status quos.

Thirty plus years later a smart and charismatic young American President rightly had such hindsight in mind when he rose in Cairo, Egypt to deliver a speech both the region and the world were all ears to receive. Barack Obama faced a difficult challenge… striking the right balance between the US as honest broker with empathy for what the downtrodden face daily on overcrowded Arab avenues, and the requirements that go with being a steadfast ally to governments facing a volatile mix of competing demands. Finding elbow room to accommodate the change Arab spring foisted at breakneck speed, while accommodating the messy requisites that defined Middle Eastern politics, and all the time owning the Iraq folly still causing indigestion throughout the region. A stew of ingredients with vastly different flavor profiles.

At its heart “A New Beginning,” as the speech was titled, simply stated the obvious… US interests in the world, particularly the Middle East, reflect interplay with Islam. The differences between the West and Muslim countries shouldn’t be allowed to poison the well and predetermine a violent future. We share at least as much as divides us and should make every effort to focus on our commonality; it is to our mutual benefit.

Obama also made Israeli-Palestinian relations a priority, stating a determination to bring the full resources of his office, just like all of his predecessors since the 60s, and look for a way forward in solving one of modern history’s most intractable disputes. Obama had met with leaders of both parties immediately prior to the address and was careful to balance his remarks. It is a testament to his success that only extreme elements in each camp had sharp criticisms afterward. Israeli President Simon Peres hailed the speech as a brave step forward for peace. Even hardline Likud Prime Minister Netanyahu took pains a week later to clarify that he did indeed support a two-state solution.

On Iraq, Obama was even more careful in his oratory. While, stating he believed Iraqis benefited from a Sadaamless existence, he conceded the obvious that mistakes were made and the US wanted nothing more than an autonomous Iraq, with no American boots on the ground. That said, the timeline for full withdrawal spread all the way until 2012, conservative by any estimation. Nothing was a surprise; every word was what Obama had campaigned and easily won election on.

In the US “A New Beginning” was generally received with applause and grateful satisfaction that, after much blood and treasure, the US footprint in the region would be responsibly reduced. Obama’s oratorical gifts were celebrated, even if progressives chided him for being a bit too careful and beholden to Israel. Only one entity attacked the effort with ugly scorn and fury… Fox/AM.

Immediately the theme of surrender imbued a relentless 24/7 enterprise, day in and day out. Obama was kissing the ring of Saudis, washing the feet of Palestinians, and sticking a knife in Israel’s back. The idea Obama had created a moral equivalence between Islamic extremism and Western values became an obsessive talking point among right-wing blabbermouths, constantly shuffled among Fox/AM television and radio hosts. The blood of young American GIs was being soiled by a POTUS who for all anybody knew was a Muslim, himself. Within the panoply of nihilist disgrace, few chapters were as dishonest and seditious as the Ailes universe’s distortion of what most in the US and the world deemed a triumphant outreach. Yep, it was as low as one could go…. Until this week.

The DR has been vocal about how underwhelming a Secretary of State Mike Pompeo has been. Yet and still, while he will surely never be mistaken for Jefferson or Acheson, he nonetheless possesses a platform capable of ensconsing the very worst of Trumpist mischief on the world stage. Just how bad was fully displayed in the same ancient city Obama spoke nearly a decade ago.

Where Obama orated to millions, Pompeo’s remarks pandered to an audience of one. Indeed, the MO was classic Trump… lie with breathtaking certainty, gaslight without hesitation, make a mockery of what were once unassailable boundaries of propriety, and in the end make a shambles of continuity that, until this Administration, served as the bedrock foundation for carrying out this country’s world leadership role. More than a hot mess, it was an isotopic catastrophe.

Part ceaseless diatribe against Obama, part war dance toward Iran, Pompeo had little original to say. In fact, diligent research could very well uncover he plagiarized the whole thing from various segments of Hannity or O’Reilly circa 2009 or 10’. Equating the Obama years with an era of “self-inflicted shame,” Pompeo spent much of his time pledging unflinching servitude to autocrats from the Mediterranean to the Nile to the Red Sea.

How high is the only question this Administration has for regimes that dismember reporters and fill jail cells. United against Shia is more than enough to make differences evaporate like the parched puddle that once was a desert oasis. As always with every last vestiage of this Administration, irony was an orphan during Pompeo’s disjointed sermon. In the wake of Trump’s knee jerk withdrawal of US troops from Syria, a death sentence for Kurdish allies responsible for the routing of ISIS, the SOS bemoaned the “chaos” caused by hasty withdrawal during Obama’s term. Pompeo slammed 44’s “fundamental misunderstanding” of the region.

Where Obama’s remarks dealt with fallout from the Abu Grahib disgrace and the ugly stain black sites left on American credibility, Pompeo blasted the notion America ever has anything to explain. In short, the new sheriff in town has no problem at all keeping the Arab Street down by any means necessary, today’s pauper is tomorrow’s terrorist. Better safe than sorry. When in doubt blame the mullahs…. then imprison.

Ten years ago Barack Obama was looking to turn the page on a chapter of US foreign policy most all agreed was a self-inflicted bullet to the foot, responsible for a Pandora’s Box of nasty surprises, each with its own subset of complicated issues. Today we all suffer a President with zero understanding and less concern for the infinite complexity which defines a region still claiming American lives, a war of attrition heading into its third decade. Pompeo’s shameful, near seditious, screed clarifies this Administration’s useless complacency, a vapid approach ever more concerned with satisfying the senseless particulars of a Fox/AM narrative that, incredibly, acts as braintrust for US foreign policy even as it destroys our stature on the hour.

Pompeo’s Cairo gibberish illustrates toadies not diplomats are making the rounds these days. Reflecting the ceaseless ignorance and insecurity of their boss is all they are authorized to do. Slandering past Presidents and denouncing foundational guidance for US engagement in the world is Pompeo’s stock and trade, and even if his adderall-dependent boss may not pay much attention to the chaotic inanity he demands, it’s certain the world does. The message couldn’t be more clear…. out to lunch! BC

Along the Texas border with Mexico there is a rich history of frontier pioneers, who carved out space in spite of many obstacles. Mexican bandits, Native American tribes uninterested in having their land stolen, harsh weather extremes, tough topography, and simple isolation made ranching in the southern reaches of the Lone Star a very tough ride indeed.

Generations later, the descendants of Texan grit now face an interloper they may not be able to fend off – the US Government. Unlike New Mexico and Arizona, much of the Texas border land Trump’s Sinclairian vision has seen fit to facilitate “the Wall” is privately owned by families who can trace their deeds back generations. Eminent domain, the very rare subject that this President actually does know a good bit about, will be required to free up hundreds of miles of land earmarked to oblige Trumpism’s xenophobia.

Most of the land’s owners are like Fred Cavasos, whose family has ranched 77 lonely acres in the Rio Grande Valley for generations. He has been served notice that the plan is to literally run the wall through the middle of his holdings, fully cutting off his operation from the river’s lifeblood, essentially making his tract impossible to farm or ranch, worthless to any buyer. His pro bono lawyer says he has exactly two choices: sell his birthright at roughly market price to the government; or head to court for a long and costly fight he’ll surely be unable to wage for very long… Donald Trump’s wheelhouse. A deal one can’t refuse.

Hearing the President talk about eminent domain the other day was like listening to a chef talk about a favorite cut of meat; it was clearly a subject close to his heart, and unlike the galaxy of other topics he spews nothing but guff about, Trump spoke with the comfortable cadence of one with experience in the matter at hand. Suddenly, the guy elected to turn America’s energy future back to coal mines, its trade practices back to Smoot-Hartley of the early 30s, and how White America views minorities back to the good old days of Jim Crow, was expounding on the pivotal role land seizure plays in the nation’s progress. Yet and still, no one can deny the Donald knows eminent domain in all its nasty particulars.

Vera Coking of Atlantic City, NJ can attest to Trump’s bona fides when it comes to seizing land with the help of lawyers on retainer and the state. In 1993, looking to pave Coking’s land to create a parking lot for the limousines of high roller patrons of his casino next door, Trump offered $251,000 for the property. Near 20 years earlier, Penthouse Magazine owner, Bob Guccione, himself looking to create a posh hotel on the property, had offered Coking more than $1 million to sell. She accepted neither offer, but Trump wasn’t taking no for an answer. Along with the Casino Reinvestment Development Authority (CRDA), government suits no doubt paid off to play ball, Trump moved to evict Coking and doze her property for a song. Lucky for her the non-profit Institute for Justice took on her case and beat back the bully in court. Her case was but one of many court dockets entertained during Trump’s ugly business career. Lesson one from his primary mentor, the reviled Roy Cohn, sue often. When in doubt, litigate… then stiff the firm who represented you.

Of course in the GOP of old – read pre-Trump – eminent domain was the ultimate boogie man of DC’s Evil Empire. From principled Burkian conservatives to Paul libertarians to pro-Cliven Bundy militia kooks, all agreed private land ownership was sacred. Many a Hannity screed was dedicated to the martyrdom such federal overreach bestowed. Seems stemming the MS-13 hordes has forced some trade-offs. Funny how unhinged bigotry tends to render other principles less paramount. C’mon guys, take one for the team.

Will Hurd is a Republican Congressman representing a district that holds 825 miles of the southern border, and a vociferous opponent of Trump’s Wall. A former CIA agent, Hurd produces facts instead of fear when discussing the President’s signature issue. Hurd deems a physical wall “the least effective way to provide border security.” Asked about alternatives, he provides a long list of cutting edge ideas, everything from driverless vehicles to facial recognition software, drones to advanced radar. A wall, avers Hurd, is less than useless, actually counterproductive to the task, two expensive steps backward at the cost of fundamental property rights conservatives are supposed to value.

Two years into the Trump Presidency it is abundantly clear he holds traditional conservative principles in the same regard as most everything else that requires prudence and any degree of insight. Right now, just like an elderly Atlantic City widow, Texas landowners along the border are in his way, only now he has the Department of Justice to do the legal dirty work. As an increasing number of border residents declare “no sale,” sustained court battles appear to lay on the horizon, possibly leading all the way to the Supreme Court this President boasts about packing. Like everything else about the idiocy Trump promised his wretched core would be paid for by Mexico, all of it will likely add up to nothing but wasted time and needless stress, expensive futility caused only by a nihilist’s campaign centerpiece he hoped his supporters would forget.

Just as 800,000 on furlough, and millions of immigrants, who overstayed their visas looking for the dream we swore was possible, now scared out of their wits, driving 20 miles an hour below the speed limit so they won’t get pulled over and have their lives upended, Texas border ranchers are paying the price for a civic disaster many of them had a hand in creating. Some lessons are more expensive than others. BC

The most dangerous aspect of the Trump Presidency is its relentless inanity. Every day the nation is treated to something that doesn’t seem to matter past its exemplification as an outrageous and inappropriate offshoot of our goofball-in-chief’s vapidity. Enough time passes and we completely forget last month’s insult because several new indiscretions now occupy our attention.

Yet and still, the US Presidency is nothing if not a cumulative affair. The parts always add up to a sum that impacts the nation’s present and future. What we forget when our attention turns to something else is nonetheless what we will have to deal with. It’s not simply coincidence that the US Government through the decades has leaned heavily on continuity and established best practices; radical change throws things askew, beauracracies are not nimble creatures. Just because a bloc of US voters have convinced themselves of government’s futility doesn’t mean they don’t rely on it as much as the rest of us. Today we are seeing the damage of a thousand cuts, presented daily as nothing more than another example of Trump’s ineptitude. Ruin isn’t always a tsunami.

Two years ago Trump visited the CIA and mused about looting Iraqi oil. Afterward, CNN’s panelists were visibly shaken, needing a few minutes to collect their thoughts in order to do their jobs, such was the dichotomy between what the just inaugurated President was spewing and the public demeanor of all of his predecessors. More than 7000 outright lies later similar rants now produce yawns and shoulder shrugs, maybe a joke or two. What’s new and alarming eventually becomes worn and boring. How can the damage be crystalized any clearer than the simple proposition that virtually every day this President says or tweets something that, until his inauguration, would have mired a predecessor in debilitating controversy and scandal?

There has never been satisfaction accrued chronicling authoritarians. History always shows them to be inept, their whims mostly trite, usually laughable if not so destructive; they are jokes until they start hurting people. Any loyal Colbert viewer surely knows this to be true with Trump. In fact, we can all go to bed most every night and thank the Lord he remains way too lazy and uninspired to be much of anything effective, including an autocrat. But withstanding his endlessly inept malfeascence is still going to leave scars, not to mention the imminent danger his wretched core will quickly coalesce behind an heir to his disdain for pluralism. After all, Fox/AM isn’t going anywhere.

Both China and Russia have been strengthened substantially in the last two years, each moving to fill vacuums Trump’s reckless retreat from world leadership has provided. Worse, regardless how devoted a new Administration may be in repairing the damage, many of the bridges will be burned, at least for the time being, and we will be on the sidelines. Somebody leases a copier from you for 20 years, but then goes with a competitor because you ignored them or left the scene for awhile, even if they are willing to give you their business again, it’s going to have to wait until they need another copier. Two or four, or God help us, eight years of demeaning and alienating our customer base will have consequences a change in attitude/policy will be inadequate to quickly fix.

American soybean farmers are already getting punched in the nose by that reality. Ditto construction interests, as well as transportation concerns. As of August “Tariff Man’s” visceral trade impulses impacted 1097 products across a vital cross section of American business. In markets where the line between profitability and red ink was already mere percentage points, 15-25 % cost increases are unsustainable. The case load at Commerce for exemptions is now overwhelming and growing. Where is the tipping point that will signal an economy in crisis? All agree it’s close and quickly getting closer.

Which brings us to tonight’s 7-minute nationally televised distraction. Figuring out Trump’s purposes is like understanding my grandmother during her addled final couple of years. Residing with my parents in Maine, she kept reminding me on the hour whenever we visited that she would be accompanying us back to Virginia to again take up residence in the home she had sold more than 10 years before. The facts have nothing to do with it.

There is no crisis at our southern border; that’s a fact… like the sun rising in the east. Most undocumented residents simply overstay their visas. Most drugs come in through established checkpoints or through the air. Zero terrorists have been apprehended at the southern border. Central American immigrants come here seeking asylum at recognized points of entry. What we are bound to hear this evening is just another plethora of falsehoods this Administration has fully based its agenda on since it came into office, the Fox/AM narrative its wretched core expects it to adhere to, consummated nightly by its prime time line up. It’s Hannity inanity, manufactured chaos for addled minds wishing to return home to the America they glimpsed as kids, before failures they blame on everybody else.

Of course the world is watching. And while we may exude an uncanny willingness to digest and then forget every senseless indignity or counterproductive policy edict foisted by a President less concerned with the national interest than his hour-to-hour enemies list, our adversaries take notes, and the results do not simply evaporate. As tiresome as the record has become, as stifling the ennui of calling this spade a spade now feels, that doesn’t augment the damage we are absorbing. Frogs basking in a gradually warming pot and all that. As ever in the Trump era, the real crisis comes from the White House and a President not to be trusted, whose word is synonymous with deceit…. and derrières inhabiting flyover state recliners, who will furiously nod in agreement when regular programming is interrupted. BC

As a high school senior I took a typing class as an elective with hopes it would provide some relief to my abysmal GPA. This was 1977 so the typewriters used for instruction were manual monstrosities not given to forgiving the clumsy fingers of a distracted teenager. But the real obstacles to success were my attitude and scheduling. I couldn’t have cared less about improving my typing skills, and the tedium of the exercise quickly consumed any previous ambitions to boost my numbers. Worse, the class was during 5th period, right after lunch.

Lunch hour at Churchill High School in the pre “war on drugs” days, like any other respite, was wholly devoted to smoking as many bowls of whatever the market made available as time and privacy would allow. While dazed and confused made other classes simply challenges to basic cognition, improving my typing skills through what I seem to recall was deemed the “touch system” taught in Ms. Jewell’s class constituted a bridge way too far. Larry, a diligent classmate assigned the typewriter next to mine, was a very nice guy, as well as both sober and reasonably motivated not to waste the hour each day. He would provide the metric for my inane futility.

The grading structure was as fair as it was simple and straightforward. The first day of the class we were given a few paragraphs to practice, and at the end of the day were timed for several minutes to establish a baseline for our speed and competence. I clocked in at a wretched 14 words per minute with plenty of errors. Larry scored 18 words per minute, and seemed dissatisfied with the effort. Thus, our baselines established, the rest of the semester was given to transforming us from hunt and peckers to masters of the touch system. The beauty of it was nothing could be fudged or BS’d, final grades would wholly reflect how much the number improved by term’s end.

As the semester progressed I couldn’t help but notice, on the occasions I actually made it to class – skipping classes was a preferred activity – Larry’s diligence at the keyboard. He seemed content to tackle the paragraphs Ms. Jewell distributed each day, always emphasizing different words meant to stress various letter combinations designed to enhance touch system dexterity. Larry was clearly gaining both ability and confidence as the weeks passed, his determination never appearing to wane. Me, I was usually all out not to doze, and never gave the touch system much of a go, hunt and peck ruled my 5th periods to the end.

Unfortunately for my quest to enhance my scholastic bona fides, the final typing test which would determine our grade for the semester happened to coincide with a friend coming into a significant quantity of black Pakistani hash. He was generous and I was not near at the top of my game as Ms. Jewell passed out the test sheets. Larry looked ready to excel, his fingers laid confidently across the keys. Honestly, I could have been straight as a guardrail and still embarrassed myself. The old touch system and I just never jelled, my indifference to anything about the whole endeavor dooming any prospect of synergy from the start.

Ms. Jewell was an attractive yet severe woman, who had a curt way of talking that made one disdain the language. It was as if she knew whatever she had to say was not compelling and getting the whole thing over with quicker was for the best. “Class get ready… and type” was the standard instruction for typing tests. This was the big one. I glanced over at Larry and he looked like a secretary, his fingers like Liberace on the antiquated keys. Sensing imminent massive failure, I began furiously hunting and pecking, my eyes shifting to the test copy as my addled brain tried vainly to memorize chunks of text for transcription. Of course “time!” came way too fast, and a gaze at my sorry production confirmed the worst. Larry looked pleased with his effort, a near full sheet of single-spaced verbiage before him. He glanced at my wreckage with what seemed an amused eye. A semester’s worth of chickens were home to roost. I felt like crap. My lord, I couldn’t even cut it in typing class… a hard lifetime of road construction crews lay before me.

The final numbers confirmed the obvious. Larry, who I assume received the “A” I originally coveted, clocked in at 62 words per minute! Whatever career he was headed toward, he now possessed typing abilities that would assist his progress. My final number was…. 12 words per minute. I had actually regressed. God does have a sense of humor, and I eventually cultivated an abiding interest in political science and journalism as college pursuits. Hunt and pecking became a bane of my existence as I sought to finish term papers, essays and articles late into the night, clumsily transcribing notes and research to finished copy. At the end of the day, Ms. Jewell’s typing class clarified a life lesson as basic as it was valuable: effort determines success, and attitude dictates effort. Moronic indifference to improvement guarantees failure… common sense stuff even a stoner teen can grasp.

These memories flooded back yesterday as I watched our President preside over his now trademark version of a cabinet meeting. Now two years in not a thing has changed – read improved – since the first kabukifest he chaired in early 2017. The rambling, unhinged opening monologue, the bogus figures, recited with the casual insincerity liars always exhibit, a conference table full of sycophants forcing smiles and abasing themselves as they heap false flattery on a boss who constantly demands such prostrations. Trump, arms tightly crossed against his ever expanding torso, eyes glazing over at anything not presented in line with his narcisstic sensibilities. But most of all the transparent uselessness of the whole exercise, the overt waste of time and taxpayer expense the whole charade embodies. Nothing has progressed an iota. A President clarifying, after two full years, his utter disdain for learning to better do the job he was entrusted with… to become more than a hunt and pecker, hopelessly flailing at the mid term.

The attitude Trump brought to his Inaguration was no better than mine when I headed to 5th period typing. Each doomed us to failure. The difference, tragic for our country and the world, is I allowed my failure to inform me and ultimately improve my future disposition. Trump is way too old a mutt to learn any new tricks. His disdain for the Presidency’s requisites will be just as great the day he is forced from the White House grounds as the moment he was given the keys to the castle. That’s a certainty. We are stuck with 12 words per minute. BC

Serious horse players spend a lot of time looking for excuses. Seldom will a race go by that a handicapper isn’t forced to assess a sub par performance by a horse that may otherwise be an attractive wager. Indeed, much of what shapes a bettor’s perceptions of any particular race comes from reasons to look past failures in the previous running lines of horses that, without the benefit of such creative excuses, would be labeled pretenders and tossed immediately.

Missteps out of the gate, wide trips, off tracks, fractious pre-race behavior, too hot, too cold, not enough pace in the race, too much pace in the race… the list is endless, limited only by one’s imagination. Once, years ago, I was at Laurel Racecourse discussing the entries for an upcoming allowance race with an old timer, who spent every day doing what he loved the most, losing money at the track. I was high on a particular four-year old named Prince Stanley, who I had been chasing for several races, excusing one out-of-the-money effort after another. The wise old man asked incredulously what about my selection could possibly appeal to me. I responded with earnest the colt had now run on dead rails three straight times and his odds were double digits. My friend looked seriously at me over his glasses and said simply: “… a horse finds trouble more than once in a while, he brings it with him, and big odds don’t make him run any faster.” Plenty inside the DC beltway pay consultants good money for wisdom not near as profitable. Of course I listened to none of it and was tearing up my tickets as Prince Stanley finished with interest to grab fourth after having to check and alter course, assuring I would probably misplace my faith in him yet again. It’s important to note here this tendency works the other way as well, with short-priced favorites put up to scrutiny, every effort made to diminish their past victories as part of an effort to embolden taking a stand against them. Either way, racetrack school is an expensive education, and nobody is spared the expense.

Andrew Beyer is one of horse racing’s most articulate proponents, and the Washington Post resident handicapper for decades until the position was eliminated due to the general public’s growing disinterest in the sport. He once quipped had he spent as many hours reading law books as the DRF Past Performances he would have been picked to the Supreme Court. Amen brother.

Beyer’s enduring contribution to the sport are “speed figures,” actually trademarked in his name, meant to quantify a horse’s standing with a single inarguable number time itself produces free of most subjective vagueries, excuses be damned! Yet and still, in 2002, when a horse named War Emblem produced a 112 figure in the Illinois Derby three weeks before the Kentucky Derby, which was head and shoulders above the rest of the field, Beyer’s fealty to his own gospel was put to the test.

Here it was on a silver platter; finally, a horse sure to be long odds, exhibiting an overwhelming edge over 17 other entrants based on the analytical model Beyer himself had developed. Not only was his method going to be showcased, he was going to get rich while it happened. Only one problem… Beyer couldn’t get himself to believe his own methodology. War Emblem had never run anything approaching a 112 before the race in Illinois. So Beyer set out to convince himself it was a fluke. Surely there had to be extenuating circumstances. Souped up track, the colt was left all alone on the lead, a short home stretch, a host of reasons to doubt the speed figure War Emblem produced. By the time they went postward on the first Saturday in May, Beyer had convinced himself the winner of Derby 128 was going to be Essence of Dubai, a prospect with powerful Middle Eastern connections but no recent Beyer figure to consider because he had prepped for the race in Dubai, a long and thus far futile route to take to Louisville. After a week of talking himself off the horse his own unique handicapping process pinpointed as a major standout, finding any excuse possible to undermine his own conclusions, Beyer ended up siding with an animal his metrics couldn’t even assess, prepping for the race in a fashion that had never yet succeeded.

War Emblem grabbed the lead right out of the gate, jockey Victor Espinoza setting an aggressive but sensible pace, and never looked back, winning the roses in a scintillating 2:01. A $2 bet returned $43 to those who put their faith in Beyer speed figures. Essence of Dubai is still running, and he burned all of Beyer’s money, leaving him to explain in his post-race column how he, not only ignored, but actively sabatoged, one of the greatest opportunities his handicapping system ever presented him. To add salt to the wound he spent the two-week run up to the Preakness finding more reasons why War Emblem was fortunate in Louisville and may have trouble in Baltimore. War Emblem paid $7.60 after jogging home to win the Preakness. Beyer’s disgrace was complete.

What’s the moral to all of this, past the utility of heeding a very very wise man’s advice that “a passion for golf and horse racing will leave one most always pissed off?” It’s simply this: believe what you see and what people say because once that no longer suffices as one’s primary filter all bets are off. Reality, and our own ability to process what unwinds before us, is its own most powerful argument.

As we depart 2018, a year the POTUS told more than 5000 certain and verifiable lies, we’d do well to spend more time embracing the tangible and less time searching for reasons to doubt it. Last year can aptly be called the year of the gaslight, when ridiculous explanations, pronounced with enough certainty, exclipsed realities on full view, recorded for all to see and hear, and fully informed large blocs of citizens determined to give full sway to cognitive biases that only reinforced beliefs in the best of their champions, even as events unfolded to provide them otherwise documented proof of their worst.

Unhinged cops mercilessly beating and shooting unarmed suspects… fully recorded, then vigorously defended by legions of commenters imploring the assailents be given a benefit of the doubt only possible by refusing to accept what was established public record. Not just rare and isolated incidents, but repeated and ugly examples of brutality.

Mass shootings, carried out with military grade weaponry, only to time and again be classified as aberrations perpetrated by outliers, the killing device irrelevant. A preposterous proposition put forward by whole swaths of lawmakers and commentators that vague intentions of the founding fathers should obviate repeated slaughter. The notion that arming teachers is more viable than banning weapons Ronald Reagan declared dangers to public well being.

Kellyanne Conway ad nauseum delivering shameless “alternative facts” in order to make more palatable Trump’s daily assaults on reason and decency, even as Andrew Cuomo somehow allows that there is actually something worth debating.

Legions of ridiculous GOP lawmakers contorting to make sense of White House statements and tweets that often directly contradict what was said during the previous news cycle. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, ever the loyal liar, staring askew at reporters reading word for word statements she just denied were actually said. “No, the President didn’t mean he would own a shutdown; that’s not what I heard!”

We appear to be fast approaching a “post-reality” existence, where the five senses are under fire as reliable gauges of truth and actuality. I suppose that means our reliance on narratives spoon fed by TV and radio producers, not to mention internet content providers, has eclipsed basic human instincts, shading everything, even what we witness in the clearest, most direct terms in favor of pondering explanations the storyline is capable of accepting.

In other words, our President may soon actually be able to go out on 5th Avenue and shoot somebody, only to merely spark debate on CNN, old Kellyanne imploring us to keep an open mind and beseeching the MSM to stick to stories Americans really care about. Of course, that’s a day to dread because when it arrives odds America will remain a going democratic concern will be long indeed, and no manner of creative handicapping will make it a good bet. Make 2019 the year of what’s obvious. BC