Donald Trump Is An Idiot

At the risk of alienating many of you, can I just say that Donald Trump is an idiot? I guess so, because I just did. Let me count the ways...

This self-promoting narcissist is running for President the way you or I might take up stamp collecting. It's his new hobby. His qualifications for the job seem to be his often repeated observation that he's "really rich!" Yes, Mr. Trump, you are really rich. That often happens when one inherits a real estate empire from one's father, then greases every palm from Staten Island to Palm Beach to build yuuuuuuge gaudy monuments to your own ego with other people's money. Going bankrupt four times isn't a red flag, its a resume enhancement.

Thus far, the Donald, has ridden a wave of voter frustration and anger at the illegal immigration problem to the top of the polls. His famously intemperate remarks about Mexican immigrants being primarily murderers and rapists have been greeted by his supporters as evidence of his unique ability to   "tell it like it is." What we need, they say, is someone who isn't politically correct. Ok, that's fine. But how about we ask those who tell it like it is to tell it like it really is? How about we ask his Trumpness to explain why he hires so many of those murdering rapists to build his buildings, and mow the vast fairways of his golf courses? Trump Tower would be Trump Shanty without the hordes of immigrant laborers who built it.

But, my biggest objection to the man with the World's Most Hideous CombOver is his attempt to portray himself as a conservative who longs for a smaller, less intrusive government. This is on a par with Barack Obama trying to sell himself as an Evangelical Rotarian. Any casual investigation into his political contribution history will reveal that Trump loves him plenty of big government democrats, most impressively, Hillary Clinton. Small government? Are you kidding me? When you look up the term, eminent domain in the dictionary, Donald Trump's picture is there. Put it this way...Trump was FOR big government before he was against it. The only Party that Donald Trump cares about is the uber-exclusive one he's throwing at Trump Plaza next week where he gets to get his picture taken with Taylor Swift...or some other star of the moment.

Listen, I'm also troubled about illegal immigration and the hash that has been made of the rule of law on the subject by the Obama Administration. But, call me crazy, but I'm thinking that we shouldn't be considering electing a man to be our next President who has his own line of cologne, just because he correctly identified a national problem with tough, straight talk. Tough talk is nice, but it's no substitute for intelligence.

My feeling is that Trump will eventually flame out. His buffoonery will ultimately become obvious to all but his most devoted sycophants. Then he can go back to building kitschy gold-plated junk with his name plastered across the side. He's only 69, he's probably got at least another couple of bankruptcies in him.

Lucy and Jackson

Kaitlin and Jon, along with our grand-puppy Jackson, packed up and left for home yesterday afternoon. When I arrived at the house after my workout at the gym, there was Pam, sound asleep on the sofa, while Lucy was in such a catatonic state on her bed at the top of the stairs that she didn't even lift her head to acknowledge my arrival. I plopped down in my recliner and before I knew it, the clock blinked 6:30 at me. Everyone was still asleep. 

I knew that at some point Pam would hit the wall. She had been going 100 miles per hour for a week. But I hadn't realized how exhausting it would be  having a puppy around the house for Lucy. For 48 hours Jackson had been enamored with his new big dog pal. He followed her everywhere, wrestled with her, bit her constantly around the ears, rolled on the floor with her, desperately attempted to steal every morsel of her food. It was adorable to watch and quite endearing. Lucy was so gentle and patient with Jackson as if she knew that he was just a stupid puppy and couldn't help himself. 

I got a glimpse of what kind of grandparent I will be...and it wasn't pretty. Kaitlin and Jon have taken great pains to raise Jackson the right way...with rules. They even have read, and are attempting to apply, a dog-rearing book by some big shot dog expert. I spent the entire weekend trying to invent ways to circumvent their strict rules. I found myself thinking and saying..."now, yau'll leave Jackson alone! He's just a puppy!" Needless to say Jackson thought I was great fun. That's going to be me...the fun grandparent, the one that will require three days of behavioral rehab after each overnight visit! But, oh my goodness was that little puppy a ton of fun! He had a great impact on Lucy, who seems much snugglier now and less skittish. In less than a week the two of them will be back together for an entire week with us at the beach. It's going to be awesome. But first, here are a few pictures from the weekend:

 

Wedding Shower Saga

I've never attended a wedding shower. I don't know anyone my age who would be stupid enough to throw one of those coed showers. Wedding showers are and always and forevermore should remain...a girl thing. After yesterday, I still haven't attended a wedding shower. I was there, I was in the same house where a wedding shower was going on, but I didn't attend. My function was to be put in charge of anything that needed to be done at the last minute, and to keep my mouth shut. In the 24 hours prior to noon yesterday, this thing had disaster written all over it. That it wasn't a disaster was a testament to the mad party-throwing skills of my incredible wife. Let's review some of the highlights, shall we?

Friday 10:35 am. I break out of the gate, to-do list in hand, determined to make her proud. First off, I hit up Lowe's with a list of vitals, the most important of which is a new toilet seat. Who knew that in America there are literally 50 varieties of toilet seat styles? I am forced to call Pam and ask her to measure the thing. An argument issues over the proper way to measure a toilet seat...not a great start to my day. I finally pick my seat...wait, that sounded wrong, I decided on a seat, the StaTite by Church with the patented Whisper close technology. ( toilet seats have technology now? ). I pay for my haul at the self checkout place and get 40 bucks of cash back, sensing that at some point over the next 24 hours I might find myself somewhere, buying God knows what, at a place that doesn't take debit cards!

Friday 11:15 am. I drive out to some place on Hull Street road to pick up a free wedding cake top for Kaitlin and Jon's one year anniversary coming up on Sunday. I'm aware that this has nothing whatsoever to do with the wedding shower, but it is something that Pam had forgotten to do and didn't have time for. 

Friday 12:25 am. I thoughtfully drop by Chik-fil-a on the way home and buy Pam a small chocolate shake and a chicken sandwich. When I reached into my wallet to pay for the meal it occurs to me that I had left 40 dollars in the change dispenser at the checkout at Lowe's. After lunch I will go back there and hope that a Good Samaratian followed me and had turned it in. No such luck. However, in a fortuitous if slightly creepy turn of events, it turns out that Lowe 's has surveillance cameras trained on each and every cash register in the store. The cashier got on the phone and some unseen security person did a quick run through the video evidence where it was discovered that I had indeed left the money in the tray and the very next customer had pocketed it for himself. ( what's the world coming to? ) Astonishingly, the nice cashier handed me my money. Major kudos to Lowe's.

1:30 pm. I install my cutting edge technology toilet seat without incident.

2:00 pm. I cut the grass, and smugly congratulate myself on racing through my to-do list like a hot knife through butter. I jump in the shower, eager to start hanging pictures.

2:30 pm. After emerging from the shower I suddenly am overcome by several physical symptoms which can best be described as harbingers of very bad tidings. Without going into any disgusting details, let me just say that I would be placed out of action for the rest of the day. The timing of this particular ailment could not possibly have been worse. On a positive note...I lost three pounds!

4:30 pm. Pam gives the new toilet a test drive and discovers that it has already broken! Some plastic thing snapped on its first use. Technology, my ass! Since I am indisposed, she calls Ron Roop, my annoyingly handy brother-in-law who comes over, determines that the toilet seat in question is defective, drives over to Lowe' demanding restitution and a new one. In less than an hour, the new, working seat is in place. Crisis averted.

Saturday 1:15 am. Kaitlin and Jon arrive with our Grand-Puppy, Jackson. Lucy and Jackson spend thirty minutes getting to know each other, then spend the rest of the night whining and pawing at their respective doors wanting to play. Sleep will have to wait until after the festivities.

Saturday 7:15 am. I feel much better and immediately busy myself with the remaining items on my list. I notice that it is pouring down rain outside. This can't be good.

Saturday 10:30 am. In an hour and a half, 23 of the finest women in America will be arriving bearing tons of lavender scented gifts. Pam's helpers have arrived and it's time to start putting food in the oven, when our cutting edge technology GE gas grill literally DIES. The digital readout screen goes dark. For fifteen seconds or so, all of the air leaves my house. Everything goes into slow motion. I look at Pam, not knowing if she might fly into an unhinged rage, or collapse on the floor in a pool of tears. Instead, she makes another call to SUPER RON! To make a long and potentially catastrophic story short, there was some trip wire thing in one of the walls that we had pressed three different times to no effect but as soon as Ron pressed it once, the stove sprung back to life. Ron announces glibly, "That's $100 per visit, ya know."

Saturday HIGH NOON. Somehow, against all odds, everything is beautiful and ready. Except for one thing...the helium filled decorative balloons that I had hung on the front porch and the mailbox were hanging limply against the ground, weighed down by the rain, which had finally stopped. So, as the ladies start arriving, I find myself doing something I feel pretty sure I had never done before in my life. There I was, drying off each balloon with a paper towel, hoping against hope that no man I know happens by and catches me in such a un-masculine position.

Saturday Noon- 2:00 pm. My job, with Jon's help was to keep the two dogs upstairs and out of trouble. For the most part, we succeed.

Saturday 3:00 pm. After the last amazing cupcake has been eaten and the ladies start to leave, Jon and I go into full cleaning beast-mode. We load the dishwasher, gather up all the paper napkins and whatnots into the trash and start putting all of the displaced furniture back where it belonged. Then we loaded all of the gifts into the proper cars, all the while hoping that Jackson and Lucy weren't urinating on each other upstairs.

And then...just like that, it was all over. I asked Jessica, the guest of honor, how it went. She smiled at me, gave me a hug and said, "It was perfect!"

Of course. Of course it was. That's what Pam does!

My To-Do List

There's this app on my iPhone, or maybe it's a widget, I can never remember...which is precisely the problem. It's called REMINDERS, and it serves as a high tech to-do list, kind of like a digital age nag, whereby my wife can add items to the list whenever something pops into her head, and she can do so wirelessly from anywhere in the universe where she has an Internet connection. Fascinating. For this I have Steve Jobs to thank.

Thanks, Steve.

Anyway, my REMINDER widget is stuffed to the gills this morning, what with the big wedding shower lallapaloosa at our house tomorrow. As of this hour there are 13 items under the lavender colored heading, Honey-Do. There were 14, but I gave Lucy a bath last night so that one got checked off. Here's what's left:

1. Hang 2 wedding pics

2. Hang 2 graduation pics

3. Put covers on outlets behind cubicle

4. Replace batteries in the clock

5. Put dog bowls and dog food container away just before the shower starts

6. Fix toilet seat

7. Spot vacuum Sat. Morning

8. Vacuum shag rug using CARPET setting to see if we can get more dog hair up

9. Cut grass

10. Buy new light bulbs (ask Pam first)

11. Buy picture hanging hardware

12. Clean nose prints off the living room windows

13. Change air conditioner filters

An interesting and diverse list, reflective of my wide-ranging husbandly skill set. Although, some of them require explanation. Numbers one and two are a result of Pam's painting spree of this past weekend, as is number three. Number six is a head scratcher. The toilet seat in question isn't cracked or anything, it's just a little loose. You know, it slides around if you're not sitting still. This is apparently unacceptable. There are two separate requests to vacuum. Yes, our dog has hair, and not all of them stay firmly affixed to her. Luckily, our shag rug has specks of a tan color in it that bear a striking resemblance to Lucy's hair color. But Pam wants them gone from our rug...all of them.

 I've got number nine. I'm great at cutting grass. I should point out that number twelve is not the result of me in some advanced stage of depression, face pressed forlornly against the windows, gazing blankly at the hostile world outside. No, this also, along with four other items on the list come courtesy of Lucy, who is fond of sitting at the front windows for hours staring across the street at Pippin the Ladradoodle, her sometimes friend with his fancy electronic fence, the arrogant bastard! 

I think it only fair to say that the 13 items on this list don't hold a candle to the million things that Pam has done in preparation for this event. She has been on a mission from God for over a month now. Watching her work has been exhausting. She has been a dynamo, a whirlwind of activity. I only have a 13 item to-do list that I can knock out in one day. This particular division of labor has been decidedly one-sided. But this wedding shower will most likely redefine the genre for years to come. That's how my wife rolls.

Achmed and Abdul School Lurch

Just out of curiosity, by a show of hands, how many of you have had experience with missing a deadline? Yes, I see. Quite a few of you, it appears. Now, how many of you have ever found yourself having run afoul of the April 15 deadline for filing your income tax return? Oh dear, that's a lot of hands! So, I'm sure you're aware of what happens if you miss the IRS imposed deadline. That's right, immediately upon your failure to file your return, the penalty and interest phase of your lifelong relationship with your government begins in earnest. In other words, in the real world, there are tangible and swift consequences for missing deadlines. That's why they are called deadlines...because when you cross them...you're dead.

Not so in the murky world of international diplomacy, at least not in the age of Secretary of State John Kerry, the distinguished and very French-looking former Senator from the state of Massachusetts. By all accounts, Secretary Kerry (hereafter referred to by his nickname, Lurch) is having a devil of a time closing the deal on the nuclear treaty with the Iranians and their two cagey negotiators Achmed and Abdul. So far the talks have burned through four separate deadlines, the result of the A boys last minute demands. Lurch, desperately desiring a deal, each time issues a stern warning, but each time is dragged back to the table whereupon he makes further concessions. I imagine it goes something like this:

Imagine The Secretary of State driving a big SUV down the interstate with Achmed and Abdul in the back seat. Suddenly Achmed leans forward and flicks Lurch's ear. Achmed and Abdul then tumble together in hysterical laughter. Lurch cuts his very aristocratic eyes sternly into the rear view mirror...

Lurch: Now, you boys calm down! Don't make me come back there!

Abdul: Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it Pierre??

Lurch: That's enough! You boys quiet down or so help me, I'm going to pull this car over!

Achmed: Whoooooa! Did you hear that, Abdul? Frenchy says he's gonna pull the car over!!

Lurch: I'm giving you two fair warning! You boys don't want to know what happens if I have to pull this car over!

Abdul then reaches inside his thawb and removes a straw, then plasters Lurch with a large and extremely wet spitball. More hysterical laughter...

Lurch: That's it! I cannot tell you how disappointed I am in you both. I'm pulling this car over...as soon as I find a place that's big enough...and safe enough...boy the traffic is terrible today...well, you
can rest assured that I mean business this time...there will be consequences...a man can take but so much of this intolerable...oh wait, there's a Wawa. Who wants some frozen yogurt??

A Healing Song

Today, I will attend a viewing for the father of one of my clients, a healthy, robust man in his 70's struck down by a car accident. Yesterday, a sweet, loving soul from my church passed away from complications of recent heart surgery. She was in her 40's. Such is the arbitrary, fragile nature of this life. In ways random and relentless, death stuns us. Even when we expect it, anticipate it, death stuns.

So, I listen to music. Not just any music, but the soft gentle harmonies of accapella singing. Other music is better for celebrations. Sometimes it's the clever story telling of country music. Other times, rock and roll is what I need. It's the brooding symphonies of Beethoven when I need to think, Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra when I want to relax, Manheim Steamroller when I'm wrapping Christmas presents. But when I'm sad, and the specter of loss hangs over me, only the tender sound of the human voice will do.

Last month was a month of loss for me. June will, for the rest of my life, be the month that my parents died. This year was the first anniversary of Dad's passing and it weighed on me. One night I was sifting through old pictures and videos on my iPad when I found a video from 2013. Patrick's college choir of choice, The Chamber Singers, had been on tour and we had hosted them for a raucous dinner at our house. Before they left, I asked their leader, Deen Entsminger, if he would lead them in a performance of  their signature song, Lonesome Road by James Taylor. There they were, a bunch of energetic kids who had travelled 600 miles by bus earlier in the day, but still full of passion and silliness, all crammed into our overcrowded family room. Deen held out his hand and took a long, deep breath. For the next three minutes, a soulful sound filled the house and the hearts of everyone in it. The harmonies were tight and seamless, the execution flawless, which allowed us all to hear, really and truly hear the lyrics:

              Walk down that lonesome road all by yourself, 

               Don't turn your head back over your shoulder.
                 And only stop to rest yourself when the silver moon
                  is shining high above the trees.....

If my house accomplishes nothing else, it will have been the home of that three minutes. Last night I learned that my mother-in-law had taken a nasty tumble, breaking her elbow. Her face was bruised and scraped. She had needed stitches to close a wound. She had tripped on an unseen landscaping log in the dark leaving her dear friend's house after bringing a meal. Before going to bed last night, I listened again.

When we don't know what to pray, God sends music.

I Did It!

I did it. I caved to the cultural and societal pressure. I took the advice of my nephew and my son. I was prepared for an hour of relentless nothingness. I steeled myself for the slow motion, yawn-inducing experience of watching grown women running aimlessly by telling myself that it was my patriotic duty. As if on cue, there was my President urging all of America to root, root root for our women. Well, I was going to do it, even if it killed me.

Our girls had already dispatched the Germans several days ago and now would be facing the Japanese. Sound familiar?  All of the studio commentators were unanimous in their opinion that Tokyo's finest didn't stand a chance. I was dubious. They looked awfully determined. While the American girls were all smiles during the pregame introductions, the Japanese looked dead serious, grim and single minded, especially during the playing of their nation's anthem, a slow dirge that must have been composed the day after Hiroshima. I became fearful of them, suspicious of the lengths to which they might go for victory.

My biggest complaint about soccer is the amount of time that players spend seemingly determined not to score. There is much pointless passing, fruitless scampering, and dramatic flailing about for no apparent purpose. So, none of the knowledge about soccer I had managed to accrue  had prepared me for what I was about to see. Within the first ten minutes, the Americans had scored 4 goals, three of them by one player, and one of those from a mile away! This is the baseball equivalent of a team hitting three grand slams in the top of the first inning, the football equivalent of scoring five touchdowns in the first quarter. The Japanese players looked shell shocked, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing, a sort of a Pearl Harbor in reverse. 

As is always the case, the best part of the telecast were the camera shots of brightly painted and wildly enthusiastic fans. I have to hand it to soccer fans, they are the absolute best when it comes to unhinged passion. 

By the end of the first half the Japanese had managed a face saving goal, but the game was essentially over after that initial burst of goal-scoring lunacy by the Americans. I had done my part. I had watched the entire first half! But then the Nationals game came on ESPN. I switched over to watch Bryce Harper hit, but I kept a sharp eye on the ticker at the bottom of the screen for any Japanese treachery in the second half. I was fully prepared to switch back if something nefarious was afoot. But it was not to be. The U.S. Won in a rout 5-2. World Cup champions! Good for them.