The following is a series of posts I made live from a sporting event yesterday.
From these seats, I can't quite tell what sport they're getting ready to play way down there. Fortunately, it's 2017, which means I can just sit and drink my 20 dollar Pepsi while I watch David Cronenberg's classic "Dead Ringers" on my phone. What's all the commotion? Did someone score a basket, or field goal, or something? I guess I was distracted; in my hand I've got Jeremy Irons playing not one but TWO nuanced perverts.
It's amazing how much money I have to shell out to watch a basketball game with this guy's head obstructing my view of 12.5 % of the court. If I'd stayed at home, for a much more modest outlay I could have gotten Paul Williams to stand in front of me and block nearly the entire screen. (With a coupon, I probably could have afforded Marco Rubio.)
Sunday, February 26, 2017
Monday, February 20, 2017
MATH, BATS, AND TELES
This morning, my son showed me some baseball geometry, by which I mean he demonstrated some of the new thinking about the angles created by your feet when you're batting. I wonder if some older baseball fans are nostalgic for the angles great players of the past used? ("Yogi Berra had an unshiftable faith in the power of the isosceles triangle-- these young kids today don't respect the parallelograms of the past.")
This reminds me of a conversation I had with a young music student who was visibly disturbed by my assertion that math affected people emotionally. She hated math class, avoiding it whenever possible, and couldn't really deal with the notion that math and music were connected. Music was like her oasis (try not to think of the overrated rock band when I trot out this metaphor).
To avoid charges of hypocrisy, I'll tell you that my relationship with math (and science too) is complicated. I hated having to sit in classes thinking about all that stuff, but although my actual understanding of those worlds is sketchy at best, I find that philosophically I'm in bed with people who see the world through those lenses. As much as I love music packed with mystery and chaos, I see even that stuff as governed to a large extent by ratios, numeric balance, and the like. I love the work of Schillinger, a man who wrote damned fat books about math and music that have influenced me profoundly in spite of my rarely straying past page three. (On the subject of fat wordy doorstops that mostly stay on my shelves, I used to enjoy reading Spengler while beginning an evening of drinking. I liked the way it illustrated my despotic treatment of my brain cells; it felt like I was forcing my staff to work really hard right before they clocked out for the day.)
This reminds me of a conversation I had with a young music student who was visibly disturbed by my assertion that math affected people emotionally. She hated math class, avoiding it whenever possible, and couldn't really deal with the notion that math and music were connected. Music was like her oasis (try not to think of the overrated rock band when I trot out this metaphor).
To avoid charges of hypocrisy, I'll tell you that my relationship with math (and science too) is complicated. I hated having to sit in classes thinking about all that stuff, but although my actual understanding of those worlds is sketchy at best, I find that philosophically I'm in bed with people who see the world through those lenses. As much as I love music packed with mystery and chaos, I see even that stuff as governed to a large extent by ratios, numeric balance, and the like. I love the work of Schillinger, a man who wrote damned fat books about math and music that have influenced me profoundly in spite of my rarely straying past page three. (On the subject of fat wordy doorstops that mostly stay on my shelves, I used to enjoy reading Spengler while beginning an evening of drinking. I liked the way it illustrated my despotic treatment of my brain cells; it felt like I was forcing my staff to work really hard right before they clocked out for the day.)
Friday, February 17, 2017
ALEX CHILTON AND ME
Last night I caught a little of the Big Star documentary on TV. I'd call the experience bittersweet, but that trite word seems a weak way to describe the blend of gut-punch anguish, excitement and ambivalence I felt watching it.
Forgive the back story intrusion here, those of you for whom Big Star is a long-known quantity. Alex Chilton was a precocious singer, guitarist, and songwriter who cut a hit song at an age when most of us are still dressing out for dodgeball. A few years later, he formed a band whose dedication to catchy bubblegum hooks and rock and roll energy didn't sell in a pop world now more Zeppelin than Beatles. His band's studio output then degenerated into a hazy and chaotic bad trip, and a third album that never really had what you could call a proper release.
Later Chilton's various talents and idiosyncrasies led him into areas that threaded the needle between the roots of rock and roll and the roots of mental illness. It's easy to get the impression that Chilton would periodically drug himself into a state of dislocated mania, round up a dubious entourage that more upmarket rock entourages would sneer at, and enter an unsuspecting recording studio waving a to-do list scrawled and clawed almost to the point of plasma in a fever of nutty conviction.
He did all of that, but he also did more than just about anyone else to read into the record the Rosetta Stone kinship among soul music, rockabilly, and bubblegum.
Forgive the back story intrusion here, those of you for whom Big Star is a long-known quantity. Alex Chilton was a precocious singer, guitarist, and songwriter who cut a hit song at an age when most of us are still dressing out for dodgeball. A few years later, he formed a band whose dedication to catchy bubblegum hooks and rock and roll energy didn't sell in a pop world now more Zeppelin than Beatles. His band's studio output then degenerated into a hazy and chaotic bad trip, and a third album that never really had what you could call a proper release.
Later Chilton's various talents and idiosyncrasies led him into areas that threaded the needle between the roots of rock and roll and the roots of mental illness. It's easy to get the impression that Chilton would periodically drug himself into a state of dislocated mania, round up a dubious entourage that more upmarket rock entourages would sneer at, and enter an unsuspecting recording studio waving a to-do list scrawled and clawed almost to the point of plasma in a fever of nutty conviction.
He did all of that, but he also did more than just about anyone else to read into the record the Rosetta Stone kinship among soul music, rockabilly, and bubblegum.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
YAMMER OF THE GODS
Fans of interminable blather will be gratified to learn that last night's Hot Plate recording session yielded a mammoth amount of political chat. Tom Alderson and I recorded 121 minutes of pontification, chest beating, and chin wagging, wrapping up the self-indulgent marathon a minute or two past one AM. In fact, the cutoff was more or less arbitrarily imposed, as I felt we were just getting into it towards the end, but Jarrett Nicolay's computer kept crashing due to his use of state of the art blather-resistant software.
The long and winding gabfest went into extra innings in part because of my attempt to criticize all ends of the political spectrum. After ninety minutes, I suddenly realized that we'd forgotten to insult libertarians, but at this point I was busy explaining my groundbreaking concept of Telecaster Tolerance, and Tom was starting to remember that he had a four hour drive home, and an early meeting at Philippi.
For those keeping score, here's where this leaves us.
We've now recorded all of the material for the pilot show, as well as much of what we'll need for the next few episodes. I'm planning to use 10 or 15 minutes of political material on an episode, because of my theory that people will only be able to stand a certain amount of such drivel from me at one sitting.
The pilot show editing process will be wrapped up (we hope) next week, and at some point soon I will begin negotiating the learning curve of turning all this content into a podcast, as well as discussing with various colleagues the possibility of Hot Plate airing on an independent radio station or two.
I'd like to emphasize that, despite the dissent of an Instagram friend assuring me that I am not a windbag, the numbers would seem to bear out my claim to windbaggery. Last week's forty minute bloviation exercise with one Dave Nuttycombe now appears to have been a bagatelle or warmup for last night's epic threnody, and I'm strongly considering a Keith Jarrett-esque solo tour.
The long and winding gabfest went into extra innings in part because of my attempt to criticize all ends of the political spectrum. After ninety minutes, I suddenly realized that we'd forgotten to insult libertarians, but at this point I was busy explaining my groundbreaking concept of Telecaster Tolerance, and Tom was starting to remember that he had a four hour drive home, and an early meeting at Philippi.
For those keeping score, here's where this leaves us.
We've now recorded all of the material for the pilot show, as well as much of what we'll need for the next few episodes. I'm planning to use 10 or 15 minutes of political material on an episode, because of my theory that people will only be able to stand a certain amount of such drivel from me at one sitting.
The pilot show editing process will be wrapped up (we hope) next week, and at some point soon I will begin negotiating the learning curve of turning all this content into a podcast, as well as discussing with various colleagues the possibility of Hot Plate airing on an independent radio station or two.
I'd like to emphasize that, despite the dissent of an Instagram friend assuring me that I am not a windbag, the numbers would seem to bear out my claim to windbaggery. Last week's forty minute bloviation exercise with one Dave Nuttycombe now appears to have been a bagatelle or warmup for last night's epic threnody, and I'm strongly considering a Keith Jarrett-esque solo tour.
Monday, February 13, 2017
FOR FIRST TIME IN HISTORY, GRAMMY BROADCAST INSPIRES ONLINE THINK PIECE
I don't watch the Grammys for two main reasons.
1. Contemporary pop music is mostly dull to me. As far as I can tell, it's largely about physically attractive singers gesturing and posturing their way through songs that are either innocuous or thunderingly message-oriented. Sometimes I love a song that's innocuous, and sometimes I love a song with a message, but often I search for songs that traffic in mystery and subtlety. These qualities are mostly absent from platinum selling product.
2. I don't really respect the notion of giving awards to artists, especially artists who make tons of money. I'm not saying I'd turn down such an award myself (especially if it had a cash component), but the spectacle of rich people crying in front of a giant audience leaves me cold.
Thus, I wasn't watching the Grammys last night when Adele talked and talked as she accepted an award, resulting in her collaborator and songwriter Greg Kurstin's acceptance speech being trampled on by the big show cranking up again to keep to the schedule. Some new music by A Tribe Called Quest drowned out the songwriter's words.
This morning a Facebook friend was upset about this, framing it as a great songwriter being disrespected by the music of some of the most talentless clowns ever to get onstage, or words to that effect.
I'm a songwriter myself, and I can see how a fan of Adele or Kurstin could be frustrated by what happened. I'm agnostic on Adele, having heard her music mainly when my students have asked to learn it; she's obviously an excellent singer and the songs are pleasant enough, but I'd rather listen to Bartók. To put it in perspective, though, give me Adele all day and night rather than one minute of Mumford and Sons. I'm pretty much done at Mumford; the Sons just make things worse, doing their super-white bearded and vested jig on the grave of my patience.
1. Contemporary pop music is mostly dull to me. As far as I can tell, it's largely about physically attractive singers gesturing and posturing their way through songs that are either innocuous or thunderingly message-oriented. Sometimes I love a song that's innocuous, and sometimes I love a song with a message, but often I search for songs that traffic in mystery and subtlety. These qualities are mostly absent from platinum selling product.
2. I don't really respect the notion of giving awards to artists, especially artists who make tons of money. I'm not saying I'd turn down such an award myself (especially if it had a cash component), but the spectacle of rich people crying in front of a giant audience leaves me cold.
Thus, I wasn't watching the Grammys last night when Adele talked and talked as she accepted an award, resulting in her collaborator and songwriter Greg Kurstin's acceptance speech being trampled on by the big show cranking up again to keep to the schedule. Some new music by A Tribe Called Quest drowned out the songwriter's words.
This morning a Facebook friend was upset about this, framing it as a great songwriter being disrespected by the music of some of the most talentless clowns ever to get onstage, or words to that effect.
I'm a songwriter myself, and I can see how a fan of Adele or Kurstin could be frustrated by what happened. I'm agnostic on Adele, having heard her music mainly when my students have asked to learn it; she's obviously an excellent singer and the songs are pleasant enough, but I'd rather listen to Bartók. To put it in perspective, though, give me Adele all day and night rather than one minute of Mumford and Sons. I'm pretty much done at Mumford; the Sons just make things worse, doing their super-white bearded and vested jig on the grave of my patience.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
THE AMAZING BONZONI, DEREK BAILEY, EVAN PARKER, SAKI, etc.
According to my extensive research, Stan Laurel's comedy formula was "tell them what you're going to do, then do it, then tell them what you just did."
In this spirit, I posted about a Hot Plate! recording session, then went to the recording studio and recorded the session, and now I will tell you how it went.
We recorded a few different segments. One recurring feature of the show, Devil's Music Advocate, focused on avant garde music this time around. We listened to music by infamous British guitarist Derek Bailey, who some consider to have been a notorious charlatan or con artist. The list of people who don't like Derek Bailey's music is not a long one, because if you've even heard of him at all you're probably an adventurous listener. He pings, plonks and scrapes his way through a tiny personal universe, creating musical statements that are absorbingly beautiful if you know how to listen to them. Devil's Music Advocate is about learning how to listen to music. I have years of musical training etc., but learning how to listen doesn't require much training or effort. If you've ever taken a yoga class, sat through a Super Bowl, or watched an episode of the heinous sitcom Two Broke Girls, you're more than intellectually qualified to listen to avant garde music. And contrary to the assumptions of many of my friends, it's actually fun.
One of my favorite overheard quotes about avant garde music (in this case it was a jazz skronk session filled with squealing and shrieking saxophone) is "I just don't see how any human can enjoy this, except for the musicians and their spouses."
We avoided skronk territory on this episode, in favor of a more low key chamber music kind of aesthetic. In addition to a lot of Bailey, we looked at solos and duets by Eugene Chadbourne, Steve Lacy, and Evan Parker. One track that may surprise some listeners was from a glittering banjo duo performance with Chadbourne and the much more mainstream Tony Trischka.
In this spirit, I posted about a Hot Plate! recording session, then went to the recording studio and recorded the session, and now I will tell you how it went.
We recorded a few different segments. One recurring feature of the show, Devil's Music Advocate, focused on avant garde music this time around. We listened to music by infamous British guitarist Derek Bailey, who some consider to have been a notorious charlatan or con artist. The list of people who don't like Derek Bailey's music is not a long one, because if you've even heard of him at all you're probably an adventurous listener. He pings, plonks and scrapes his way through a tiny personal universe, creating musical statements that are absorbingly beautiful if you know how to listen to them. Devil's Music Advocate is about learning how to listen to music. I have years of musical training etc., but learning how to listen doesn't require much training or effort. If you've ever taken a yoga class, sat through a Super Bowl, or watched an episode of the heinous sitcom Two Broke Girls, you're more than intellectually qualified to listen to avant garde music. And contrary to the assumptions of many of my friends, it's actually fun.
One of my favorite overheard quotes about avant garde music (in this case it was a jazz skronk session filled with squealing and shrieking saxophone) is "I just don't see how any human can enjoy this, except for the musicians and their spouses."
We avoided skronk territory on this episode, in favor of a more low key chamber music kind of aesthetic. In addition to a lot of Bailey, we looked at solos and duets by Eugene Chadbourne, Steve Lacy, and Evan Parker. One track that may surprise some listeners was from a glittering banjo duo performance with Chadbourne and the much more mainstream Tony Trischka.
Thursday, February 9, 2017
DEVIL'S MUSIC ADVOCATE-- DEREK BAILEY, STEVE LACY, MUDDY WATERS, LED ZEP, ETC.
Tonight in the studio we are recording some conversations for the radio show.
One segment will be the first installment of Devil's Music Advocate, which is more or less "Karl Straub for the Defense" of whichever benighted music genre we're dealing with on that episode. Tonight it's Avant Garde music, and my friend and colleague Martin Beam will be on hand to help me take a look at some improvised solos and duets by guitarists Derek Bailey and Eugene Chadbourne and soprano saxophonists Steve Lacy and Evan Parker, as well as Min Xiaofen on the Chinese pipa and Tony Trischka on banjo.
Another segment debuting tonight is Total Ripoff, where I'll discuss the fine line between music plagiarism and music borrowing. We'll look at controversial connections between the music of Led Zeppelin and Muddy Waters, and we'll listen to an early pre-fame interview Muddy did with Alan Lomax that touched on these issues, recorded a couple years before Jimmy Page was born.
If we get to it, we'll also talk about some early B.B. King singles where the master was still getting his sound together, and cranking his amp up to a level of raunch that we don't usually associate with him these days. But we might have to get into B.B. King another night-- I have to sleep sometime.
One segment will be the first installment of Devil's Music Advocate, which is more or less "Karl Straub for the Defense" of whichever benighted music genre we're dealing with on that episode. Tonight it's Avant Garde music, and my friend and colleague Martin Beam will be on hand to help me take a look at some improvised solos and duets by guitarists Derek Bailey and Eugene Chadbourne and soprano saxophonists Steve Lacy and Evan Parker, as well as Min Xiaofen on the Chinese pipa and Tony Trischka on banjo.
Another segment debuting tonight is Total Ripoff, where I'll discuss the fine line between music plagiarism and music borrowing. We'll look at controversial connections between the music of Led Zeppelin and Muddy Waters, and we'll listen to an early pre-fame interview Muddy did with Alan Lomax that touched on these issues, recorded a couple years before Jimmy Page was born.
If we get to it, we'll also talk about some early B.B. King singles where the master was still getting his sound together, and cranking his amp up to a level of raunch that we don't usually associate with him these days. But we might have to get into B.B. King another night-- I have to sleep sometime.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
NEIL SIMON'S MUCH LESS FAMOUS OLDER BROTHER, DANNY SIMON
I'm stumbling around with bloodshot eyes this morning, following yesterday's late night HOT PLATE recording session.
Did a great interview with Dave Nuttycombe, where we talked a bit about his checkered past making hilarious films with Travesty, Ltd., but our main topic was Neil Simon's much less famous older brother, Danny Simon. Danny was an underappreciated comedy writer (Sid Caesar, Danny Thomas, The Facts of Life, etc.), and Dave told me some stories about Simon and the comedy writing seminars he taught years ago.
Monday night is the panel discussion with Thomas Alderson and Keith Grimes, where I'll shift gears from the serious subject of TV comedy to a much more ludicrous area-- today's political discourse.
Did a great interview with Dave Nuttycombe, where we talked a bit about his checkered past making hilarious films with Travesty, Ltd., but our main topic was Neil Simon's much less famous older brother, Danny Simon. Danny was an underappreciated comedy writer (Sid Caesar, Danny Thomas, The Facts of Life, etc.), and Dave told me some stories about Simon and the comedy writing seminars he taught years ago.
Monday night is the panel discussion with Thomas Alderson and Keith Grimes, where I'll shift gears from the serious subject of TV comedy to a much more ludicrous area-- today's political discourse.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
NOODLES--THE SILENT KILLER
http://www.aqueoustudio.com/camarillo_concerts/index.html
Practicing today for the show. I would have started already, except my son's ramen noodles spilled all over his bag and had to be abandoned, necessitating my trip to his school with an alternate lunch. Be careful out there, people! A dry turkey sandwich with no mayo isn't the most delicious way to fortify a middle schooler, but it's hard to imagine a dry turkey-related mishap that would require your dad to bring you a change of clothes.
Practicing today for the show. I would have started already, except my son's ramen noodles spilled all over his bag and had to be abandoned, necessitating my trip to his school with an alternate lunch. Be careful out there, people! A dry turkey sandwich with no mayo isn't the most delicious way to fortify a middle schooler, but it's hard to imagine a dry turkey-related mishap that would require your dad to bring you a change of clothes.
Monday, February 6, 2017
HOT PLATE RADIO UPDATE
Here's an update on the HOT PLATE RADIO SHOW.
Recording the pilot show has taken forever. We've done a ton of recording already, but a few recording sessions remain.
Next Monday night's panel discussion for the pilot episode will feature local seers Thomas A. Alderson and Keith Grimes. I've picked these luminaries for several reasons.
1. They post on Facebook more times than I check Facebook, which is a lot.
2. They both have numerous Trump voters reading their posts. I seem to have shedded all of mine. Unless they are reading and not commenting, which is of course quite possible.
3. They both, like me, are attempting to sustain a dialogue with Trump voters that avoids disdain, yelling, etc. I'd like to reiterate here my basic attitude, which has to date annoyed liberals more than it's mollified conservatives--
I don't think all Trump voters are racists, or stupid. I believe many or most of them chose their candidate for the same kinds of reasons liberals chose theirs.
4. Like me, they don't care for Trump, but that's not the same thing as a disdain for conservatism. Unlike many of my friends, I respect conservative philosophy as much as I respect the liberal alternative. My objections are with the political parties and many of the politicians, not with the intellectual foundation.
Recording the pilot show has taken forever. We've done a ton of recording already, but a few recording sessions remain.
Next Monday night's panel discussion for the pilot episode will feature local seers Thomas A. Alderson and Keith Grimes. I've picked these luminaries for several reasons.
1. They post on Facebook more times than I check Facebook, which is a lot.
2. They both have numerous Trump voters reading their posts. I seem to have shedded all of mine. Unless they are reading and not commenting, which is of course quite possible.
3. They both, like me, are attempting to sustain a dialogue with Trump voters that avoids disdain, yelling, etc. I'd like to reiterate here my basic attitude, which has to date annoyed liberals more than it's mollified conservatives--
I don't think all Trump voters are racists, or stupid. I believe many or most of them chose their candidate for the same kinds of reasons liberals chose theirs.
4. Like me, they don't care for Trump, but that's not the same thing as a disdain for conservatism. Unlike many of my friends, I respect conservative philosophy as much as I respect the liberal alternative. My objections are with the political parties and many of the politicians, not with the intellectual foundation.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
KARL STRAUB HOUSE CONCERT -- FRI FEB. 17, Bethesda, Md.
http://www.aqueoustudio.com/camarillo_concerts/index.html
I'm posting this link here so it's easy to find.
Karl Straub and Eric Brace will play acoustic guitars and sing original songs, inc. material from their musical, "Hangtown Dancehall."
PLEASE NOTE.
This is the perfect show for those in the Straubinical community who get frustrated when they can't hear Karl's lyrics over his loud band and his loud electric guitar. You'll be able to hear each word at this gig, allowing you to move to the next level of Straubinical existence, where you can hear the words with pristine clarity, but have no idea what they mean.
I'm posting this link here so it's easy to find.
Karl Straub and Eric Brace will play acoustic guitars and sing original songs, inc. material from their musical, "Hangtown Dancehall."
PLEASE NOTE.
This is the perfect show for those in the Straubinical community who get frustrated when they can't hear Karl's lyrics over his loud band and his loud electric guitar. You'll be able to hear each word at this gig, allowing you to move to the next level of Straubinical existence, where you can hear the words with pristine clarity, but have no idea what they mean.
Friday, February 3, 2017
AMERICA-- THE BACK STORY (PART ONE)
Trump is doing us a great favor by forcing us to think about what America is, or could be, or should be.
The back story-- there's never been a consensus on what America "means." Early on, America was designed and defined by two very different groups of people-- white businessmen who wanted government to help white businessmen, and white businessmen who wanted government to help white businessmen, but also address the concerns of white men who weren't in business but would like to be. I've read books about conservative philosophy where the ownership of property appears to be the main thing government is designed to protect; in this framing, a government that gets involved with anything else is skating dangerously close to barbarous overreach.
Eventually, there was a grudging acceptance that many situations would require government to do other things than keep non-businessmen off your lawn. Angry hordes of foreigners seemed to be gathering everywhere at once; this phenomenon was occurring mostly in foreign countries, but to a great extent foreigners could even be found on our own soil, many of whom spent so much of their time in America it was almost as if they lived here. It was an intolerable situation, of course, and we didn't tolerate it.
The back story-- there's never been a consensus on what America "means." Early on, America was designed and defined by two very different groups of people-- white businessmen who wanted government to help white businessmen, and white businessmen who wanted government to help white businessmen, but also address the concerns of white men who weren't in business but would like to be. I've read books about conservative philosophy where the ownership of property appears to be the main thing government is designed to protect; in this framing, a government that gets involved with anything else is skating dangerously close to barbarous overreach.
Eventually, there was a grudging acceptance that many situations would require government to do other things than keep non-businessmen off your lawn. Angry hordes of foreigners seemed to be gathering everywhere at once; this phenomenon was occurring mostly in foreign countries, but to a great extent foreigners could even be found on our own soil, many of whom spent so much of their time in America it was almost as if they lived here. It was an intolerable situation, of course, and we didn't tolerate it.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
WISHING AMERICANS WOULD READ THE PAPER IS LIKE WISHING A UNICORN WOULD FILL AN INSIDE STRAIGHT
When we focus our outrage on big ticket items like the recent refugee/travel kerfuffle, it's easy to miss the smaller and quieter moments of idiocy.
On a recent day packed with affairs of state, our president bragged to the Australian Prime Minister about his electoral college win, before angrily accusing the PM of trying to foist on us "the next Boston bombers." He then clarified his feelings by telling Malcolm Turnbull that this chat, the fifth he'd had that day with a world leader, was "the worst call by far," before abruptly ending it 35 minutes ahead of schedule. I don't know what "abruptly" (the Post's word) means, exactly-- the paper seemed reluctant to literally say that Trump hung up on Turnbull-- but it's hard not to see Trump as a fascinating mashup of stereotypical juvenile behavior associated with both boys and girls. One moment he's a teen boy bragging about a basketball buzzer beater, the next he's a teen girl wearing a Turbie Twist, blurting out something hurtful about her friend's acne, and then hanging up and listening to Taylor Swift on Spotify.
Yesterday, hoping to begin Black History Month on a boffo note, our President said these words out loud-- "Frederick Douglass is an example of somebody who's done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more, I notice."
Meanwhile, in a rural Maryland town, the Post interviewed a handful of waitresses and retirees who like Trump because he talks tough, and keeps our country safe.
Here's what needs to be understood by the liberals protesting Trump's election, or his actions, or whatever it is they believe they are demonstrating against.
On a recent day packed with affairs of state, our president bragged to the Australian Prime Minister about his electoral college win, before angrily accusing the PM of trying to foist on us "the next Boston bombers." He then clarified his feelings by telling Malcolm Turnbull that this chat, the fifth he'd had that day with a world leader, was "the worst call by far," before abruptly ending it 35 minutes ahead of schedule. I don't know what "abruptly" (the Post's word) means, exactly-- the paper seemed reluctant to literally say that Trump hung up on Turnbull-- but it's hard not to see Trump as a fascinating mashup of stereotypical juvenile behavior associated with both boys and girls. One moment he's a teen boy bragging about a basketball buzzer beater, the next he's a teen girl wearing a Turbie Twist, blurting out something hurtful about her friend's acne, and then hanging up and listening to Taylor Swift on Spotify.
Yesterday, hoping to begin Black History Month on a boffo note, our President said these words out loud-- "Frederick Douglass is an example of somebody who's done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more, I notice."
Meanwhile, in a rural Maryland town, the Post interviewed a handful of waitresses and retirees who like Trump because he talks tough, and keeps our country safe.
Here's what needs to be understood by the liberals protesting Trump's election, or his actions, or whatever it is they believe they are demonstrating against.
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