Three Magic Words for 2018

Yes, this year is almost over.  And, of course, we have to reflect upon it, as that is the mental trope that society insists we must roll around in the muck in order to learn from our past to prevent it becoming our future.

Yes, people got married, had kids, ate well, did good works for all and generally made the wheels of society roll along.  Yes, thousands died in unspeakable horrors, from gas attacks, cruise missiles, gunfire and crazed violence for no better reason than they were at the wrong map reference at the wrong time.  It was a mix, as most years are.  Ghastly, heart-breaking horrors with tears of joy as us humans didn’t manage to blow ourselves up once again.

Wherever you are, we ask one thing:  Do your part to make this next year a nicer one with small, personal gifts of yourself.  Hold the door for someone.  Look up from your phone and see the other inhabitants around you.  Reach out, if only to say hello and acknowledge their part of your planet.  I like to occasionally stop the local firefighters when they’re at the grocery store, shake their hand, say thank you and hope they are bored to tears on this shift.  Same with cops, or paramedics.  It is a little thing.

Will a hundred thousand little things add up to anything that matters?  I don’t know, but I do know that we’ve become isolated from each other to the point of emotional immobility.

I have a label on my workstation desk.  It has the magic words that we see every day all around us, but out of context, bringing some gravitas to the words.  Here’s they are:

You are here.

All we can ask is that you live that way.  Be present.  Be kind.  Be brave when you need to and be humble if honoured.

Wishing you a present, pleasant 2018.

David

 

Mueller Show Volume II

The Robert Mueller Show is now in Volume II with a guilty plea bargain from former National Security Adviser Michael Flynn.  Yes, the twenty-five day wonder from Donny John’s campaign who was either pushed or jumped from Cabinet for telling fibs to VP Pence regarding his dealings with the Godless Communists in Russia.

The plea is a guilty on Lying To The FBI, Like The Cheap Fuck You Are (the formal term) which doesn’t necessarily mean jail time, unlike some of the other charges that could have seen Flynn spending time in the system.  There have been a lot of media meatpuppets trying read the between the lines on what a plea deal might mean, with speculation running rampant.

In Mob terms, copping a plea means you are as guilty as all hell, but if you give us the head of your crew with sworn testimony in a court of law, we’ll let the the other more serious charges go by the wayside.  Don’t cooperate and then all the other bad stuff comes back.  Copping a plea also means you’re likely to testify about the heinous high crimes and misdemeanors your boss got up to at various dates, times and places, with names, addresses and phone numbers.

In Mob terms it also means you are now dead. Fortunately, contract killings are frowned upon in North American politics, so Flynn’s estate won’t have to deal with pictures of him splayed out over a bowl of pasta with two gunshot holes in the back of his head.  Even Nixon wouldn’t go that far.

Mueller already has folks down the food chain pointing up at Flynn from extensive interviews with Paul Manafort, his business partner Rick Green and George Papadopoulous, a “low-level volunteer” in the campaign who managed to sit at the big table with the candidate and other notables.

Of course in the Daily Press Conference, Sarah Huckabee Saunders is declaring that War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery and Love is Hate, in keeping with the Trump Script from 1984  Sometimes she includes a Two-Minutes Hate of Hilary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, CNN or anyone who doubts her pie-making skills.  Why?  Because Donny John said so.

The real problem is that there is no diffuse management and layers of responsibilities between #Lyin45 and his underlings that would allow Donny John to weasel out of his responsibilities.  He is at least, according to himself, the best manager in the world, with a finger on every decision, in between rounds of golf, vacations in Florida and 6 am tweetstorms while he takes his morning dump shitting out a partly chewed filet that has been cooked well-done and covered with ketchup.

At least Nixon’s crew of savages tried to create a story line of “plausible deniability” to protect the President.  Donny John ain’t that smart.

We await Volume III