Posted on February 24, 2018 by Pat Greene

If you have seen the movie The Monuments Men (which I loved, although the critics didn’t), you know that the Nazis seized the Ghent altarpiece from St. Bavo’s Cathedral in Ghent, Belgium. The movie showed this as evidence of the evil rapaciousness of the Nazis as they mowed their way across Europe.

What the movie doesn’t tell you, although the book upon which it is based briefly does, is that at the time of the First World War, several of the panels from the wings were owned by the German state. In the 19th century, the cathedral had pawned the panels, which after a couple of owners had been bought by the King of Prussia.

During World War I, the Germans seized other panels, but not the entire work. At the end of the war, the Germans were forced to turn over all the panels they had, including panels that they had rightfully owned prior to 1918 to Belgium as war reparations. This act of (arguably) cultural looting by the Allies was part of the driving impetus behind Hitler’s coveting of the work.

I am not trying to exonerate the Nazis for their looting of Europe. But history is strange, and the Treaty of Versailles really was a cruel and unforgiving document.

And it is useful to remember that the sins you commit can come back to you, either as an individual, a nation, or a group of nations.

Posted in Art, Culture (popular and otherwise), History | Tagged | Leave a comment

Miscellaneous musings, Olympic edition.

Posted on February 24, 2018 by Pat Greene

I had thought of writing a post condemning Mike Pence’s appallingly boorish behavior at the opening ceremonies but decided I didn’t want to waste that many words on him. Suffice it to say that he insulted our allies, embarrassed our country, and showed a lack of appropriate decorum and understanding of the international norms of proper behavior in such situations.

True confession: I love curling. I love curling so much that I felt motivated to look up and see if there was anywhere around me that gave curling lessons. I mean, this area produces loads of figure skaters and it has a hockey team, so ice sports come naturally, right? Alas, the only curling club I could locate is in Oakland, which is too far.

I should be in bed, but as I write this I am sitting up watching the men’s gold-medal curling match between the US and Sweden. I’m yawning so hard I’m leaking tears, but I can’t seem to tear myself away.

I try not to use terms like “crazy” or “insane” casually. They are too loaded.  But damn if the big-air snowboarders don’t make that hard. I watch them fly off the end of what looks just like a ski-jumping hill and twist and turn and corkscrew, and the only thing I can think is “Jesus, that looks just insane.”

Dave Geherty, a golf commentator which for some reason was in studio to give his views, gave his explanation of how ski-jumping started. According to Geherty, it had to have involved someone saying “Here, hold my beer.” This accords with what I’ve always thought.

I have a hierarchy of who I root for:

The Americans.
The host country, usually.(Not the Russians in 2014, though, and possibly not the Chinese in 2022.)
The Canadians, except in ice hockey.
Athletes from countries that aren’t Winter Olympic powerhouses, like women bobsledders from Nigeria and Jamaica and figure skaters from Kazakhstan.
Athletes whose medals will be significant for their countries: I was delighted at Javier Fernandez’s bronze, the first-ever figure skating medal for Spain.
Athletes from countries that are dear to my heart: the Spanish, the Kiwis, the Brits, and the Dutch. I root against the Dutch in speed-skating, though, because no country should have that much of a dominance in a discipline. (We’ll not talk about the US and snowboarding.)

Biggest disappointment of the games: the revelations about Shaun White’s history of sexual harassment. It always hurts when someone you thought of as one of the good guys proves not to be so.

Biggest delight of the games: a three-way tie between Adam Rippon’s performance in the team figure skating event, the US women’s hockey gold, and Jessie Diggins and Kikkan Randall’s gold medal in the cross-country sprint relay. It was the first gold medal ever for the US in cross-country skiing. It was also the most exciting finish to any event I’ve watched this Olympics.

Favorite US athlete: that’s hard, but it’s probably Adam Rippon. Or else Erin Jackson, the speed skater who started on ice in 2016. (She had been an inline skater, but still… to go on ice skates for the first time in October 2016 and be skating in the Olympics 18 months later is impressive.)

Favorite non-US athlete: Hannah Ledecka, the Czech snowboarder who also won the women’s Super G. Her look when she saw she had won by .01 of a second was priceless. Or perhaps the aforementioned Nigerian bobsled team, who didn’t medal but who did perform respectably.

Favorite event I only heard of in the past two weeks: team relay luge. Of all the sports that you have relays in, luge strikes me as making the least sense. Therefore, I find it fascinating.

One of the things I love is the sound of the Olympics: the swish of skates on ice, the rattle of bobsleds hurtling down the run, the clash of hockey sticks, the broad Midwestern accents of the men’s curling team.

Ah, well. Another 48 hours, and I’ll have to wait four more years to get such a concentrated dose of very athletic people spinning on the ice or flipping through the air.

I can hardly wait for Beijing, 2022.

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Woodstock revisited.

Posted on February 22, 2018 by Pat Greene

I have a whole lot of thoughts about the Olympics (among them, if ski jumping is amazing, which it is, then snowboard big air (which is ski jumping with a snowboard where you turn corkscrews in the air while you drop) is unbelievable) but that can wait for another post. Instead I want to talk about one of the major cultural touchstones of the 20th century: Woodstock.

I was only eight at the time of Woodstock; not being in a hippie family with a bus but instead a somewhat conservative Roman Catholic family in Florida, there would have been no way I would have gone. I strongly suspect that my older brother would have wanted to go, had he the means, but he didn’t. My exposure to the festival came from the documentary, as I supposed most people’s did. TCM showed the documentary as part of their “31 Days of Oscar” programming so I took the opportunity to DVR it.

The first time I watched it recently, I watched solely for the music. One of the numbers, Santana’s “Soul Sacrifice,” is on my “Music that’s not better than sex but comes really close” list.  It showcases, among other things, The. Best. Drum. Solo. In. The. Entire. History. Of. Rock. And. Roll by Michael Shrieve.  (Railfan’s opinion when he watched it with me recently was a simple “Damn.”)

The most recent time I watched it I paid attention to what I think of as the “sociological” content, perhaps because I was watching with Railfan, who had never seen it. Perhaps because I am older, and allegedly more responsible, I came away with a much different impression than before.

Firstly, the guys who put this on were idiots. While estimates of crowd size varied throughout the documentary, it is clear that the facilities they had planned were insufficient even for the 200,000 that they said they expected, and given that they got  at least twice that many, the conditions were ripe for a major disaster (even more than they got). Too little food, water, and toilets could have resulted in rioting. I wonder how many people went home bringing disease with them — and I don’t mean STDs.

The pictures of young people standing barefoot in mud makes me feel itchy, and I’m not even a neat freak. I don’t want to think what people did when they couldn’t get to port-o-potties. And the impact on that lake, yuk.

Even security was terrible. A random guy ran up on stage during Canned Heat’s set, and the band just let him be. During the thunderstorm, the announcer implored people to get off the speaker towers. But, really, why had they been allowed to get up on there to begin with?

I understand that Woodstock was pretty much the first of its kind, but I still think they could have seen that the crowds would be unreal. (Given that lineup? Wow. Even given that some of the acts were not well known at that time —  it was only the second time Crosby, Stills, and Nash had performed in public — just the sheer number of acts would be an attraction.) I entirely sympathize with the young woman who freaked out because “there is just too many people” and she, like everyone else, was simply stuck.

Secondly, if I had been one of Max Yasgur’s neighbors, I would have been on the phone to my lawyer the day after the festival ended. These people suffered actual economic damage, as can be seen by the interview with the man working on his car. In a rural farming community, such losses could have a significant impact on farmers’ financial well-being.

Thirdly, everyone talks about how great the kids were, but what about the adults? With the exception of one man who was appalled by the whole thing (and I think he may have had a point), the adults spoke of how well the kids behaved, and, for example, brought them food when they heard they the kids had none. Even the angry farmer, when three young women came up to see if they could use the farmer, did not react with anger towards them. His wife explained, in a very upset tone, that they hadn’t had phone service for a day, but neither of them told the young women to get the hell off their lawn.

Finally, I was struck by how white the festival was. Yes, they showed the occasional person with black or brown skin, but taking out the performers, the festival was really about young white people (presumably mostly middle class or better).

Woodstock could never happen again; we’re too jaded, too divided. Still, it was pretty amazing it happened once. I’m glad it did.

Posted in Culture (popular and otherwise), Music | Tagged | Leave a comment

Posted on February 13, 2018 by Pat Greene

Dear AKC:

I read your statement “dispelling the myths of ear cropping and tail-docking.” You claim that the procedures are not aesthetic, but are instead functional, allowing dogs to perform their “traditional” functions.

Ok, fine. When you show me a Yorkshire Terrier, Brussels Griffon, or French Bulldog that is used to chase vermin, I’ll accept your argument. Otherwise, tail-docking and ear-cropping are really just aesthetic, and you should admit that.

(Note: I am not wading into the argument as to whether tail-docking and ear cropping are good or bad things, and I recognize for some working, herding, and sporting dogs the procedures may make them more suited for the work they do. And if you have a terrier doing field trials or work where they are headed down rabbit holes, then having a docked tail may be helpful. All I am doing is point out that for some breeds the “it’s not aesthetic” stance is patently ridiculous.)

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Small miracles.

Posted on February 2, 2018 by Pat Greene

It has been a day.

I had to have a minor diagnostic procedure this morning, after which I was going up to San Francisco to meet a friend to go see the Walker Evans exhibit at SFMoMA. As I was leaving the doctor’s my friend told me she was ill and wouldn’t be able to go to the museum after all.

With the Rocket Scientist’s encouragement, I went up to the city anyway. Caltrain is a pleasant way to travel, for the most part.

Once there, I realized that I desperately needed to eat. I started to go to a Panera, when I realized that eating at a Panera while in a foodie city like SF is silly. Instead, I went to a local sandwich shop — the cheese steak was okay, but I would have eaten healthier at the Panera.

I had a brief moment of panic when I thought I had lost my wallet, but once that was resolved I headed for Golden Gate Park and the De Young. Taking Muni from the train station to the park took me through beautiful neighborhoods with the gingerbread houses the city is known for.

I decided once I was there that it was too beautiful a day to spend wandering around a museum. I did go to the museum cafe, however, and enjoyed delicious albeit overpriced flourless chocolate cake and a clementine San Pellegrino.

While there, I got a call from a dear friend from Wellesley. We talked politics (as we usually do), and especially the Nunes memo. She’s a lawyer and brings a lawyer’s sensibilities to discussing the current state of the nation, which is always interesting. While on the phone she told me that another Wellesley friend of ours had dredged up an incriminating picture from my freshman year. It showed several students of various years standing in front of a Rodin called Running Man which we had um….. augmented. It was snowy — as I recall, it was finals week and we were all a little punchy. Campus police removed our vandalism shortly after we put it up.

After hanging up, I left the cafe and headed to the Japanese Tea Garden. While not as extensive as the garden in Balboa Park in San Diego, it was still beautiful and almost peaceful.

I do not hold the view that children should be sequestered from the world. That said, if your five-year-old is pitching a fit because you won’t let her climb down without your help from a structure she should not have been climbing on in the first place, you should grab her and leave. Those screams echoing throughout the park tend to disrupt the zen atmosphere. Of course, so do the adults who talk and laugh loudly and who block the walkways while they fuss around taking selfies.

I found a bench and was able to calm and center myself.

I was listening to NPR the other day, and the guest was asked if they believed in miracles. They (I can’t remember the name, or even the program, sorry) said while they didn’t believe in grand miracles they did in small miracles, the sort no one pays attention to. Since then I have been looking out for the small miracles in my life. The Tea Garden was one. What happened next was another.

I was supposed to meet the Rocket Scientist in North Beach. This meant that I need to change from Muni to a bus near the Embarcadero station.

511.org, while useful up to a point, totally fails at giving walking directions. Thus I was walking down Montgomery Street, doing something I never do (with good reason): looking at my phone while I was walking.

The totally foreseeable happened — I tripped on a grate in the side wall and fell. Hard. Hard enough to knock the wind out of me, throw my backpack off my back, and break my glasses (it was only later that the pain in my ankle started).

That was not the miracle.

The miracle came in the form of two angels named Keith and Liz, who helped me to a set of stairs where I could sit, and who stayed with me while I tried to recover and stop crying. They were strangers not only to me but to each other, but they cared enough for a random somebody who was in pain to stop and help. Keith insisted on getting me an Uber, and refused my offer of payment. Robert, the Uber driver, found me a cafe in North Beach.

And so I am sitting here in front of Alimento (507 Columbus, great gelato, nice people — check it out when you’re in North Beach) typing this. And in spite of my injured ankle (and the back which is starting to throb), I am at peace with the world.

My faith in humanity has been restored.

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Bucket list!

Posted on January 31, 2018 by Pat Greene

Having completed my museum bucket list, I have been searching for a new one. For a while, I thought I would settle on visiting all the National Parks, but that seems a) impractical and b) does not fill me with passionate excitement. It’s interesting, but not compelling. But now…

I just bought a book, 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die (Seventh Edition), Steven J. Schneider, general editor. They chose movies with a wide range of cultural impacts, from silent Great Train Robbery to Raging Bull to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. (The book goes up to 2107: Moonlight is the latest entry.) They even include movies with problematic content but which are important culturally and aesthetically, without glossing over their evil: Birth of a Nation and Triumph of the Will. (Indeed, one of the reasons to watch such movies is to see how horrible, oppressive ideas are glorified and how beautiful propaganda can be.)

So now, I am going to try and see as many of them as I can. Thanks to having somewhat selective moviegoing habits and a subscription to both Turner Classic Movies and Netflix, I have already seen 165 of them. (When I first looked at the list, I counted about 200, but then realized that I had counted some films such as Un Chien Andalou under both its foreign and English titles. Un Chein Andalou, by the way, is the most disturbing film I have ever seen, although I suspect that will change.)

The movies I have seen range from beloved (e.g., A Room With A View, Spotlight) to detested (Terms of Endearment, one of the most manipulative movies I have ever seen, Best Picture Oscar be damned). I realize that in subsequent editions new movies will be added and some current ones dropped, but you have to start somewhere.

So yay! New goal!

Posted in Culture (popular and otherwise) | Tagged | 1 Comment

Posted on January 30, 2018 by Pat Greene

One unexpected advantage of going to trivia is that I am exposed to new music. Most of it is rap or hip-hip, and I can take it or leave it alone, but last night I was introduced to the Dead South. “In Hell I’ll Be in Good Company” may just be my new theme song. Who knew that Canadian bluegrass could be so great?

Enjoy.

 

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Hating.

Posted on January 29, 2018 by Pat Greene

I am not a hateful person.

Correction: I used to not be a hateful person. Donald Trump and his minions changed all that.

I hate Donald Trump.

I hate Mitch McConnell.

I hate Paul Ryan.

I hate Fox News.

I hate Devin Nunes.

I hate Trump’s supporters and enablers, in Congress and the media and elsewhere.

I hate them not with the cliched burning heat of a thousand suns, but with the intense freezing cold of an Antarctic ice sheet.

I’m not used to hating people. With the exception of one person in my past, for the most part, I never hated people. Rage is different — I spent much of the presidency of George W. Bush absolutely enraged. Rage is about actions, though: stop doing whatever it is and I’ll stop being enraged at you. Hate is about existence: there is nothing that Donald Trump can now do that will make me not hate him.

I hate him — and them — because they value lies above truth; power above people; their own narrow selfish desires over the best interests, continued health, or even possibly the existence of our democracy. I hate them because they are willing to humiliate or destroy anyone who questions or threatens to expose them, from the special prosecutor to a grieving widow.

They are evil. I hope they die horrible, painful, deaths. I hope they rot in hell.

Hating them is changing me, tearing me apart. Hate and its handmaiden impotent fear overwhelm me, freezing me like a rabbit on a lonely country road watching the headlights approaching. Hate is crushing my soul and turning me into someone I really don’t like.

And I have no idea how to change back.

I hate that.

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Achievement unlocked.

Posted on January 26, 2018 by Pat Greene

Over the years, I have requested various pieces of cooking equipment that I have been told I need to have. (Watching massive loads of Food Network and the Cooking Channel, with an emphasis on shows with my all-time media crush Alton Brown, will do that.) Mandolin (the culinary kind), cast-iron dutch oven, stand mixer, pressure cooker…I have them all now. (Or at least access to them: the stand mixer (by far my favorite piece of equipment) is on indefinite loan from a friend.) All of this for a person whose idea of cooking dinner most nights is heating a jar of Classico tomato sauce and pouring it over pasta. (I do bake, hower, sometimes: brownies, biscuits, and date bread, and birthday cakes. This is where the stand mixer comes in so handy.)

One of my goals for the year is to start really cooking and to use the equipment I have now, both the new and the things gathering dust in the cupboard. (One of my other goals is to figure out the proper dosage so I can make pot brownies, but that’s another post.)

So… I ordered a pair of Kevlar gloves, to replace the handguard to the mandolin (that I misplaced before I even used the thing) and a kitchen scale. And last night I made… sweet potato chips. I cooked them in the cast iron dutch oven, which I think will probably be even better for cooking chicken in than the cast-iron skillet. Which means I may make fried chicken more than once every few months.

I followed the advice from the cooking shows to have the oil hot enough, and I sprinkled them with a mixture of salt, brown sugar, and paprika. They were really tasty and not greasy at all. The only thing I would have done differently would be to use more paprika, or maybe replace it with ground chipotle.

After slicing:

image1

After frying:

IMG_9756

 

I know they look dark, but they were really good.

Next up: using the pressure cooker.

 

 

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Well, that was fun.

Posted on January 24, 2018 by Pat Greene

I had a VERY bad night at trivia. I got the lowest score of any team for most of the rounds, and as for the sex round, aside from a couple of questions I found troubling and which I am going to talk to the host about next week, the less said the better. (I don’t know much about raunch. But then I knew that I would do badly on that going in.) I blew the bonus question, but then again only one team of the twelve got it. (Quick: On a standard Monopoly board, name in order the five purchasable properties (excluding the railroad) between “Pass Go” and “Go to Jail”. You have about twenty seconds.)

The opening round (called “Mindf***,” as it is every week), consisted of two handouts. The first handout was ten Internet brand logos. I got two: Pinterest (because I think half my friends have Pinterest accounts) and WordPress. The only reason I got WordPress is because of this blog.

The second handout… Ten paintings. Name both the picture and the artist.

I knew absolutely that  I have seen seven of the ten. I am pretty sure I have seen the Magritte (Magritte’s style is pretty distinctive) as well but couldn’t remember the name (which as it turns out was “The Son of Man”), and as for the Pollack… It was a 1.5″ square black and white photo of a large Jackson Pollack painting. Do you think you could have identified it as being “Convergence”?

The only one I was positive I have not seen is Munch’s “Scream,” and that’s because  I haven’t been to Oslo. Yet.

I even put the full name for the Whistler painting: “Arrangement in Gray and Black: Portrait of the Artist’s Mother.”  I also gave first names for almost all of the artists, and I put Whistler’s first and middle names. (Yes, I was showing off. Sue me.) For at least six of them, I could have identified the museum the painting is in, but that would have been past showing off into being obnoxious.

I nearly didn’t get credit because it took me so long to write everything. I dashed up with ten seconds left, and then realized I hadn’t put my name on the paper and hastily scribbled it, turning it in with three seconds to spare.

Eighteen out of twenty. I would have gotten a perfect score except for missing the titles of the Magritte and the Pollack. The second-place team in that round got sixteen — and they had six people. No other team got more than fourteen.

As I sat waiting for the host to give the answers, I grumbled: “I’ve been waiting for you to do an art round.”  I sort of had been daydreaming about an art round, and getting a perfect score… It wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn good.

It’s always fun when you can show off some hard-earned knowledge.

It does, however, make me want to go to New York and visit the Met, and MoMA, and Paris so I can go to the Orsay…. and Amsterdam for the Rijksmuseum…. and the Hermitage, of course, although I’m not sure I would want to be an American in Putin’s Russia right now… and Chicago to see the AIC, which I didn’t have near enough time in… and I mentioned I haven’t been to Oslo, yet, right? And the Prado! Can’t forget the Prado….

I love art.

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A few reviews…

Posted on January 22, 2018 by Pat Greene

I am not going to talk about the government shutdown, other than to note that it caused me to have a panic attack on Saturday. Normally, i.e. under a rational president and reasonable Congress, I would expect it to be resolved in a couple of days and back pay would be forthcoming. Given the people currently in power, I had no such illusions. As it turned out, the government shutdown was short — and I think I am the only one of my friends who doesn’t think the Democrats agreeing to the deal to be craven capitulation. (I do think they’re just kicking the can down the road a bit, but I’ll live with it. It will be easier to handle a shutdown when we have finished paying off the bills from Christmas.)

So on another note…

We went back east for Christmas, and after visiting with my in-laws in the family we headed down to St. Pete. I wanted to check the place out following the hurricane, and I got to reconnect with my best friend from high school (hi, Betsy!), and spend time with my brother, sister-in-law, and The World’s Cutest Kid™.

We stayed in an older hotel that had been renovated (not an older resort, like the Vinoy or the Don Cesar) — it was all suites with kitchen, which allowed us to cook two meals a day (two meals times five people adds up fast).  One block from the beach allowed us to carry drinks down to watch the sunset. It was fifteen minutes down to Passe-A-Grille, one of the best beaches in America. So, overall, a success.

We also went out to Fort Desoto, another one of the best beaches in the country. I did not feel up to kayaking through mangroves (which everybody went out for, and loved) so I walked on the beach and wandered through the old Fort. It really is a wonderful place, made even more wonderful by them removing all the Australian pines. (For the fortunate, Australian pines are problematic — from an ecological standpoint because they are an invasive species with very shallow roots that easily blow over and from a tourist standpoint because they have small, round cones with very sharp edges.)

St. Pete has changed a lot since I grew up there. It has developed an arts and music scene, and is to my mind the most liberal city in Florida. (On their website they proclaim their Pride parade to be the largest in Florida. I wonder how they stack up against Orlando.) They have a thriving microbrewery industry, which I was unfortunately unable to sample, due to lack of time.  (In Largo, north of St. Pete, there is a brewery that is making beer from Krispy Kreme donuts.) But they also have artisan chocolates (yum) and really good small restaurants.

The very best food we had the entire week we were gone, and probably the best food I have had in months, was at Bodega in St. Petersburg. It was a cafe, so we had to sit outside, and it was windy, but it didn’t matter. I got their special (the Holy Mole sandwich) which was phenomenal. Not to mention their black beans… and their plantains… I love Cuban food, and this was some of the best I’ve ever had. They had legitimate vegetarian options, too, so the vegetarians in the family were happy.

Also, one last recommendation. People generally got what they want, which is great (the happiest was the Red-Headed Menace, whose cousin gave him a bunch of green-tea Kit-Kats). I gave the Rocket Scientist and LED shower head, which is great. The shower head changes color depending upon the temperature of the water. It allows you to both wait until the water is not bone-chilling cold until you get in, and regulate the temperature before you fry yourself.

More importantly for me, it has a mist setting. The mist is substantial enough to rinse off with but light enough to generate lots of steam. It’s good for pain management, stuffed up sinuses, and last-minute desperate wrinkle removing.  I only wish I had had one years ago when I was dealing with small children with the croup.

So my reccomendations:

St. Pete Beach Suites: Yes.

Fort Desoto and Passe-A-Grille: definitely yes.

Bodega and LED showerheads: HELL, yes.

If you are ever in central coastal Florida, check them out (other than the shower head, of course).

 

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Just a thought. You might want to pass it along to the Trumpsters in the family.

Posted on January 20, 2018 by Pat Greene

The Republicans control the White House.

The Republicans control the Senate.

The Republicans control the House of Representatives.

The Republicans talk about their base; the Democrats have a base, too — one that might reluctantly accept a wall but refuse to throw the Dreamers under the bus.

The Democrats are willing to work with Republicans (see: the deal Lindsey Graham and Dick Durbin presented to the president, who scuttled it), but they are not going to throw away their ideals.

But the Republicans, unable to get their party united, try to strong-arm Democrats into accepting the unacceptable, and act aggrieved when that tactic doesn’t work. The Democrats have developed a spine.

Then Republicans, like petulant children who have been told “no,” stamp their feet and blame the opposition.

The “let’s blame the Democrats, even though we control the government” game will work because there are far too many people who are too fucking stupid to recognize they are being played.

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Lies, damned lies, and mental illness.

Posted on January 17, 2018 by Pat Greene

Donald Trump has never, as far as anyone knows, been diagnosed with a mental illness by any professional who has first-hand personal experience, although there is a lot of armchair diagnosis currently being done by professionals. It’s understandable, given some of the erratic behavior Trump exhibits, but Trump has engaged in such behavior for a long time now. (One of the more bizarre stories that emerged during the campaign was about Trump using fake names such as “John Barron” to talk to the media about himself. And then there is the years-long birther controversy and the latching on to other strange conspiracy theories.)

Trump is not mentally ill, as far as I can see has been reliably stated by a professional who has examined him in person. No, Trump is a liar.

The difference matters.

There is a tendency in this country to label any behavior that lies outside what most of us think of as the generally accepted norms as being mentally ill. Guy shoots up a workplace? He must be mentally ill, ignoring the fact that he had a history of workplace violence and the victims had gone to management to complain. Guy shoots up a church full of black people? Must be mentally ill, ignoring the fact that he was a stone-cold white supremacist.

The president lies repeatedly about things both large and small, even where his lies undercut American democracy and our standing in the world?

Must be mentally ill, ignoring the support the man will get from the third of the country who both believe and support him. Must be suffering from dementia, ignoring the lengths the man will go to for political ends.

What of his supporters? Many of Trump’s lies are not only false but laughably, demonstrably false. Are they mentally ill, too? Are they suffering from impaired cognition?

To view Trump and his supporters as mentally ill reduces the moral responsibility they carry. If Trump is mentally ill, those damaging tweets are the product of a diseased mind, not the opinions of a political and governmental neophyte who is in way over his head but who is nonetheless willing to destroy anyone he sees as standing in his way. If he is falling into dementia, those offensive comments come from cognitive decline, not from a carefully tended sense of social superiority over everyone in the world, created by an upbringing in which no one ever told him no.

A lot of people engage in such destruction, albeit on a smaller scale: abusive bosses, violent spouses. Like such people, Trump refuses to allow people to say no to him safely. Exhibit 1: regardless of the damage Trump’s tweets do to his image, he still shows up on Twitter. I don’t know for sure, but I seriously doubt his people in the White House have not tried to take the Twitter account away from him. Exhibit 2: Trump’s habit of publicly savaging people who don’t do exactly what he wants (see: Jeff Sessions, Rex Tillerson).

Identifying Trump as mentally ill simply increases the stigma that the mentally ill have to deal with.  Having a mental illness sucks enough already; we don’t need unwarranted comparisons to Donald Trump.

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Posted on January 17, 2018 by Pat Greene

Am I weird that I say “please” and “thank you” to the Amazon Echo in our house?

 

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Dear commentator on msnbc…

Posted on January 15, 2018 by Pat Greene

I don’t blame Donald Trump for what happened in Hawaii. It’s clearly the fault of some government official in Hawaii. (And Hawaii? One person hitting a wrong button could instigate mass panic? Without review by a higher-up? Seriously? What is wrong with you? And are you going to fix it anytime soon?)

I don’t blame Trump for the actions of the North Koreans in testing nuclear weapons. They were working towards that before he took office, and they would be doing so if Clinton were president.

I do blame Trump for creating — or attempting to create — a global atmosphere in which nuclear war seems possible, even winnable.

I do blame Trump for the way in which he seems to see allies — South Korea, Japan — and even U.S. territories and states — Guam, Hawaii — as less important than his own ego.

I do blame Trump for his failure to respond with anything approaching empathy or care towards the residents of Hawaii, who spent nearly forty minutes in terror, not to mention their off-island families, who received tearful calls and texts saying goodbye. I dread being woken in the middle of the night by a call like this from my son in South Korea.

It is disturbing when some of us wonder if the outcome would have been different had Trump been in the White House watching Fox and Friends rather than golfing. I would bet very good money, though, that had he ordered a nuclear strike, he would have blamed Hawaii, rather than an administration failure to investigate what was happening.

If Trump pushes the button, will there be a Stanislav Petrov to save us?

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