Driving along recently, I had a heretical thought: a person could get more sensible advice about men and women from the country oldies station than the New York Times. Or from the Washington Post, The New Republic or any publication devoted to non-stop analysis of metropolitan sexual angst written by twenty-somethings from expensive liberal arts colleges. […]
Just two of its provisions—sharply limiting the home mortgage interest deduction, and eliminating the federal deduction of state and local income and property taxes—would not only stick taxpayers in California and the urban northeast with sharply higher income taxes, but could destabilize real estate markets.
OK then, #MeToo. Long ago and far away, I had an academic superior who enjoyed sexually humiliating younger men. There was unwanted touching—always in social situations–but mainly it was about making suggestive remarks hinting that being a “hunk” was how I’d gotten hired. My “pretty little wife,” as she was insultingly called, got to stand […]
Call me unromantic, but I disliked a lot about the fabled “Sixties” the first time around. Some of the music was good, but otherwise 1968 was among the worst years in American life. The center nearly failed to hold. As if the Vietnam War were not bad enough, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and […]
Bill O’Reilly began to act like an eighth grader prank-dialing the head cheerleader—talking dirty while emitting grunts suggestive of masturbation. In 2004, a Fox News producer named Andrea Mackris, whose “big boobs” he much admired, tape-recorded one of these calls and played it for Fox News lawyers. They gave her a reported $9 million to go away.
Very broadly then, the center appears to be holding. And while I yield to no man in my visceral contempt for Donald J. Trump, I’ll be very surprised if Congress enacts his anti-community budget cuts. Trashing cartoon liberals is one thing; shutting down Meals on Wheels quite another. As for cartoon conservatives, Democrats should keep in mind that bringing back even five percent of Trump voters would constitute a revolution.
Comey the ‘terrific lawyer’ and ‘standup guy’ no longer exists. What we have instead is a spineless partisan who planted an IED in the middle of the 2016 presidential election—apparently because he feared criticism from GOP congressmen who drink from “Presidential Bitch” coffee mugs.
Here’s your presidential election coverage in a nutshell. Last week Donald Trump delivered his big immigration speech in Phoenix, uttering this inflammatory claim: “Hillary Clinton has pledged amnesty in her first 100 days, and her plan will provide Obamacare, Social Security and Medicare for illegal immigrants, breaking the federal budget.”
Look, it’s all about the horse race and the ratings. But things are getting ridiculous. Trump’s right: he could say he’d been an All-Star third baseman for the Yankees or shoot somebody dead on national TV, and the next item on the evening news would involve Hillary Clinton’s damn emails. Has the press ever given such scrutiny to any other politician’s communications?
The fun began in 1999, when the then-First Lady was contemplating running for the U.S. Senate from New York. She made the mistake of going on the “Today Show” and telling Katie Couric she’d always been a Yankees fan. The host objected.
On a daily basis, the Trump campaign invites sheer disbelief. Recently, Ivanka Trump, the statuesque daughter her father talks about dating, posted an Instagram photo of herself sightseeing in scenic Croatia with Wendi Deng Murdoch — who has been “romantically to Russian strongman Vladimir Putin.”
Supposedly 2016 is the Year of the Angry Voter. To hear the pundits tell it, Americans are just furious. Well, call me smug or out of touch, but I think it’s mainly a fad
The question isn’t so much if Donald Trump can win the election as whether or not he’ll still be the GOP candidate come November. Nobody can predict what mad trajectory the Republican nominee’s campaign might take.
Decades ago, one U.S. attorney dismissed another Clinton scandal on its face: “Even media questions about such an investigation,” he wrote, “all too often publicly purport to ‘legitimize what can’t be proven.’” Keep that phrase in mind.
Many of those “questions” about Hillary’s dishonesty originated in acts of journalistic malpractice so crude that their authors would have been shamed out of the profession—if the profession had any shame at the Washington pundit level.
An ordinary sociopath would have known to pretend shock and sorrow after the terrible mass murders in Orlando. Shielded from ordinary human interaction by his arrogance and wealth, however, presumptive GOP nominee Donald Trump had no clue how to act.
Instead of complaining about the complexity of election rules, Sanders would have been wiser to ignore Wall Street and billionaires for a few minutes to explain those rules to his supporters.
I’ve long insisted that my plan was to die in a fall from a horse at age 88—suitably remote as to make it a joke. A smug, stupid joke. I’ve also argued—as friends’ broken shoulders and fractured pelvises accumulated—that riding bicycles in traffic is a damn fool thing for mature citizens to do.
People are going about their normal daily activities with seeming equanimity — although there’s been a marked increase in convenience store parking space shootings, actually. Maybe an armed society’s not such a polite society after all. How surprising would it be to see gunfire erupt at a presidential campaign event? But I digress, and ominously.
For argument’s sake, let’s say you ran into this Trump character in a bar. First off, he’s boasting about how incredibly smart, rich and good looking he is. He’s a big, big winner. He’s even got his own TV show, and you don’t.
To somebody like me whose professional career roughly parallels Gabler’s, the man’s personal choices are mind-boggling. As he correctly points out, “writer…is a financially perilous profession.” To keep your head above water, it’s important to keep your wits about you.
Imagine if Hillary Clinton had flown to the Vatican and stationed herself at Pope Francis’s door for an ambush interview. She’d be caricatured as a power-mad shrew or worse.
When the corrections and retractions reach critical mass and the “investigative” articles start to read like Henry James novels — i.e. diffuse and impenetrable — the end of a given “scandal” episode is near.