Making The Sale

March 9, 2017

h_51493177.jpgIn the early Fifties — the dawn of a Golden Age of advertising, when the new medium of television was jostling recently comfortable postwar, post-Depression families about most everything — a Mad Man named Rosser Reeves came up with a profound theory about how to make tv campaigns effective. He called it the Unique Selling Proposition, and it boils down to this: there is nothing else like our product, therefore you should switch brands to get it.

So, in ad terms, the hard shell of M&Ms “melts in your mouth, not in your hand” like other gooey chocolate candy does. FedEx delivers overnight “absolutely, positively,” unlike any other carrier. KFC uses a “secret” proprietary recipe; so does Coca-Cola. If your Domino’s ‘za isn’t there in 30 minutes, it’s free. Even staid old Smith Barney made money “the old-fashioned way. We earn it.” Unlike, I guess, those other shysters who only push paper around. These days Reeves’s principle is more commonly known as “positioning,” but that’s just nomenclature. The fact is, the ultimate position in commerce is still the USP: everybody wants it and only we have it.

As others have noted, a political campaign is nothing but an instant business startup that has to go from zero to sixty right away. Donald Trump brought his own USP to the 2016 presidential campaign, and I think it did most of his heavy lifting before he ever opened his mouth. It was a simple, even diabolical position: I am a rich, successful non-politician. That bare statement, plain enough for anyone to comprehend, does a whole lot of subliminal selling.

He’s rich. To be sure, there are other politicians who are also rich. (By a remarkable coincidence, many of them managed to become wealthy even while serving in office!) The subtext is, I’m so rich that I don’t have to worry about special interests, because big shots don’t have the money to push me around: I have a screw-you fortune. (“Special interests” are “powerful entities who don’t donate to me,” just as “outside agitators” are “people who oppose me, no matter where they come from.”) To Americans, great wealth also connotes great worth: that pile of dough has to represent someone’s sweat equity, even if Trump inherited his from Pop, whose initial loan set Young Master Donald on his corporate way. Monarchic subjects worldwide know money can represent nothing more significant than ancestry or blind luck, but we are a nation of rolled-up sleeves and tales of derring-do. To us, rich suggests brave and bold were once up in there too.

But what does “rich” mean? Is it the balance-sheet remainder of one’s assets minus one’s debts? Or is it just a lifestyle choice funded by kicking a gilded can ever farther down the road? There are two widely held harrumphs about Trump’s bottom line. (1) He isn’t as rich as he says he is. (2) It’s paper wealth anyhow, funded by bankruptcy relief, “brand equity” and Scroogelike stiffing of subcontractors and other underlings, and could come tumbling to earth at any time. We can’t evaluate (1) because we are not permitted to see the president’s tax returns, and (2) because the Trumpian empire consists of hundreds of dodgy LLCs (546 to be exact, per a disclosure form filed in May 2016), most of which are trading on a brand name instead of a tactile piece of physical property. The Trump Organization’s largest source of revenue is probably licensing, thus putting the word “Trump” on a par with the Playboy bunny logo. I use the word “probably” with faux Trumplike assurance because I don’t know for sure, and neither do you. The boss wants to keep it that way.

Trump has claimed a net worth of more than $10 billion. (At least his campaign office did, on July 15, 2015.) That number fluctuates over time, but as David Cay Johnston, author of the bio THE MAKING OF DONALD TRUMP, says, “there is not now and never has been any verifiable evidence that Donald Trump is or ever has been a billionaire.” Still, the guy does live in a big-ass tower on Fifth Avenue with his name on it (the White House has basically become his pied-à-terre), so for the sake of argument let’s concede nine-figure “rich.” However, using the president’s own logic, I will state here and now that Trump’s net worth is nowhere near a billion dollars and that’s an absolute true verifiable fact. Now it’s up to him to prove me wrong, and he can’t do it without unzipping his financial fly. So I think I’m on pretty solid ground here when I make my bold, unsubstantiated assertion.

Of course, as the bard of Asbury once observed, “Poor man wanna be rich / Rich man wanna be king / And a king ain’t satisfied / Till he rules everything.” Even if Trump didn’t need other people’s money to bankroll his campaign — he sure didn’t spend much, since he got most of his national exposure for free — homemade bread doesn’t inoculate him from “special interests,” who would very much like to become very much richer on his watch.

He’s successful. Well, at least he’s still around, and he has many possessions. But he’s gone bust often enough to have made “Donald Risk” — that’s what bankers actually call it: yes, the president of the United States has poor credit — unwelcome at U.S. lenders since the mid-Nineties. (Explain to me again how you can lose money running casinos.) This is why people seriously suspect him of having sizable Russian financial obligations. If he needs capital, he has to raise it from somewhere else, and the oligarchs who sacked the Russian state love to park money in real estate. Note that he’s never mentioned Ukraine, either as candidate or president.

But that’s reality. Instead, this guy deals in perception. For more than a decade Donald Trump has played a CEO on television, whose job it is to fire imaginary employees from an imaginary company. This is the image his fans have seen with their own eyes. Of course he’s successful: he’s the big boss! Just ask Gary Busey! One assumes that his “executive producer” position carries a financial piece of THE APPRENTICE along with it. If so, pretense could be more lucrative than actuality. This program, and not real-life business deals, may even have represented Trump’s major source of income these past few years; a hit tv show certainly enriched his boy Steve Bannon for life. But again, I don’t know, and neither do you.

What you do know regarding “successful” is this. If he incurred a $916 million loss that allowed him, through the use of real-estate tax credits, to avoid federal income tax for nearly twenty years, that doesn’t make him smart. It makes him a businessman who lost a billion frickin dollars.

He’s not a politician. This is the crux of the matter. Trump’s pitch is, politicians got us into all these messes, but elect me and I’ll run the country like a business. (Like I do on tv, not like I did in Atlantic City!) But here’s the thing that escapes many patriots: the government isn’t a business.

One of the hoariest chestnuts regularly heard on the campaign trail is, “You balance your family’s budget, don’t you? Why can’t the government balance its budget?” Well, if you own a home or a car, you probably took out a loan to buy it. In other words, you engaged in deficit spending, you owe more than you have, and you haven’t balanced doodly squat. If you drive on a road, stop at a traffic light, call a cop or fireman, drink water that’s not filthy or flammable, or use the many other benefits we take for granted — we haven’t even touched upon soldiers — it takes money to put them there and keep them there. Government does have a purpose. We have to buy some things collectively if we want them at all. Yes, the national debt is onerous, but that’s why we should pay it down when we run a surplus rather than further cut the taxes of bigwigs.

If you equate America — or any nation — to a business, you’re getting some crucial things wrong. To Trump, our relationship to other countries is analogous to the way some CEOs view their competition. It’s a zero-sum conflict: if we win, you lose. That’s not entirely true for businesses like, say, books, which was my last trade. A bestseller lifts all boats. Everybody wants to have Harry Potter at the expense of the competition, sure, but if Potter explodes, that just brings more people into the real or virtual bookstore, and they don’t have to leave with only that. They might buy some books of yours as well.

Now, an auto purchase is a zero-sum game. If you buy a Nissan, you won’t be shopping at a competing dealer for a good little while. All other automakers have lost a sale. But even so, keeping one’s eye on pure profit can be shortsighted. That’s why Henry Ford’s doubling of the minimum wage while he was rolling out Model Ts was so brilliant. He reasoned: if I pay my people more, I’ll be making less on each car, but they can afford to buy cars themselves! We’ll keep making ever more Model Ts, and earn more money in the long run! “The owner, the employees, and the buying public are all one and the same,” quoth Henry, “and unless an industry can so manage itself as to keep wages high and prices low it destroys itself, for otherwise it limits the number of its customers. One’s own employees ought to be one’s own best customers.”

We know that Trump’s worldview is of a shark tank where all nations compete for the chum. He based his whole campaign on that, beginning with Mexico. His travel ban is a piece of theater, since no terrorists from the affected countries have ever threatened the U.S. (Why not ban Saudis, who were the majority of the 9/11 hijackers? Oh yeah, I forgot.) It’s vital for Trump’s pitch to identify a nation-state as the enemy, even though there’s no official policy anywhere to “take American jobs” — capitalism is handling that for itself by buying labor as cheaply as it can, anywhere it can. Official job poaching was Rick Perry’s specialty when he was governor of Texas, but that’s interstate ball.

International relations is not a series of “deals.” It’s the result of centuries of finely hewn agreements and disputes and alliances, most of them based not on inward-looking nationalism but the recognition that we live in an intertwined global society. If we somehow can’t get along politically, at the very least we have to respect one another. For example, there’s one big issue that affects us all. The worst of enemies still share the same planet, and its ecosystem is quickly going nuts. Everybody’s on board except one country, and Trump will almost certainly make our shameful reticence and isolation on climate change even worse.

Any leader of the free world needs a Henry Ford moment. If you help others, that will make life better for you too. As departing longtime diplomat Daniel Fried put it, “We are not an ethno-state, with identity rooted in shared blood. The option of a White Man’s Republic ended at Appomattox. We have, imperfectly, and despite detours and retreat along the way, sought to realize a better world for ourselves and for others, for we understood that our prosperity and our values at home depend on the prosperity and those values being secure as far as possible in a sometimes dark world.”

In contrast, the “America First” viewpoint is very close to Trump’s own personality: look out for Number One. Whip the competition by any means necessary. Renegotiate everything. Break stuff. But Newton’s Third Law applies to politics too. If you suggest abdicating or even reducing U.S. commitment to NATO — yes, everybody should pay their fair share — then Germany has to consider going nuclear for its own protection. If you start banning the immigration of putative “bad dudes,” then the next generation of technologists will locate elsewhere. If you make all undocumented aliens vanish, then your crops will rot in the field.

Trump’s “business experience” consists of overseeing a closely held private family firm, answerable to nobody: not directors, not shareholders. As he has already discovered, the powers of the president are great but not unlimited. Now he’s in charge of a sprawling bureaucracy that won’t necessarily do his bidding. He’s already picked fights with the intelligence community, the judiciary, and his predecessor. Wait till Congress puts its dukes up or Putin finally wipes the smile off his face. The best and worst thing about this amateur is the same: there’s no subtlety. He tweets out what he’s thinking, but at least you know what he’s thinking. Unfortunately, so do his many more businesslike counterparts around the world.

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The First 48 Hours

January 23, 2017

trump-inaugurationWell, that was one hell of a weekend. We have a new President and maybe, just maybe, we have a new counterculture as well. That’s probably the wrong word to use, since the Trump Administration’s #1 takeaway from its first few days in office ought to be: geez, there are more of them than there are of us. Maybe it’s the Trumpkins who are the counterculture.

It sure sounded that way during the first few moments of Donald J. Trump’s presidency. After acknowledging the four former Presidents in attendance, he essentially told them: by the way, all y’all suck. Trump’s America, on their watch, has devolved into a land of carnage and tombstones where vicious foreigners steal our jobs and try to con us into believing the climate is changing. In other words, he was talking to his base — which still believes crime and unemployment got worse under President Obama (they both declined, along with the uninsured rate). He wasn’t finished, of course, and the next morning took issue with estimates of the size of the crowd, thought to be about a third of the one Obama drew in 2009, and slagged the “dishonest” press for having the temerity to report it.

That yuge crowd and dishonest press stuff came during a visit to the CIA, where the spooks seemed puzzled at the lack of attention in their new boss’s remarks to, well, to the CIA. After all, he’d been slamming them for weeks. To make matters worse, while he was at Langley a crowd was gathering to protest his ascension and his disdain for women’s rights. Joined by quite a few men and boys, the marching assumed Obaman proportions, dwarfing the inauguration with three times as many people. And that was just in Washington. All over the country — all over the world — similar protests erupted, surprising officials everywhere with their numbers. Not just New York, L.A., and the other big cities, but all over. A thousand in Jackson, Mississippi, as red a place as you can find. Twenty thousand in Phoenix, not far behind it in redness. Forty thousand in Austin, twice what was expected, more than that in San Diego. Five thousand in Birmingham, Alabama (they expected 200). Healthy six figures in Boston and Seattle — even “several thousand” in Knoxville, Tennessee. Three hundred in Tel frickin Aviv!

Trump couldn’t know the extent of the demonstrated fervor against him while he was still obsessing over the size of his, um, crowd, but as the reports poured in from everywhere — the numbers above came spontaneously from Facebook friends — it looked more and more like a massive repudiation that made the hoity-toity inauguration weekend its bitch. (I refer of course to the canine connotation, women’s rightists.) Trump was so embarrassed by photos proving that his audience was a mere fraction of Obama’s that he sent mouthpiece Sean Spicer down to the press scrum on Saturday night to spit out as many falsehoods as he could manage. The Times did a nifty summation, finally calling false even in its headline reporting on a one-way “press conference” during which Spicer took no questions from reporters. According to the Presidential press secretary, it was the largest inaugural audience ever, period (it wasn’t); the DC Metro had more riders than for Obama’s inauguration (it didn’t); special floor coverings initiated this year made the audience look smaller (they use them every time to protect the grass); and new fencing and magnetometers kept people from the Mall this year (nope, same security as before).

Kellyanne Conway, the most beleaguered spin doctor of our time, basically gave up the game Sunday on MEET THE PRESS when she called Trump’s own statements about the media ginning up a conflict between him and the intelligence community “alternative facts.” My absolute favorite one was, when I began my inaugural address it stopped raining and became sunny, then when I finished, it started pouring. Everybody there knows that it drizzled throughout and kept on drizzling after the horrific oratorial train wreck was over. It reminds me of that old punch line from the man whose wife catches him in bed with another woman: “Who you gonna believe: me or your lying eyes?” We are left to wonder, why even bother lying about something so insignificant as the weather? Is the President’s truth toggle stuck on OFF permanently? Or does he live in a fantasyland where the sun was indeed metaphorically shining during the eighteen minutes the entire world was focused on him? It’s only a matter of time before Kellyanne tells us those agita-making crowd shots were Photoshopped by the dishonest media.

Remember now, all this happened just in the first 48 hours. Trump intimated that he’ll start really signing stuff today, Monday, which he evidently considers to be his first full work day. Over time it may sink in that the Presidency is a 24/7 gig, but don’t tell him yet: the more Donald Trump is out of the office, the better.

So, people had some fun and Trump Hulked out, just as they’d hoped. What comes next now is: what comes next? The demonstrations on Saturday were as much a form of personal catharsis as they were a bold statement supporting what the Wonkette calls the “vagenda.” Trump & minions have been dramatically reminded that most voters disapprove of him (see: popular vote). But it falls to the opposition to keep the pressure on. The left couldn’t sustain Occupy or Black Lives Matter, but it is still possible to change things from the ground up. For proof, and to learn a few important things for the game plan, those who oppose the Conmander-in-Chief should carefully study, and then improve on, the most successful populist anti-POTUS movement of the 21st century:

The Tea Party.

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The Elephant In The Room

January 17, 2017

U.S. President-elect Donald Trump poses on the cover of Time Magazine after being named its person of the year

It’s sinking in. The New York Times front page no longer reminds us of an Onion parody. Well, maybe it still does, but we can no longer look at it that way. This is serious. On Friday, that boorish, petulant, childish, nuance-deprived, attention-span-lacking, sexist xenophobe charlatan bully Donald J. Trump will be sworn in as President of the United States. The mind can no longer boggle. Boggling time is over. Now we have to face reality, stand our ground, find some traction, and fight back. Pretending this crisis can be solved by demographics, adversarial competence or even basic common sense is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place. No more bringing knives to gunfights. We need the political equivalent of the Magnificent Seven to help us, but they don’t exist. Any magnificence will have to come from within us, and the first thing to summon is the quality Pubs have displayed in abundance for forty solid years: determination. (A clear subtext, by the way, of the classic SEVEN SAMURAI tale.)

You’d almost feel sorry for Trump’s most rabid fans if they weren’t so mean and vicious in victory. Let them wallow in it for now. They think they found Moses, but it’s only Professor Harold Hill, and one day they may again recognize flimflam when they hear it, wiser but definitely sadder. Mitt Romney was right. The President-elect is a con man, a fraud, manifestly unfit for the high office he will begin to besmirch on Friday afternoon. I realize Presidents have lied before, even ones I admired. This will be the first President I assume to be lying.

You think that was prejudiced? I’m pre-judging the 45th President because I’m expecting no purifying magic to flow through his hands once he completes the oath of office. If there was ever a time to begin acting Presidential, it was the transition period which is now ending. It hasn’t happened, and now I don’t expect it to. If somehow I am surprised and proven wrong, I will be one of the happiest goddam Americans you have ever met. Instead, I’m ashamed and embarrassed, even before I arrive at anger. Should I give the newbie a chance? I’d rather he got the same treatment he visited upon his exemplary predecessor. I strongly doubt this salacious stuff about kinky Russian sexplay, but I’m delighted that it’s become a comedians’ meme. It couldn’t have happened to a not-nicer guy, because this is exactly what Trump pulled for seven long years with his absurd birth-certificate slop. So, in Fox News-speak, “some people are saying” that Trump hires hookers to perform “water sports” in private. Is it true? Hey, I don’t know. But some people are saying it…especially down in that pizza-parlor basement where Hillary Clinton and John Podesta run their child-sex ring. Repeat “Goldengate” often enough and some rubes might even start to believe it. They’ve already demonstrated that they wouldn’t be scandalized by anything Trumpian, so long as Hillary won’t be able to order them around.

The “man of the people” will actually be the most gilded POTUS ever, and, if confirmed, Trump’s cabinet may even render his own fortune below the median of the senior team’s personal wealth. (“Some people are saying” that Trump claims to be richer than he really is.) And make no mistake about that “unity” crap: if you didn’t vote for him, why then, as Vice President Dick Cheney once growled on the Senate floor, “go fuck yourself.” For example, why else would he threaten to tie up Fifth Avenue traffic at the “Northern White House” for years to come, at a cost to the city of literal millions? (Congressional Pubs won’t let go of more than a fraction of the money needed for extra security; NYC is just too blue.) It’s because four out of five Manhattanites voted for his opponent — and besides, whenever he wants to go in or out, he has a motorcade to help him plow through the thicket as if it were a Miss Universe contestant. So where’s the problem? By the way, I’m sick of hearing that Arkansans, “the people who know them best,” don’t care for the Clintons, but I get it. New Yorkers, the people who know him best, can’t stand Donald Trump.

You don’t have to be Hitler or Kim Jong-Il to cause, or at least abet, great damage. Though he has instinctively borrowed from the fascist playbook — identify and vilify a threatening Other and smother any dissent — I don’t think Trump himself is a fascist, merely an opportunist. I don’t perceive any deeply held political beliefs beyond his own self-interest, which is why he’s always been able to flip-flop on any issue like a landed marlin. But indifference can be dangerous in itself. Trump will uniquely have to rely on a ill-equipped but suddenly super-powered cabinet not only for advice but for actual decisions — and remember, he believes the last person he talked to and says whatever a particular audience wants to hear. The howling zealot at the campaign rallies was vastly different from the meek pussycat who met Mexican president Enrique Peña Nieto or the editorial board of the New York Times.

Bringing back outsourced American jobs? I’ll believe it when I see it. A trade war won’t solve anything because others can make stuff cheaper than any rich country can (some of it is made for us). They easily win any ill-advised race to the bottom, even after you’ve removed all bargaining leverage from your own work force by busting every union you can. It’s not politics, just math. The only people who still buy American products even though they cost more and perform worse own Harley-Davidsons. Those “open shop” auto workers down in Mississippi? They’re making Nissans, for crying out loud. Repairing our crumbling infrastructure would be a terrific temporary employment stimulus, but Pubs don’t seem to feel any urgency. Gated communities don’t have potholes, man. It’ll probably take a few bridge catastrophes or rolling blackouts to get their attention, but if reason ever does come up for air, those would be real jobs that could only be done in this country.

What about Trump’s new bestie, Vladimir Putin? First of all, don’t act so shocked, shocked over Putin’s (OK, “alleged”) interference. According to research from Carnegie-Mellon, we’ve tried to influence elections in at least 45 other countries since the end of World War II. But why did Putin take such a front-facing swing at this one? Simple. He’s not afraid of Trump. When the President-elect asked at his first news conference, “Do you honestly believe Hillary would be tougher on Putin than me?” I thought, damn right I do, pal, and so does Putin! (Trump: “Give me a break!” Me: “No!”) Manipulating Trump will be child’s play — literally.

His post-election “thank-you tour,” which accomplished nothing, was pathetic proof that he craves the adulation he enjoyed during the campaign, feeds off it, which is why he turned that press conference into MAGA-rally fodder, complete with applauding sycophants. I don’t believe Trump ever really wanted to win, just tend the brand. But incredibly, the yapping dog actually caught the car, and now it has to take responsibility. I think Trump likes the idea of being President over doing the President’s job. At any rate, he’s already won the victory that may be sweetest of all to him: as of January 20th, anyone possessing an ounce of the grace and probity he so baldly lacks will have to call Trump “Mister President” for the rest of his life. (My advice: don’t call him, period.) I hereby predict that once he can nail the spin that makes him look like a hero, he’ll pull a Palin and decline to serve out his entire term. Donald Trump bores easily.

This is all so bizarre that it defies rational thought. It’s like trying to divide by zero. As we wrap our minds around the concept of a narcissistic buffoon leading the free world, a natural coping mechanism will be to seek to adapt, deal with it somehow, shrug and say well, this is the new normal. Don’t. It’s not normal. Not at all.

It’s easy to assert — as I do — that Donald Trump is not an accurate reflection of the country at large, but there’s a lot of frustration out there and “professional” politicians have been talking past the vast middle class for decades. Hillary Clinton famously won the 2016 popular vote by three million, but remove California and New York and Trump wins the popular by three million. (As Meryl Streep alluded, most of the culture would now have to be imported.) This is the America from which newly cosmopolitan people emigrated to congregate on the coasts and in college towns and big cities. It’s an America that resents pointy-headed college towns and filthy big cities, it just elected a new President, and there’s only one thing we can do in response. Stand the frick up. Resist. Soon it’s once again gonna be “unpatriotic” to criticize the President, because it always is whenever a Pub’s in office. So we need a ton of unpatriots, stat.

March in protest if it makes you feel better, but that’s not what I’m talking about. (Did any rally on the Trump side ever change your mind about anything?) I mean resist the normalization of abnormal behavior. If President Trump doesn’t want you to read or hear something, don’t just ignore him: actively seek it out. When this silly fool slanders a brave civil-rights infantryman, a decorated war hero or a set of Gold Star parents, don’t be suckered by the torrent of misdirection that follows. Trump’s secret has always been to lay outrage upon outrage so the press will be fascinated by the latest shiny object and let the slowly rusting ones go. Remember Mexican rapists? When he maligns women, blacks, Hispanics, journalists — to succeed, he has to split us into warring camps, because a despot can only conquer if we’re divided — don’t let it stand. That may sometimes mean talking calmly to people who don’t agree with us, but we could all benefit by wandering out of our bubbles more often.

Most important, don’t keep quiet. There are many ways to register disgust, but the worst-kept secret in Washington is that letters, faxes, emails and even tweets are routinely ignored and trashed. What no member of Congress can ignore, however, is a telephone that won’t stop frickin ringing. That’s how the Pub scheme to gut the Office of Congressional Ethics got derailed, at least for now. So get your representative’s number and use it. Old-fashioned telephone call. It’s what works best when done en masse.

We have no idea whether POTUS-E is free from foreign investments or other entanglements, up to and including blackmail. (Still, what could he possibly have done in Russia that’s worse than the stuff we already know about?) Some transparency would be helpful but he simply refuses to come clean, a red flag in itself. We do know bits of his dodgy history, though, and it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. That means every interaction, especially with Russia, is now suspect. Every decision — including each executive or judicial nomination — needs to be sifted for a presumed selfish motive. Donald Trump gets the same honeymoon period the Pubs gave Obama: none. And standing guard means supporting a free, vibrant press corps. We can’t watch him conflate CNN with “fake news” websites and let him get away with it. We can’t dismiss the latest idiocy as “just another Trump tweet.” We cannot allow a new normal to seep in, but if we don’t pay attention, it will.

It’s only human to feel tense right now as we await the ascendancy. 2016 was one sucker-punch of a year. Lots of Americans — certainly most of those who voted — are demoralized. (When will the left learn that apathy makes Pubs salivate?) But as Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient Joe Biden noted last month, 1968 was pretty damn traumatic too, and “America didn’t break.” This may be a low point, almost too painful to contemplate. But we can yet prevail, and if President Trump doesn’t kill us, his unseemly reign may wind up galvanizing the opposition and making us stronger. Together.

LATER ON 1/17/17: Thankfully, I may have gotten that no-honeymoon part right.


Notes On The Apocalypse

November 10, 2016

greatWow.

Today we feel much as we did on 9/11. Besides mourning the horrendous loss of life, we were weighted down with the sickening revelation that human beings could even be capable of such heedless obscenity. That existential despair was the miasma which took the longest time to shake. Nobody died on Tuesday, at least not as a direct result of the election. But now our sad incredulity is directed at what millions of our fellow citizens turned out to be capable of doing, and I can tell you from personal experience that this is the scar which will last the longest.

Donald J. Trump’s candidacy should have been stillborn. The litany of disqualifying facts, quotes and acts is too long, too familiar and too dispiriting to recount. He should have been laughed out of the race after his announcement speech, and anybody else would have been. But Donald Trump is a tv star, and he’s been in the living rooms of the reactionary faithful. They may not know him, but they recognize him.

Likewise, you can second-guess Trump’s opposition until the asteroid hits. Bernie Bros who stayed home. Hillary Clinton’s inability to excite the base like Barack Obama. Her old-car smell. The female lady thing. The vast right-wing media which have hammered out Hillary hate for thirty years. Pseudo-scandals like Benghazi and Emailgate that clouded airtime. Voter suppression. James Comey. Gary Johnson.

Nearly three million more people voted for Clinton over Trump on Tuesday, almost six times Al Gore’s popular vote margin in 2000. In fact, over the last seven Presidential elections spanning 28 years, the Pubs have won the popular vote exactly once: George W. Bush’s second term, when Dick Cheney’s fear-fanning campaign slogan was basically, vote for me or die. Of course, that’s not how we elect the POTUS. But if you think the overall tally is just an electoral trivium, imagine the situation reversed, if Trump had won the popular but been denied the White House by Electoral College math. Torch and pitchfork time, maybe even a Second Amendment solution or two. Democrats just tend to accept it instead, maybe to a fault. Yes, there are students holding up NOT MY PRESIDENT signs today, but they’re mistaken. The Constitution says he is your President-Elect. If you don’t accept it, you’re no better than a Birther, and man, you are way better than that.

Our disappointment, sorrow and even fear is not equivalent to any other election. If John McCain or Mitt Romney had beaten Obama, I would have been bummed, sure, but I wouldn’t have doubted the victor’s ability to lead the country. Even George W. Bush, whom I felt was in over his head the moment he was inaugurated, managed to keep things running (with those two exceptions in 2001 and 2008). Unlike those men, a President Trump doesn’t inspire a shred of confidence in me. I followed his shameful campaign. We all did. He’s going to have to purge that memory, along with our strong suspicion that he is so monumentally unfit for the office that the safety of our nation could be at stake.

It makes you miserable to imagine the next four years. Trump delivering the State of the Union. Newt Gingrich. Trump before the United Nations. Rudy Guiliani. Trump ignoring climate change. Chris Christie. Trump facing a natural disaster. Bobby Jindal. Trump versus Putin or Kim Jong-un. Roger Ailes. Trump explaining to the plebes why he won’t be building a wall on the Mexican border. First Lady Melania Trump!

Oh yeah. The courts. Mitch McConnell barely won his gamble of stonewalling the nomination of Merrick Garland to the Supreme Court for nearly a year, in violation of his Constitutional duty. (At the time he was sure he was saving it for Jeb or Rubio. Bullet frickin dodged!) If I were McConnell, I’d quickly junk the filibuster rule so I could seat any Neanderthal I wanted to replace Scalia, wait for Ruth Bader Ginsburg to finally give up, and pack the court red for another couple generations. I’d also pull the holds on all those other Obama judicial nominees, replace them with my own guys, and robe ‘em fast, thus taking effective control of the third branch of government to complete the trifecta.

The Republican id has made this decision and it’s been set loose. GOP worthies are in charge, and now there are no checks and balances preventing them from doing any goddam thing they want. It stays that way for at least two years and probably four, since the House is gerrymandered out of reach and Senate Democrats will be playing defense in 2018. So here we go. Full Republican control. Now let’s see if they can still remember how to govern, because continuing to say no to everything is no longer an option.

I have thought of a couple of silver linings in these ominous clouds. My favorite is that if you’re Ted Cruz, quit wringing your hands over whether to run in 2020 because now you can’t. Neither can any of those other tards. Trump is impeachment-proof (see Congress, and besides, what could he possibly do that he hasn’t already done?), and even if something should happen to the boss, Vice President Pence, that Christian soldier, is onward of you in line.

Another is that we might finally get some action on our second most important challenge behind climate change: repairing the national infrastructure. Everybody agrees we should do it: hell, they’ve known that for years. But remember, GOP big shots decided on Inauguration Day 2009 not to give Obama anything, no matter how vital. They love their party more than they love their country. Now that Republicans are running the show, they can take political credit for a massive project that will create millions of temporary jobs. It’s past time to quit whining about deficit spending, borrow some money at next to nothing, and begin a no-brainer jobs program.

There are three major drivers of our economy: consumers, business and government. When consumers slow down spending because they’re not making ends meet, business can’t grow because it doesn’t have enough customers to justify new factories and the like. Increased government spending (also known as “stimulus”) is our economic last resort, and thoughtful leaders have the guts to break that glass in an emergency. We’re going to have to repair the crumbling grid eventually. The process might have been started years ago, but, you know, the black guy. Watch how fast Paul Ryan forgets about “austerity.”

If Ryan’s even Speaker any more. The inmates haven’t just taken over the asylum, they’re burning it down, and some of them think the Ayn Rander isn’t conservative enough. (By now I guess you must have to bite the heads off chickens on the House floor or something.) And the Freedom Caucus may have one additional obstacle: the party leader. Trump is a RINO (Republican In Name Only) who has frequently flip-flopped on many issues that are very important to the base and there’s no indication that he’d be willing to toe any party line, making him an utter wild card. When I wrote earlier about his resemblance to a bad-guy professional wrestler, I figured he might pivot from a “heel” to a “babyface” for the general election. Now I hope to God it happens before he takes the oath of office.

These are dark days. So much so that the morning after the election, my wife and I were distraught enough to have a serious conversation about leaving the country, at least for retirement. We decided that we were in shock (I confess that I’m slowly pulling myself out of this stage — the front page of the New York Times still looks like an Onion parody or a terrible nightmare from which I pray I’ll wake up) and that we’d give the Trumpies one year, then pick up the conversation again when we’re more clearheaded. I fear the worst and hope for the best. Unlike El Rushbo (“I hope he fails”) or Mitch McConnell (“The single most important thing we want to achieve is for President Obama to be a one-term president”), I’m willing to give the guy a chance. He needs all the help he can get. One only hopes he can swallow his outsized pride long enough to accept it.


You Brexit, You Own It

July 14, 2016

d4Is the Western world slowly going nuts, or is it just our imaginations? Are we living through a real inflection point, a cultural hinge that signals lasting change, or is this only a particularly dodgy moment in the managed chaos that is normal, everyday life? Damned if I know, but when has ignorance ever stopped a blogger from spouting?

This has been a horrible summer. (“Wretched,” as the Times put it.) Violence and lunacy have dominated the society. We have officially become inured to mass murder, even when the victims are police officers. The ludicrous Donald Trump campaign is the most click-worthy assignment in what’s left of journalism. The British electorate narrowly but decisively announced that it is not European and instantly became the world’s sixth largest economy, down one slot from its former #5. The unglued leaders of Russia and North Korea are rattling their sabers, and some of those sabers are big scary bombs. A frustrated ISIS is stepping up its global campaign of random mayhem. There’s a nasty virus that’s about to strike the homeland while Congress dithers away any scientific funding for petty partisan “reasons” that also hobble the simplest efforts to compromise on anything. Nor does warm-weather leisure offer any solace: our beloved summer blockbuster multisequel extravaganzas have collectively run out of gas, uniformly disappointing the folks at the multiplex (maybe the Ghostbusters will save us this weekend), and if violent crime doesn’t harm any Olympic athletes in Rio, then filthy water will. All this is overlaid with an inchoate feeling of formless dread, like the dinner party in that creepy indie THE INVITATION. People are disturbed, uneasy. I can hear it in casual conversation. It’s something more than the natural urge to kvetch about whatever bastards are in authority. It feels to many like there’s some calamity lurking just beneath the surface, but they can’t quite put their fingers on it. Something is happening and they don’t know what it is. Do they, Mister Jones?

Kids who were grade schoolers in the Fifties/Sixties, like me, have lived their whole lives with a deeply repressed fear of the atomic bomb. The “duck and cover” drills, the overheated educational films, the high drama of the Cuban missile standoff, all made innocent tykes actually contemplate the end of the world. That looming feeling largely dissipated with the Cold War, but listen to William Perry, Bill Clinton’s defense secretary: “today, the danger of some sort of a nuclear catastrophe is greater than it was during the Cold War and most people are blissfully unaware.” But that’s not it, nukes. Rather, it’s a wispy feeling that something ineffable is slipping away. Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold, as Bro. Yeats reported. When white men fear the loss of their hegemony, first they get mad. Then they get even. Thus Brexit. Thus Trump.

I don’t know much about British politics, but I get the feeling that many who voted to Leave the European Union were simply staging a retail-level protest. They voted to “stick it to The Man,” as the kids sing in the SCHOOL OF ROCK musical, but they didn’t expect to actually win. I get that feeling because nobody seems to know what to do now. The bad boys of the Leave movement, Boris Johnson and Nigel Farage, had to admit the very next morning that their promise of freeing up £350 million a week for the National Health Service had been bullshit, and that cold reality would leave Brexiteers intending to restrict EU immigration “disappointed.” I also get that feeling because the torrent of citizens clamoring to sign a petition calling for a new referendum was so intense that it crashed parliament.uk. That’s some serious Leaver’s remorse. All that’s left after the maelstrom is a populist detritus of racism and xenophobia: after all, the true dog-whistle pitch was that all those pounds sterling were going to lazy low-class (darker) Europeans.

Sorry, Brits, no do-overs. You Brexit, you own it. After hearing your decision, the EU doesn’t want a new vote either. Brussels would rather you get the ball rolling and get out — because unless it makes an example of the UK to show the perilous downside of secession, the whole arrangement could crumble. Yes, the Leave campaign turned out to be nothing but warmed-over snake oil, but nobody forced you to buy it. So don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord…

Here at home, that same sense of frustration is responsible not only for Trump (in fairness, he was unwittingly aided by a, um, Mexican standoff among all other Pub candidates, each of whom wanted to be THE ONE PERSON to shut him down) but also for Bernie Sanders’s amazing insurrection of a campaign. They both promise the impossible, a Great Wall and job restoration here and free college tuition there, but as with the Leavers, it sounds good.

Trump’s most vocal constituency seems to be with what’s left of the Dixiecrats, who now live all over the country (see Nicholas Confessore’s great piece in the Times), but the same suppressed rage that powered Brexit is his electoral backbone. It’s whiter and older than the country at large, but it may be enough to actually make him competitive in some swing states; for example, a new Pew Research poll suggests that if the election were held today, more than three quarters of white evangelical Protestants would vote for Trump, that devout God-fearing pilgrim. (Watch out for polls in general: Bernie and Brexit both upended them this year. Tech makes good political polling harder and harder to pull off.)

In contrast, the Sanders pitch fell snugly into the ears of the Yutes, and no wonder: he was painting a picture of the way things really ought to be, and idealistic young minds responded heartily. But as Mario Cuomo liked to say, you campaign in poetry, you govern in prose. If Congress can’t even agree on Zika funding before slinking off to summer vacation, if threats from the bullies of the NRA can turn bold patriotic solons into sniveling cowardly toadies, then Bernie’s program is a non-starter. We change things in this country incrementally. The last try at a popular revolution didn’t work out so well for Jefferson Davis and pals. Real progress has to issue from inside the institution, which first of all means simply voting the obstructionist sumbitches out of office.

As for those polls (again with the polls) suggesting Sanders would do better in a one-on-one matchup with Trump, they’re ignoring one thing: the Pub slime machine. The right has been clawing, biting, nipping at Hillary Clinton’s heels for thirty years now. All their oppo is out in the open. You can see the desperation on the faces of Trey Gowdy’s laughable, tax-wasting committee. This e-mail business is the last sliver they’ve got, which is why they’re stretching it like a rubber band, refusing to let the matter go while there’s still an election on. But fear Bernie Sanders? Like Br’er Rabbit feared the briar patch. If he were the nominee, stomping the Socialist would be a cinch. Remember those Commies you used to hate? Well, that’s this guy! Sen. Sanders would also be the first Jewish president, but they wouldn’t even have to go there: anti-Semites will figure that out for themselves. And remember, you don’t have to win the popular vote to win the election, as George W. Bush showed us in 2000. But it could get even worse than that. If too many progressives sit on their hands or vote for a third-party candidate, nobody would have a majority and the election would be thrown to the House of Representatives. Each state would get one vote. Look at a map.

A lot of frustrated people voted for Brexit. Well, we have a lot of frustrated people here too. Today’s Times reports Clinton and Trump actually tied (these pollsters are really starting to bug me), as the tiresome Pub mantra of You Can’t Trust Her continues to weigh her down. Next week’s Republican convention in particular will be a major sideshow: people will be packing heat outside (I hope nobody gets hurt; the Secret Service is imposing gun control inside the convention hall), and Trump’s acceptance speech — assuming the terrified party bosses can’t find some way to hijack his candidacy — will probably be the highest-rated such speech in the history of television. The Democrats meet the following week, but during the primary season all they could talk about was boring old issues, so how could it possibly be any fun? This election seems like a horror-comedy, but it’s dead serious. The know-it-alls have counted out Donald Trump from the instant he descended from the heavens on an escalator last June. We’d better pay attention now. There’s one more thing for the uneasy American to worry about today, and that’s this. TRUMP. COULD. WIN. And there’ll be no do-overs. Like the Leavers, we’ll own it.

11/9/16: Holy shit.


How Do You Solve A Problem Like The Donald?

March 11, 2016

UnknownScientists detected gravitational waves as black holes collided a billion light years away, verifying the final prediction in Einstein’s general theory of relativity, but all anybody could talk about was Donald J. Trump. So let’s add to the cacophony!

After 2012’s bizarre Presidential primary season (I guess it’ll become known as Clown Car 1.0), Republican poobahs futzed with the schedule to make it easier to winnow the field in favor of a strong early candidacy. Individual billionaire sugar daddies, unfettered by contribution limits, were allowing asterisks like Rick Santorum and Newt Gingrich to last far beyond their sell-by dates instead of dutifully joining the Tribal Council alongside Michele Bachmann and Herman Cain. This was confusing the faithful, who are accustomed to receiving decisions from on high. Ever since Ronald Reagan challenged and nearly toppled Gerald Ford in 1976, which some felt softened Ford up for the Jimmy Carter insurgency, Pub candidates have tended to take their rightful turns in the captain’s seat after some pro forma sliming (see Carolina, South) to tone up for the general.

That was the plan, and it’s working like a charm. One problem, though. That strong early candidacy? This year, it’s not the candidate the big shots wanted. And they don’t know how to react.

Donald Trump doesn’t need to kowtow to wealthy enablers, but it’s not because he’s rich. (Compared to the Pub donor elite, he’s not that rich at all.) It’s because he’s a tv star famous for brute bellicosity, a bad-guy wrestler in a ring full of dog-whistling sissies. His tv persona makes decisions. He gets things done. He sucks the air out of a room and pulls all camera lenses toward true north. Never mind that most of his pronouncements defy any empirical sense: they cut to the heart of what impolite society actually feels in its gut of guts, and ratings go up whenever he yaps. Moochers, peaceniks, pointy-heads and tree-huggers have taken our country away from us (i.e., white males). Let’s reclaim it. Let’s bomb ISIS back to the Stone Age, kick Muslims out of the country, build a Great Wall of New Mexico. I pity the fool who messes with me, even if it’s the Pope. We’re as mad as hell, and we’re not gonna take this any more! Donald Trump doesn’t need a can full of expensive tv spots. According to the Tyndall Report, he gets nearly ten times the amount of network news coverage, also known as “free media,” as does his closest rival, Ted Cruz. This isn’t what the Koch brothers had in mind at all, especially since they might be forced to turn on the cash spigot that had Hillary’s name on it even before the Pub primaries are over.

What the heck do people see in Trump? For one thing, somebody who is finally calling bullshit, some of it well deserved.

Fifty years after the 1965 Voting Rights Act (recently emasculated by the Supremes 5-4), LBJ’s rueful prediction has long since come true, and the South has been delivered to the Republican Party. Whenever you hear “the party of Lincoln” and “Democrats supported the KKK,” understand that for most of the 20th century, it was the Democratic Party that was the stronghold of segregation and repression, thanks to its intransigent Southern wing. It’s all there in MASTER OF THE SENATE, Robert Caro’s magnificent chronicle of the era. But the winds changed after the party’s “betrayal” of Dixie, Richard Nixon gave his own clumsily euphemistic shove in 1968, Reagan furthered things along for the ruling class, and now the solid South is solid Pubs, complete with the attendant racism and xenophobia. Yes, I know most Pubs aren’t racists. But most racists are Pubs.

Now, for half a century this smoldering anti-Other resentment has been poked by the Pub party line. Rich people are actually good for the economy because they’re job creators; reduce their taxes and they’ll create even more. Lazy welfare bums play us for suckers. Democrats steal elections through massive voter fraud. Government is utterly incompetent (except for the military and the secret jackboots aching to confiscate your guns or invade Texas) and should butt out of our lives (except for the bedroom and the immigration office). Foreign policy should be built on fear, not respect. Universal health care is a job-killing, inflation-provoking catastrophe. And so on. At the extremes it’s even stranger. Climate change is a hoax perpetrated by scientists in order to get fat research grants. The earth is 6000 years old because the Bible says so, according to newly politicized evangelicals. Science itself is suspect because it’s all just theories anyway. The President (did you realize he’s black?) is a foreign-born Muslim, and he’s either “feckless” (a word the right has recently discovered) or an all-powerful imperial dictator. He’s even been called a “socialist Nazi,” a mutually exclusive term that nevertheless sounds wonderful if you happen to hate the POTUS.

Such propaganda has worked fine all this time, especially on the state and local level, about which too few voters care and at which there isn’t much informed opposition. It’s downright easy to pull this stuff off in times of prosperity, when things are managing to get better or people are at least treading water. America is an aspirational society, the land of opportunity, each citizen unencumbered by his class at birth. A humble thus-and-so can grow up to be a captain of industry, or even — dare he think it? — president of the United States. We let wealthy people off easy because in our dreams we too might be wealthy some day, either by dint of honest labor or a stroke of lottery luck. When we get rich, we want all those juicy tax breaks for ourselves so we can conserve what we have and battle those who threaten any portion of it, just as the big shots do today.

But recent times have not been prosperous for the American working class, despite what it says in the latest jobs report or the Dow Jones Industrial Average. Real wages are flat and have been for decades. Whatever leverage collective bargaining once provided has slowly dissipated into insignificance. Technology and lower-wage foreign workers are removing jobs from the economy which will never return. What’s different this time is that some people are beginning to look past the Other-directed fear and anger to perceive a new villain: the political long con that leaves them behind.

Election after election, guys in shirt sleeves and cowboy boots step up to the mike and promise to look out for the “hard-working American people.” But, once in office, time and again they join the plutocracy that keeps things humming along for the few American people at the top. One of the most beautiful whoppers is “trickle-down” economics, which holds that tax cuts for the richest people are stimulative because they provide more capital to build factories and hire workers. In fact, nothing trickles down: when the wealthy get a windfall, they save or invest it rather than buying goods or services. A tax cut for the middle class and lower would be injected straight into the economy in the form of spending; let’s call it “bubble-up” economics. Not only have “austerity” programs damaged research and education across the country, they also cause us to ignore the crumbling infrastructure whose urgent repair would instantly create thousands of badly needed jobs. Sometimes you just have to borrow money, as anyone who owns a house or car will attest, but the false equivalency of “my family balances its budget, the government should too” seems to squelch any long view.

So the working class is going nowhere while the wealthy continue to take the lion’s share of gains in productivity. And one day Joe Sixpack looks up and realizes the only thing he’s netted in the past two decades is affordable health care, and that came from a Kenyan Marxist! Jeez, the rich power brokers are part of the problem! Joe can get madder, which is why Trump has been so successful blaming our ills on outsiders, or more terrified: have you ever heard louder national shrieking than during the 2014 Ebola scare? Compare and contrast with shrugs over the latest mass slaughter (unless a foreigner was responsible).

This realization, while overdue, is widespread. That’s how you get the Bernie Sanders insurrection as well. “Income inequality” isn’t a partisan term, at least not this year. The feeling that one’s country is slipping away, formerly the key to manipulating older white guys, is beginning to be joined for different reasons even by educated younger people, the less fortunate of them awash in college debt and resentful about it. Thus they feel the Bern. But whether it’s calculated or an accident, Trump’s bluster has come along at just the right moment. This was Ted Cruz’s scenario: a pox on all their houses! But he didn’t count on somebody who could outshout him. Neither did Jeb!, Rubio, Christie (this was really supposed to be his role), Jindal, Walker, Perry — the growing list of The Fallen continues to grace the ceiling of Stephen Colbert’s sanctuary. If the Pubs are counting on a brokered convention, I can’t wait to see the torches and pitchforks that come out when they deny Trump from a smoke-filled room.

I don’t see how Trump can possibly win the general: there aren’t enough angry old white guys. But I couldn’t see how he could get anywhere near the Republican nomination either, and now he’s a whisker away. You know it’s true because you’re starting to hear Pub apologists say, hey, maybe he can bring our down-ballot guys a bunch of first-time voters! Low turnout historically favors Pubs, which is why they suppress voting with all their might and pray for apathy. (If too many Democrats boycott Hillary or just stay home, as is their wont, there’ll be only one candidate remaining.) But maybe this year is different. Maybe the Pubs need turnout. After all, if Hillary wins and the Senate flips, Mitch McConnell loses his gamble and she could install Abbie frickin Hoffman on the Supreme Court. That’s a base-energizin’ thought.

My guess is that Trump entered the race as a brand-building lark and is as surprised as anyone else that he’s gotten this far. But presidential races can mess with ya. Now, Trump thinks he can actually win. So does Bernie Sanders. Meanwhile, I direct Cruz-fearing Pub mavens to the holy schadenfreude of Hosea 8:7: “For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.” Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming. Even if you didn’t wake up until it was almost too late, this is still on you.

11/9/16: Holy shit.


Breaking Kayfabe

February 1, 2016

28beal“Kayfabe” is the fourth wall in professional wrestling. It’s a code, a principle, the relationship of the pros to the audience. The “feuds,” the “unmaskings,” the “leave-town matches,” are portrayed as absolutely genuine. A magician must never reveal her method; neither must a wrestler give fans any indication that the matches are indeed scripted and staged. Two “feuding” wrestlers who are friends in real life must never be seen fraternizing outside the ring: they are damaging the fiction, ruining the con. They are “breaking kayfabe.”

Before the World Wrestling Federation was forced to admit in 1989 that it produced scripted entertainment — to avoid being regulated like a genuine sport — kayfabe was dead serious and almost inviolable, like the dark secrets of grizzled carnies. The scam was so good that the rubes bought it. So good that when I lived in Georgia in the early Seventies, I remember hearing the sports reporter read the evening’s wrestling results on late-night network-affiliate news broadcasts. It wasn’t that the sportscaster believed. But his viewers did. Some of them still do.

Kayfabe divides wrestlers into two types: “heels,” or bombastic, thundering bad guys who will goad, cheat and lie; and “faces,” short for “babyfaces,” or virtuous, humble souls who compete on athletic ability alone. A heel can change into a face, and vice versa, in a storyline called a “turn.” Many if not most serious fan-favorite topliners since WWF promoter Vince McMahon admitted kayfabe in testimony before the New Jersey state senate were once heels. A well-executed turn can make even wide-eyed kids love the guy they were booing just two weeks ago.

The Economist, which is wonderfully droll on U.S. news due to its cultural remove, has looked on the current Presidential race with amusement and amazement. It describes one candidate as having “built an outrageous public persona around his gargantuan ego…Uncertainty over whether this is self-parody or undiluted egomania is part of the act. [He] is to public service what professional wrestling, which he loves, is to sport: entertaining and ludicrously implausible, a suspension of disbelief for escapists, a crude deception for the gullible.”

You know who the paper is talking about. Of course you do. But what if wrestling isn’t an analogy at all? What if Donald Trump’s candidacy so far has been nothing more than kayfabe?

Trump has been a classic heel ever since he announced for president. The Economist isn’t the first publication to note that his campaign appearances resemble pre-bout interviews with a bad-guy wrestler. His ego knows no bounds. He bellows about how he’s the best, smartest, winningest, and his opponents are weaklings, boring, losers. He rails about immigrants and Muslims, he out-jingos Ted Cruz, he makes meanspirited fun of his opponents. He sucks up media air like a bad guy who knows people don’t go to the matches to find out what his face opponent will do. They show up to see the heel.

I got to thinking about this after an appearance by Keith Olbermann last year on REAL TIME WITH BILL MAHER. The two men were discussing Trump and Olbermann said when they met, Trump couldn’t have been nicer, kinder, or more considerate. It was all about your needs, he said: are you comfortable, can I get you anything? I was shocked when Maher seconded this appraisal. He had met Trump too, he said, and in the one-on-one setting, Maher had had the same reaction. I know what you’re thinking, and Olbermann said it out loud: either the blustery campaign persona or the respectful gentility is an act. But which one is it?

Could Trump be playing a heel to get attention and votes, beginning today in Iowa? (Remember, that’s what the crowds like.) Does he break kayfabe in private? Could he be planning a turn once he nails the nomination, and if so, could that storyline play to anyone beyond the gullible? Trump in the general: all of a sudden he’s a face? I hope I don’t have to buy a ticket.

2/3/16: A day or two later, somebody more verbally agile than I went here too.

6/7/16: And, incredibly, Trump IS the Pub nominee in the general. Unless the star chambers manage to do something about it before their quadrennial convention.

11/9/16: Holy shit.


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