The War Of Fog

Crossing nine time zones to return home after three weeks away, arriving around midnight after twenty-four hours of sleepless travel, leaves one with a fogged brain. This one, anyway. Which explains the absence of a column last week. And, perhaps, the following fatuous, foggish frivolity, as I’m not yet ready to give up my gelato high and get serious. So: 

There was a time when I was really good at math. In high school, I took advanced calculus, did more than passably well on the math SAT. By my calculation, that was in 1962. The last time higher math had any personal importance was the last day of freshman year in college, where I also took calculus, which, to the chagrin of English majors, was required at the time. Last exam, last thought, last relevance. Not even in medical school. My guess is the same can be said for all takers of calculus who aren’t currently working for NASA. Nowadays, I couldn’t integrate my way out of a wet paper derivative. Its terminology is as foreign to me now as Mandarin Chinese.

I did, however, get one thing out of it of lasting importance. Mister Rogers, the other one, my high school math teacher, demanded the invention of original puns. Never one to pass up an opportunity for approval, I ran through a bunch of phrases that might be fertile, and came up with one. (I interject that since it’s now past Thanksgiving, any reference to Christmas, however indirect, is acceptable.) (Also parenthetically, as a woke liberal, hearing “Merry Christmas” doesn’t offend me. I say it right back. Same with “Happy Holidays.” It’s not a war and never was.) But I digress. Here’s the pun:

Natasha and Rudolph live in a cabin in the woods not far from Moscow. One morning Rudolph gets out of bed, goes to the window, opens the curtains, and says, “Wow, Natasha, it’s raining really hard!” Still in bed, Natasha says, “From here, it looks like snow.” “Nyet. It’s definitely rain. Not snow.” “Are you sure,” asks Natasha? “Look,” he says, annoyed. “Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear.”

This remarkable event happened down there in Portland, where I grew up. Thirty years later, more or less, I was driving through, listening to a local radio station, when the DJ told that very joke. This led me to consider (calculate?) several possibilities: 1) my brilliance lived on in the town of its birth, finally grapevining its way onto the radio; 2) someone else had thought of the same thing; or 3) it wasn’t original at all when I came up with it. Maybe I’d heard it before and didn’t remember.

Having just entered my eightieth year, crossing that threshold bearing the typical (I hope) memory failings of the age, I can relate to the idea of having heard and forgotten. But I didn’t. For one thing, I was more than sixty years younger. I made it up, as surely as f(x) indicates ... something. Which is not to say someone else might not have, as well. But, surely, that’s not important right now. What is, is the song.

Much as I liked Burl Ives, who ended up living and dying in nearby Anacortes, and who, I think, is most associated with singing it, I’ve finally realized it makes no sense. Notwithstanding our love for redemption stories, tales of people overcoming handicaps or other obstacles to become successful, Rudolph’s saga isn’t. Sure, his pinkish proboscis made him a pariah until that pre-Christmas night; and, yes, he became – assuming the story is true – a popular polar protagonist, proactively.

But, really: Around here we know fog, which is sort of how this column began. We’ve experienced multiday stretches of impenetrable and unrelenting fog, such that one can’t see oncoming headlights till they’re mere feet away. It’s treacherous. But who among us would address the problem by placing a red light bulb on the hood of their car? How would that “guide” us anywhere but into a tree, or worse? Unless Rudolph’s nose was the “on” button of a radar dome, sticking him up front would have done Santa less good than a quadratic equation does me. That’s just a fact, and it’s time we recognized it as such.

Christmas is Christmas; but, c’mon! Rudolph? Unlike climate change, his story, the song, is a hoax. How could we, even as children, have fallen for it? Was it the strength of Ive’s Burly charm?

In contrast, Donald Trump is a would-be dictator and his most ardent followers are fascists.

Ah! The fog is lifting.

Lawn Order

Add this to the list of differences between Democrats and Republicans: not considering it “weaponization” when Merrick Garland’s Department of Justice indicted Senator Robert Menendez (D-NJ), whose bill of particulars, like Trump’s, appalls. No cries of “witch hunt” or “two-tiered justice,” except Menendez himself, who Trump-eted, “Those behind this campaign simply can’t stand that a first-generation Latino-American from humble beginnings can rise to become a US Senator...”

Similarly, as to Hunter Biden, many on the left have noted that federal indictments are rare for his infractions and have questioned the insecure handling of THE LAPTOP!!!!, but none have said he did nothing wrong.

From Democrats there have been no calls for presidential pardons, none for defunding the DOJ. No liberal has characterized as gestapo tactics the FBI search of the senator’s home. Instead, one hears escalating calls for Menendez to resign or be booted (not from Republicans, though); and agreement that if Hunter Biden is found guilty, he deserves appropriate punishment. Menendez has already had to resign his powerful Foreign Relations Committee chairmanship.

Imagine that: Recognizing its indispensability, one party respects our system of justice, while another – a self-proclaimed defender of law and order -- doesn’t. Wants, rather, to stifle its independence or defund it entirely.

Unfamiliar with the concept of integrity, rightwing icons like Charlie Kirk and the usual Foxing heads want to convince their ungulate followers that the Menendez indictment was a “deep state” ploy to make it appear that the DOJ is impartial. With today’s “conservatives” and their media, you can’t win. Anything good done by President Joe Biden or his government is bad. Anything bad done or said by Trump is good. Facts that breach the bubble are fake. Trump’s crimes aren’t crimes, while Biden’s lack of crimes demands investigation.

That mentality provides excellent ratings for Fox “news” and plenty of airtime for Trumpublicans, but it’s a parody of responsible governance. (Would I credit Trump if he did something good? See below.)

Daily examples confirm Republicans’ disinterest in and inability to produce serious legislation. For a budget to pass, Gym Jordan prattled on Fox “Business,” “... no money can be used to target your political opponents, which is exactly what Jack Smith is doing to President Trump.” Then, without irony, he went on to update the audience on his made-for-Foxification targeting of Hunter Biden.

Another: Margorie Taylor Greene (R-Jezero Crater) announced she’ll vote against any budget that includes money for Ukraine because they “sex traffic” children and “harvest their organs.” Thereupon, Semispeaker Kevin McCarthy stripped funding from their proposal.

Making America great, people actually voted for that lady. Is she a liar or just surpassingly stupid? Either way, she’s angling for and may well be Trump’s VP pick. A vengeful authoritarian plus a meretricious conspiracist: Trumpism’s pinnacle and America’s agonal breath. Kari Lake? Interchangeable.

Without desperate vote suppression and unscrupulous gerrymandering, lunatic MTG, crotchety Lauren Boebert, and the rest of the Caucus of Crazy would be babbling on street corners, as passers-by hurried on, avoiding eye contact. Prone to confusion as he is, when Trump said, “They aren’t sending their best,” he might have meant Republican states, not Mexico. It’s possible, though, that those people ARE the best they have.

Definitely not our best, but reading the ketchup on the wall, Trump, who brags that, by anointing bench-legislating, billionaire-selected ideologues to SCOTUS, he deserves credit for ending reproductive choice, is suddenly simulating sensibility. Now he’s suggesting there’s middle ground, rather than, say, making felons of people who drive women to another state for a legal abortion. I’ll say it: Good for him. I’ll also say: his epiphany comes more from electoral worries than empathy derived from a rumored past.

Lest we conclude that Trump, aka inmate P01135809 out on bail, has turned toward the light, something he’s done only during a solar eclipse, he confirmed his plans for a second “presidency,” should the combination of anti-democracy voters and third-party candidates return him to the Oval Office. Implying General Mark Milley deserves death, he pretended it was because, as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the general wisely reassured China of America’s stability after 9/11. In reality, he was furious over Milley’s book revealing Trump’s dangerous ignorance and incompetence.

Trump also promised government weaponization to punish “treasonous” news organizations. To His Errancy, criticism in any form is a capital crime. But P01135809 and Trumpists call Democrats fascists.

Finally, for a chuckle: Because they knew of Senator Menendez’s sleaze, Trump presumes, he demands that all Democratic senators must resign. Having covered projection last week, it should be unnecessary to identify it again. But there it is. Same with his rant about media, leaving out the real danger, Fox “news” et ilk. His just-rendered conviction for fraud isn't projection. It's a decades-long truth.

Oh, and that over-hyped poll? There’s only one that matters: “Democracy or Autocracy: choose one.”