April 29, 2020

Siriusly?

What’s on my mind? SiriusXM Canada is raising its rates. 

Now??? When people are bruised and grieving for loved ones lost to COVID-19? Now??? When people are losing their jobs and need every penny to put food on the table and pay their rent? Now??? When people are sick and dying from the novel coronavirus?

Now??? Now??? Now???

Sirius says the increase is justified. Tell that to the pensioner who’s already stretched. Tell that to the person whose only companion is their radio. Tell that to someone just trying to survive who wants some entertainment and international news, in the time of COVID-19.

We love SiriusXM Canada, but our relationship with them is rocky. In 2014, Sirius’ annual charge was $175.89. We bought the service on a promo: 120 channels, $79.96 for the year. By 2016 and 2017, Sirius’ annual renewal fee had risen to $191.88. 

By 2019, it hit $260.77 - a massive increase. This year’s hike takes the service to $269.21.

Internet Chatter has not ignored these increases. “How can I get Sirius XM cheaper?” someone asked last month.

http://wallethacks.com recommends bargaining: “To get the best deal, you have to call and threaten to cancel. They will then offer you the best deal. If they don’t, call back. Or, you can take their current deal of 6 months of SiriusXM for $50. It is very close to the best deal I’ve ever seen and you don’t have to call to cancel.” But that’s in the US.

I’m Canadian. Canadians arent programmed to haggle. Sirius XM’s multiple discounts and “deals” make our heads spin. 

Several places on Sirius’ annual invoice cite both the company’s phone number and website. That invoice showed up in my Inbox April 9 at 6:02 am. By 3:03 pm, Sirius sent a second mail - this one in boldface - reading: “If you would like to contact us, please visit: https://www.siriusxmcanada/contact-us .” 

Hmmm ... The word “please” jumped out at me. Not to mention that Ian Gordon, the guy who signs the annual announcement of a rate hike is the “Senior VP, Customer Acquisition and Retention.” The word “retention” jumped out at me, too.

You know ... I think I’ll just reprogram myself to haggle. Reading between the lines of the boldfaced message on that second, rapidly sent email, I’m not the only person unhappy with these never-ending rate hikes.


©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 27, 2020

Without Comment

If youre familiar with this: 



You may want to see this:



I present this without comment. 

On a different note, an upcoming story in The Atlantic magazine (We Are Living in a Failed State: The coronavirus didn’t break America. It revealed what was already broken), is a must-read. 

Scheduled for June, 2020, this exceedingly well written piece by staff writer George Packer dissects the Trump regime’s blundering approach to COVID-19 - an approach for which Trump claims to bear “no responsibility.” Quite so. In my opinion, the President’s only responsibility appears to be his derelection of it.

An excerpt from Packer: Trump came to power as the repudiation of the Republican establishment. But the conservative political class and the new leader soon reached an understanding. Whatever their differences on issues like trade and immigration, they shared a basic goal: to strip-mine public assets for the benefit of private interests. Republican politicians and donors who wanted government to do as little as possible for the common good could live happily with a regime that barely knew how to govern at all, and they made themselves Trump’s footmen.

Like a wanton boy throwing matches in a parched field, Trump began to immolate what was left of national civic life. He never even pretended to be president of the whole country, but pitted us against one another along lines of race, sex, religion, citizenship, education, region, and—every day of his presidency—political party. His main tool of governance was to lie. A third of the country locked itself in a hall of mirrors that it believed to be reality; a third drove itself mad with the effort to hold on to the idea of knowable truth; and a third gave up even trying.

Trump acquired a federal government crippled by years of right-wing ideological assault, politicization by both parties, and steady defunding. He set about finishing off the job and destroying the professional civil service. He drove out some of the most talented and experienced career officials, left essential positions unfilled, and installed loyalists as commissars over the cowed survivors, with one purpose: to serve his own interests. His major legislative accomplishment, one of the largest tax cuts in history, sent hundreds of billions of dollars to corporations and the rich. The beneficiaries flocked to patronize his resorts and line his reelection pockets. If lying was his means for using power, corruption was his end.

Given the times in which we find ourselves, have a semi-great day.


©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 17, 2020

More Coping with COVID-19

What’s on my mind? COVID-19, of course. 

I’m doing my best to stay home and stay safe ...



... even though Himself thinks I’m over-doing it.




©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 12, 2020

Lock-Down!

What’s on my mind? The COVID-19 pandemic. Like most people who follow the rules, we never stray outside the bedroom-bathroom-kitchen triangle. The French call this menage à trois. Ours lives are similar, minus the sex.

We’ve made the necessary adjustments, even ordering groceries online. I was happy with “no contact” delivery until I realized no one will believe me next winter, when I can finally tell a real-life store manager that on the day I received the $7 plastic-boxed salad mix I ordered, slimy green liquid swished at the bottom of the mix, which was past its expiry date.

In future, I’m tempted to risk death by hitting the grocery store at 7 a.m., masked and latexed. Seniors get priority shopping at that hour, before the swarm of sweaty shoppers storms the gates. 

All those wheelies and walkers are too slow for me. As a lifesaving measure, I intend to hold my breath as I shop. My plan is to smash right past those older people (some of them, younger than I am), racing through the aisles as I toss toilet paper, bleach, and other enticing treats into my cart. 

The goal: Blast through the check-out in 7 min. flat, beating the world record for most Groc Shop items crammed into a cart. Not to mention beating the world record for breath-holding for a female over 70.  

It’s lonely, being in lock-down. I’ve been thinking of making sourdough bread as a healthy way to get around social distancing. Sourdough bread needs a live-culture starter, so I could make one, train it to wave “Hi!” as I open the fridge, and engage in light banter. It would be like having “company” at our house … Someone new to talk to.

With no slight intended to Himself, I’m so desperate to see another human face that I wouldn’t care if our mask-wearing butcher looks scarily like the Lone Ranger channeling a bank robber. Times are tough and everyone’s cutting back: I just hope Silver isn’t on “special” at the meat counter. 

Himself is starting to look like Einstein, in the hair department. I’d talk about the brains department, but he’d divorce me. I keep suggesting I should cut his hair. “Which one?” he asks, because he won’t let me cut them all. 

The last time I cut his hair, Himself wore a baseball cap for two weeks. I guess he didn’t like the way the sun bounced off his scalp after I finished. I tell him he’s lucky to even have a scalp, the way he trembled as I trimmed.

Himself and I celebrated our 10th anniversary last month. I suggested we go to a fancy restaurant, but all we did was stay home in “lock-down” and eat ground beef for dinner. 

This being a religious holiday and all, I’ve fashioned a little rabbit from ground beef. We’ve even given it a name: Easter Dinner. 

©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 10, 2020

Trilliums that Bloom in the Snow

What’s on my mind? The time before the time I met Himself, my beloved husband of the past decade. I was previously married to writer Lorne Parton, my husband of 20 years. Youll doubt this story - but its true.

I was born Easter Monday, April 22, 1946. My early life was much like many other peoplesI grew up, married, had children, divorced, and got a job. 

In September, 1973, good jobs were scarce for a woman with neither a college degree nor training in any field. Having wormed my way into freelance writing, I wanted to work for a major newspaper in Vancouver, Canada. 

The managing editor disagreed, saying he wouldn’t hire me because “You should stay home with your children!” Whereupon, as the mature adult I was, I fell to my knees sobbing. 

The editor, a crusty guy with a heart soft as a feather, probably couldn’t stand to hear my wailing, and so reversed himself with a grumpy: “Oh, all right!” 

Still on my knees and crying even louder (this time, with relief), I crawled to the side of his desk and began kissing his hand. Seriously, I did. 

Extracting his fingers in horror, he summoned another editor to drag me from his office and give me a desk and my first assignment - a story I wrote with such incompetence, bewilderment, and a complete lack of interest that I was soon self-assigned.

It was then I noticed columnist Lorne Parton - the lone ranger of the newsroom whose modus operandi was to walk its perimeter for an hour or so, striking up conversations with reporters who were trying to work. 

Lorne would then return to his desk, bang-bang-banging out his column before leaving by 2 o’clock. Having observed his behavior over several months, I didn’t much like this man.

One day, I accidentally bumped into Lorne, who said he was going through a divorce. I said I was, too. Obvious that I was many years his junior, Lorne asked when I was born. An idle question. A question with no agenda. And so I told him, as I’ve told you: Easter Monday, April 22, 1946. 

Lorne stared at me in disbelief. And then pulled out his wallet. 

Easter Monday, 1946, brought snow to New Westminster, the small British Columbia town where Lorne lived as a boy. On that day, trilliums bloomed in the snow - an unusual sight, to be sure. Lorne marked the date - APRIL 22, 1946 - by placing  stones to form each letter and number around the flowers.

And then the 15-year-old Lorne took a photo of the flowers and the date embedded in the snow. Never quite knowing why, he later tucked the photo into his wallet. When the wallet wore out, he bought a new one, transferring the photo to it. By the time we bumped into one another, he’d been carrying that photo in his wallet for 27 years. 

We were married two years later. Lorne died of a brain aneurysm in 1996.

©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 6, 2020

Coping with COVID-19

Whats on my mind? COVID-19. This is a time to focus on feelings. Monitoring yours will help you reach out for help, or reach out to others who may be feeling bored, frustrated, depressed, or angry. Turn those negative feelings around by doing several things:

1/ Get out of bed, make your bed, have a shower, brush your teeth, wash your hair, and get dressed. Returning to familiar routines is a smart start.

2/ Think about what youd like to accomplish, today. Cleaning the house? Shopping online? Answering emails? Going for a walk? Set a realistic daily goal and a realistic time frame in which to complete it. Computer games are fun, but become depressing when thats how you spend your day. Having a drink can be a stress-reliever, but alcohol and pills can quickly become a depressant if you have too much, too often. 

3/ Plan ahead. You need to eat. Think about lunch and dinner. Grocery deliveries can take several days. Buy extra.

4/ Examine your finances. If you need to make some changes, dont delay. This, too, will take some time to complete, so get going!

5/ Read that book youve always wanted to. Play Sudoku. Write letters of love and forgiveness. Paint the house. Weed the garden. Do whatever it is youve been putting off because you “haven't had time.” Spending hours online every day can be a downer. Try to avoid that trap.

7/ Keep on top of the news, but set a realistic time limit and stick to it. Try not to become addicted to bad news. You know most of it isnt good, right now, but - as the old saying goes - if youre not part of the solution, youre part of the problem.

6/ Call friends and acquaintances to ask: “How are you coping? Everything okay over there? What have you been up to?” It needn’t be a long call. Just letting someone know you’re thinking of them will boost their spirits and yours.

7/ Practice kindness. Give. Share. Love unconditionally. Pray - not just for you and your family, but for people in places youve never been and have never seen.

Do all that, and I guarantee you'll feel better - xox Nicole

©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 5, 2020

Don’t Touch Another Player’s Balls

A golfer sent me this. I don’t golf and realize many courses have been closed since the onset of COVID-19. Even if you read no further than the title of this anonymously penned piece, youll have read a very sensible piece of advice -  NP

March Madness is cancelled, the NBA is shut down, the Masters is postponed, and my Aunt Marge’s senior bowling league has even thrown in the towel. Now restaurants and bars are closed, and our 40-handicap Governor is threatening to shut down all entertainment facilities including golf courses. I havent tested positive, but the coronavirus is killing me.

Theres nowhere to go and nothing to do. My wife suggested we take a walk, but I don’t walk anywhere unless I have a golf club in my hand and it’s cart path only. My kids have a restraining order on us and won’t let us come within 200 yards of the grandchildren. We can no longer eat out, but when we tried to cook at home, there were cobwebs in the oven. 

The network channels are inundated with coverage of the virus. The golf channel has been showing reruns of old tournaments, which are almost as riveting as watching my brother-in-law’s video of his family camping trip to Yellowstone. And my wife is so desperate for something to do, shes even considering sex, and maybe even with me.

Paranoia is off the tracks. Before the shutdown, we were having dinner at a local bar. I let out a loud sneeze and everyone at the surrounding tables started yelling "check please." My stock portfolio is plummeting and most of our cash is currently invested in toilet paper. 

Im washing my hands 137 times a day. I don’t touch anyone. I don’t even touch myself. Ive been using tongs to go to the bathroom. This has to stop. Our society and economy have been crippled by a microscopic virus. Scientists havent yet determined the exact origin but have narrowed it down to a Chinese fish market or Rosie O’Donnell’s bathtub. 

No one is sure how to prevent or cure this virus. In the past, the ways to prevent contracting a contagious disease were simple: Don’t eat in restaurants with cat on the menu and don’t date my college roommate’s sister.

I don’t consider myself in the high-risk category. Ive been building up my immune system by eating one meal per day at McDonald’s for the last 25 years. Germs just slide through me. My only pre-existing condition is an inability to launch a golf ball further than 180 yards. 

According to the CDC, symptoms of the coronavirus are sweats, dizziness, and trouble breathing, which I experience whenever I stand over a three-foot putt. 

And so I proposed to my regular foursome the idea of escaping from our self-imposed Stalag 17 and venturing outside for a round of golf. Everyone recognized the danger and severity of the situation. But when faced with the decision to remain sequestered with our wives or to risk contracting a deadly virus, it was a no-brainer. Every man opted to play golf.

Our foursome poses no medical risk to mankind. My friend George is virus free. Social distancing hasnt been a problem for him. Other than us, he has no friends. 

My neighbor Bob is a urologist whos been working from home for several weeks. Hes doing remote prostate exams by having patients sit on their cell phone. Jerry, our other partner, tested himself with a kit he bought online. Jerry thinks he may have got the wrong kit. His result showed no trace of the virus but indicated he was pregnant with twins.

The federal government has established guidelines for social engagement. For example, you must stay at least six feet apart, with no more than 10 people allowed at a gathering, which means Patrick Reed’s fan club can still meet. Our foursome has also drafted our own set of rules for Pandemic Golf: 

• Hazmat suits are permitted. As an alternative, one can wear a college mascot costume or big bunny pajamas.

• Masks are not permitted. Wed look more like stagecoach robbers than a foursome.

• Leave the flag in. And to avoid retrieving balls from the hole, any putt shorter than Lebron James is good.

• Ride in separate golf carts and don’t come closer to another player than a fully extended ball retriever.

• Don’t touch another player’s balls. This is always good advice.

• No high fives. Fortunately, we seldom have a reason.

• No petting the geese or the cart girl.

• Don’t use the spot-a-pot. More disease in there than in all of Wuhan, China.

• No excuses. Slicing or hooking are not side effects of the coronavirus.

• Make an online bank transfer to pay off your bets for the day.

• Straddle the sprinkler on the 18th hole before getting into the car.

These rules and restrictions have adequately protected us from contamination. Unfortunately, theres no vaccine for bad golf. I had trouble gripping the club with oven mittens, but it was an enjoyable afternoon which ended way too soon. There were no handshakes on the 18th green, no beers at the bar, and we drove home separately.

As the pandemic plays through, its giving us a glimpse into our inevitable future where all meals are delivered, all entertainment comes through the TV screen, and all human interaction takes place through our cell phone. 

Schooling will be at home and online; exercise will happen on a stationary bike in the basement; medical testing will be done at drive thru windows; and colonoscopies will be performed at Jiffy Lube. The world is changing - less interpersonal as technology consumes us. 

With more time on our carefully washed hands, everyone should take a moment to cherish the fading era when friends got together to hit a little ball around an open field for no good reason other than to enjoy companionship. 

April 4, 2020

I Do Not Like You, Mr. Trump

I do not like Your Lying Ways, 
I do not like Your Hate For Gays, 
I do not like Your Grabbing Rump, 
I do not like you, Mr. Trump.

Dunno who penned that, but sure wish I had. Then I’d be the one splashing those words over the mugs and caps and T-shirts for which Never-Trumpers are happy to pay a bazillion dollars.

I don’t hate Donald Trump. I don’t hate anyone. I pray for Donald Trump.

Whoops! That was Democratic House speaker Nancy Pelosi.

Actually, I do dislike Trump - but I don’t hate him. I feel sorry for him, because he’s so deeply flawed. Everyone’s flawed, but Trump is more flawed than most.

I do not like Your Lying Ways, 
I do not like Your Hate For Gays …

What, oh what, could possibly make the man so reviled? 

Was it that he kept Queen Elizabeth waiting in the summer of 2018, and then walked ahead of her, treating her to the sight of his butt? Na-a-a-ah … Donald Trump may be a boor, but the Queen’s met boors, before. This, I know for a fact. The Queen once met me.

So why do people hate Donald Trump? Let me count the ways … Actually, you count ’em. Large numbers make me dizzy.

It’s rats, I hate. The other night, a rat ran the length of our fence to ogle my naked body while I was hot-tubbing. Sorry to say, this reminded me of Donald Trump, who (let joy be unconfined!) has never seen my body parts, covered or otherwise. 

In 20o5, Trump boasted he could “get away” with walking unannounced into the dressing room of the Miss USA beauty pageant to “inspect” beautiful women. Trump said that to radio host Howard Stern, who repeated it to the world. 

Calling his behavior “creepy” and “shocking,” some of the women in the room who verified Trump’s behavior said some of the naked and half-naked contestants were teenagers.

I do not like Your Grabbing Rump, 
I do not like you, Mr. Trump.

Rats are survivors. So is Donald Trump. He was running for election in 2016 when the Access Hollywood scandal broke. As Trump told a chortling Billy Bush in a 2005 interview: “… I’m automatically attracted to beautiful - I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.” 

The then-newly married Trump not only survived the scandal, but became the 45th President of the Excited States, after which he survived even more rat-racy scandals. (Don’t say Trump never reads. Escort Stormy Daniels claimed she spanked Trump’s naked gluteus maximus with a business magazine).

When Michael Cohen, Trump’s former personal lawyer and “fixer,” squealed on Trump to federal authorities, his former boss called Cohen a “rat.” Mobster Al Capone once said of himself: “I’m no rat.” News flash: Trump knows mob-talk!

Donald Trump knows all about rats.  He once called Baltimore “a disgusting, rat- and rodent-infested mess” as well as the “worst in the USA” and a place “no human being would want to live.” Nothing like inspiring pride in My Town, USA, for the 612,000 Americans who call Baltimore home.

What goes around, comes around. When His Trumpness graced Baltimore with his presence last Fall, residents flew rat balloons that looked - gee! - just like The Donald. Political cartoonists drew terrified rats fleeing Trump’s complicated comb-over, among other jabs.

And Trump? He seemed okay with the derision. Negative publicity, after all, is better than no publicity at all.

I don’t hate Donald Trump. It’s rats, I hate. Rats remind me of Donald Trump.

©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 3, 2020

Driving the School Bus

Question: What’s the difference between US President Donald Trump and a goldfish? A goldfish is harmless and predictable. Donald Trump is not.

Sadly, Trump is a shambling wreck of a man - a shameless grifter with no moral compass; a pathological liar and paranoiac; a man enthralled by dictators; a man who is both a misogynist and a xenophobe; a man who nurses conspiracy theories like a mother takes a newborn to her breast. 

This is a man who can barely remember which fake news outlet he hates most on any given day; a man who keeps a book of real or perceived slights; a man ready to lash out at the very moment his opponent shows weakness, such as mourning her newly dead husband. This is a man who bears grudges so heavy and thick and old that the deepest excavation through the layers will find not a trace of forgiveness.   

This is a man who juggles the fate of the world in unsteady hands even as he proffers Kool Aid to those who kneel at his feet. 

This is a man who - wide-eyed and wondrous - wants to beep-beep the horn of a great, big truck and race ’round the track at Nascar. This is a man who once bragged that while his guests get two scoops of ice cream in the White House dining room, he and he alone gets three.

This is a man who appears to have little or no understanding of American history or government policy. This is a man who says one thing one day and another thing, the next. This is a man who stole from his own charitable foundation and ripped off students at the so-called “university” bearing his name.

This is a man who screwed his contractors and declared bankruptcy six times because he knew he could profit from it. This is a man who drums up business for his hotels and resorts while in office. This is a man who sits on a gold toilet, staring into space with blank eyes. 

This is a man so vile that he doesn’t understand the meaning of the word “nepotism” and why it is both dangerous and unwise. This is a man who appears not to understand that the longer he remains in office, the more he will hurt himself, his odious family, his associates, his country, and the world.

This is a man in severe cognitive decline. Would you let him drive the bus that takes your kids to school? I would not. Yet he holds the most powerful position in the most powerful country in the world. 

It can’t be fun, being Donald Trump, raging and tweeting long into the dark and sleepless hours. 

Like the briefly exciting beep-beep of the big truck, the thrill of occupying the Oval has surely passed. Trump knows a sitting President can’t be criminally charged. Perhaps that’s why he muses about occupying the Oval for a third term. 

“COVID-19? Pence and Fauci and Brix are on it. The Easter Egg Roll’s a couple of weeks away … Or maybe not. Eff social distancing! Why can’t everyone just go back to work? This corona thing’s costing too much. And now they want more equipment. Why? Dont they have enough?  

“I miss golf. Maybe someone at Nascar will take me ’round the track again, in one of those really fast cars. I
’d like that. I’d like that a lot.

©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 2, 2020

Words Matter

Words matter - but they should matter greatly more to a President whose every word and tweet will weave the fabric of history. A President’s words can inspire: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” 

They can miss the mark: “Mission accomplished!”

And, at a time of fear and despair such as this, words can foment anger, hatred, and disgust: “So (if) we have between 100 and 200,000 (future deaths) … we altogether (will) have done a very good job.” 

Thats President Donald Trump, giving himself a premature back pat. As for his slow response to the coronavirus? “I don’t take responsibility at all.”

Just as words matter, so do numbers: On March 24, the US had 52,976 confirmed cases of COVID-19, the novel coronavirus. By March 31, one week later, the number had increased 3-1/2 times, to more than 185,000 confirmed cases. April 1, one day later, the US had more than 200,000 confirmed cases.

Two days ago, The Washington Post reported multiple red-state governors have declined to issue stay-at-home orders. Calling a federally mandated order “pretty unlikely at this time,” Trump appears to have no difficulty with that position. This is complete and utter madness. Words and numbers matter - and so do actions.

Yesterday’s blog post referred to the growing concern that Donald Trump is mentally ill. What was once whispered is now openly stated: Trump is a sociopath and a malignant narcissist. His over-use of go-to words and phrases suggests further mental decline.  

So I took a simple word count, randomly choosing the transcript of the Friday, March 27, White House briefing during which Trump, Vice-President Mike Pence, and Members of the Coronavirus Task Force responded to reporters’ questions about the virus’ progress and handling. 

Spotting Trump’s reliance on simple words and phrases was easy. He used the words “appreciate” and “appreciative” 20 times. This became a news story. If Trump feels he’s not “appreciated,” he won’t return a governor’s calls about COVID-19. Likewise, he used “nice” 5 times. He expects state officials to be “nice” - same rationale, same result.

Referred to 31 times, “world” became over-blown self-congratulation: “… in the world/more than any other country/more than anybody/largest/biggest/greatest economy in/all over the world/world was looking good/no country in the world” … etc.)

Much was “amazing” (3 times), “incredible” (28 times), “fantastic” (5 times), “great” (62 times), and “tremendous” (7 times). You’d think Trump was selling vacuum cleaners rather than addressing a runaway global pandemic. 

He mentioned the “fake news” 3 times. He called a reporter “cutie pie” in an apparent effort to humiliate him.

He spoke in loose superlatives, using “million” and “millions” a total of 12 times, as in: “It’s thousands and millions of jobs. It’s millions of jobs.” And: “… the millions and millions of pieces of equipment have been delivered successfully by us - purchased and delivered.” 

“Nobody” came up 13 times, as in: “Nobody has seen …”/(N)obody has ever seen before/Nobody has ever seen it/Nobody cares about trade, nobody cares about anything/nobody thought/nobody has any idea/nobody was prepared for this/What we’ve done, nobody can even imagine/This is a pandemic the likes of which nobody has seen before. 

He clung to grudges: “I think we’ve done a great job for the state of Washington. And I think the governor, who’s a failed presidential candidate, as you know - he - he leveled out at zero in the polls. He’s constantly chirping and - I guess ’ ‘complaining’ would be a nice way of saying it. We’re building hospitals.  … We’ve done a great job for the state of Washington.

Never once did he give MI Governor Gretchen Whitmer, a Democrat the courtesy of referring to her by name:

“Michigan, all she does is — she has no idea what’s going on. And all she does is say, “Oh, it’s the federal government’s fault.” And we’ve taken such great care of Michigan.” This, too, became a news story. 

And President Obama … Always President Obama. I suspect Trump’s unprovoked diminishment of Obama is Trump’s way to bolster his own sagging psyche: “We are prepared for things that nobody has any idea that we’d be prepared. And you know what? When I took this over, it was an empty box. We didn’t have testing. We didn’t have anything. We had a broken system there. We had a broken system with stockpiling. We had a lot of broken systems …”

And sometimes, Trump just made no sense at all: “The beautiful thing about our country is: $6.2 trillion, because it is 2.2 plus 4. It’s $6.2 trillion. And we can handle that easily because of who we are, what we are. It’s our - it’s our money. It’s our - we are the ones. It’s our currency. We can handle it, and we can handle -”

And finally this, spoken with a child’s wonderment as the world unfolds: “I looked - last night, I was watching, and I’m looking down Madison Avenue and Fifth Avenue.  John, there were no people in the street. I mean, normally, you wouldn’t be able to see the sidewalk. There would be cars all over it. It would be like rush-hour stuff. I’m looking at it and I’m saying ‘I can’t believe it.  There are no cars.  There are no people.’  

“There wasn’t one person on Fifth Avenue walking down the street.  I’ve never seen that before.  You know, I guess, maybe at one o’clock in the morning, four o’clock in the morning, maybe.  But I’ve never seen that before. 

©  Nicole Parton, 2020

April 1, 2020

A Balloon Afloat on Self-Produced Helium

I was once appointed chair of a government task force on daycare. It was soon obvious that I knew zip! about daycare. Before becoming more embarrassed than I already felt, I was quietly relieved of my duties - a good thing for all, including me. 

US President Donald Trump has been chairing a daycare committee for 3-1/2 years. That daycare committee is his sometimes slippery grip on governance. It appears he’s not very good at it, but he won’t let go. 

Unfortunately, he’s the baby in the daycare center - a mendacious bully who pouts, has temper tantrums, doesn’t apologize when he’s wrong, and speaks in simple, oft-repeated words and rambling phrases, so that it’s often impossible for a careful listener to follow the bouncing ball

Trump’s impeachment might have been a gateway to showing him the door, but almost every Senate Republican found his behavior acceptable.

Describing Trump as a sociopath and a malignant narcissist, more than a few accredited psychiatrists share that opinion. What are the hallmarks of a sociopath? Sociopaths have deep-seated rage; are glib and superficially charming; lack empathy for others’ feelings; and often make impulsive decisions with no guilt for the harm they cause.

And malignant narcissists? Their traits comprise an extreme mix of narcissism, antisocial behavior, aggression, sadism, a grandiose sense of self, and unrealistic beliefs in their own powers and abilities. Always right, they’re flashpoint-ready to raise hostility, undermine families and organizations, and dehumanize their associates. 

Malignant narcissists are manipulative and self-serving. As pathological liars, they con others without shame, remorse, or guilt. Having only shallow emotions, they lack the ability to love, craving stimulation through such outlets as promiscuity and shouting.  

Again, more than a few accredited psychiatrists ascribe these traits to Trump. I’ve never met Trump and am not a psychiatrist. What I am is a person interested in words, which is how I came to take a closer look at Trump’s.

To do this, I randomly chose the transcript of the Friday, March 27, White House briefing during which Trump, Vice-President Mike Pence, and Members of the Coronavirus Task Force responded to reporters’ questions about the virus’ progress and handling. 

On reading the transcript, I noticed Trump’s frequent repetition of numerous simple words and phrases. And so I started counting. Speakers sometimes repeat words because they’re afraid they didn’t make themselves clear or that their audience didn’t understand a particular concept

Repetition can be a highly effective speaking technique. Unfortunately, Trump’s lean toward the chaotic, unscripted, and pointless.

Numerous repetitions can reinforce “the Big Lie Technique,” in which an audience comes to accept a lie told many times as truth“Lock her up!” and the suggestion that President Obama was born in Kenya are two of many examples. 

Good speakers often use the repetition of short, snappy sentences of parallel construction to make a positive impact on an audience. Sadly, a speaker in cognitive decline can find repetition a safe haven, feeling more at ease with tried-and-true phrases and familiar linguistic patterns. 
  
The joke among reporters is that when Donald Trump says: “Believe me ...” (which he does often), you can safely assume Trump’s lying:

“What we’ve done, nobody can even imagine. And, by the way, I’ve had governors tell me, including Democrat governors - they said, ‘We can’t believe you’ve been able to do this. When Trump combines self-grandiosity with a dubious  statement, I visualize a balloon, afloat on self-produced helium, ready to pop.

As for those many words and phrases I found …? Not surprisingly, “I” topped the list with 289 references. When Trump didn’t have a ready answer to reporters’ questions, his response 17 times over was: “We’ll see/We’re going to see/We’ll see what happens,” etc., etc., etc. 

Tomorrow: A closer look at the repetitions in that transcript. 

©  Nicole Parton, 2020