Tuesday, 24 January 2017
It has been a few days since the new leader of the Executive branch took the oath of office. In the wake of the swearing in ceremony, much has been made of the attendance figures for the event. Side-by-side comparison shots of the 2009 inauguration and last week's get together have, unsurprisingly, prompted inflationary comment from the president, who claimed an audience of 1.5 million. It's quite easy to be dismissive of such a claim, given his adroitness at pulling more cack from his fundament than any human alive. But, in the interests of balance, he's, like, a smart guy who has the best words, so perhaps he's the best at counting too and is just being all modest about it.
In a normal world we could all reasonably assume that such a story, if it warranted any coverage at all, would slip out of the cycle quite quickly. In a normal world.
This morning I watched the Young Turks' reaction to White House press secretary Sean Spicer's maiden voyage behind the lectern - basically it was a quiver-lipped spray at the media about their coverage of crowd numbers on the National Mall - a pointless, hissyfitful coddling of his timorous-hearted boss.
The gist from Spicer, Young Turks' Cenk Uygur and a few YouTube commenters was the same - why is this an issue, it's not an issue, stop talking about it and let's talk policy.
It shouldn't be an issue. It wouldn't be an issue for a person unaffected by such fundamental personality flaws. That it is an issue speaks, and should by now be screaming, to the deeply vexing problem of having this man at the helm.
Ever since announcing his candidacy in 2015, America's new president has repeatedly shown himself as totally incapable of functioning unless he is self-aggrandizing to the point of near deification. Everything he does is blithely vainglorious, two words that should never have cause to be too close together.
There is no core to the man, politically, ethically, philosophically. He is the embodiment of frippery and attention-seeking smarm.
He is a grotesque, a flabby spurt of fragility, pettiness, petulance & personality disorders. He is a preening dolt, a popinjay oblivious to the world in which he lives.
The planet is a nothing to him but a deal, an ad hoc series of breakfast meeting takeovers, a deal only ever sought in order to feel the tiny pissdribble of adrenaline that comes with ruthlessly fucking people over. He is an ego in a series of poorly chosen and executed ties.
Throughout history there have been many whose egos grew to fit and exceed the role they inherited or murdered their way to...or both. This man came to town with a towering, 'ready-to-wear' self-absorption and an acute, delusional expectation - that he exist at the centre of a gaudy pinwheel of unfettered obeisance and adoration.
Whatever America's problems are, real or imagined, they pale in comparison to the one sticking out of its neck like an overripe grapefruit.
Problems facing potentially billions of people cannot be addressed, let alone solved, by a 'chief decision maker' who is compelled to predicate every decision on if, how and by how much it inflates his ego. On how much greater he can appear to be as a result.
He does not care about you. He cares only about himself. He is to the presidency what a fork is to a power outlet.
He must be resisted at every turn. His whims and fancies cauterized, his greed curbed, his taxes revealed, his business interests blinded, his feet held daily to the fire of public accountability.
He must be stopped.
Alternatively, we could just sit back and watch while he uses the Situation Room to blow up people who make fun of his tiny hands and terrible makeup.
Posted by Nx Doyle at 01:51:00
Friday, 20 January 2017
The next little while will likely see some significant changes, both in terms of what's going on in the wider world as well as my little one. I've partially sworn off the "wide world of 'fucking hell we're all doomed!'" until that weird guy takes over, so instead - here are some upcoming changes in my wee bubble. (Hehe...wee bubble.)
Posted by Nx Doyle at 02:29:00
Friday, 11 November 2016
Many years ago, when I was 12 or 13, I asked my father what he did during the war. Without pause he replied, "Drank tea and smoked cigarettes." End of discussion. When the war in Europe ended in May 1945, my Dad had just turned 20. While he was living in an Ireland that had, just eight years earlier, drafted and ratified its own Constitution and rejected membership of the then British Empire, the people of neutral Ireland were very much affected by the near-cataclysmic events occurring on their doorstep.
I have mulled over his terse 'tea & cigs' response many times over the years, mostly as it became more apparent that the man had a history he did not want to share...and to his dying day, he didn't.
Small pieces of the puzzle have been filled in over the years. I'd prefer not to go into detail here about what he may or may not have done for his or another country in his younger years, mainly because what really happened during the period immediately following the war he took to his grave - and will likely remain as mere rumour, conjecture & occasionally fanciful wonderings. But everything I do know about my father leads me to believe he was, in some way, 'active'. As for my mother, I don't know. She died when I was very young, but she did work as a journalist in the days when that meant a lot more than it does now.
Tuesday, 16 August 2016
Sometimes Facebook posts become a little too long to be Facebook posts. That's when you need Bigmouthery.
My (skip) ad feed on YouTube the last day or so has been almost exclusively a sales pitch from evangelical preacher Pat Mesiti, touting the 'law of attraction' method of life success. Like you, I generally 'skip ad' as soon as I can. Especially a few months after nearly losing my mind hearing Arnie say 'the best defence is defence!' Besides, it's critical I see Peter Serafinowicz's Sassy Trump or listen to Louis CK's diarrhea song...again.
The difference this time? I know who Mesiti is. I was once a Christian and during the short post-Catholic & pre-agnostic/mostly atheistic/trying to be post-theistic/who-the-fuck-knows-period, Pat Mesiti was a highly considered pastor among my happy clappy peers. So after being hit with a wall of Mesiti ads, I decided to hear him out.
He was standing in front of a big swimming pool at what looked liked a seaside resort, enthusiastically extolling the 'law of attraction' as part of a seminar sales pitch. Unlimited potential, limited seats, y'know how it goes...
As I understand the scientific term, the supposed laws of attraction has to do with bodies' attraction/repulsion in relationship to each other. Let's call this A.
By contrast, human 'laws' of attraction such as those propounded in books like 'The Secret' suggest that your desires and wishes will be made manifest by stating said desires and wishes, which the universe will then grant you. Let's call this B. The sceptics' formula for the combination of the two is as follows:
A + B = C (Commerce)
I am expert neither in quantum physics nor sales pitches, but I think it's disingenuous during a sales pitch for the salesman not to disclose that he is/was an evangelical preacher.
More importantly, I also think it's vital that the unsuspecting are made aware that that said pitchman pleaded guilty earlier this year to charges of assault arising from domestic violence.
A more cynical person might reasonably assume that this hackneyed pitch to sell bums on seats is in some way an attempt at a career comeback.
And now, the Diarrhea Song.