May 2018 – Streaming thru America

Favoritism

May 30, 2018June 3, 2018Posted in History, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Philosophy, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged Blue Ridge Parkway, favorite, Floyd County VA, Mabry Mill17 Comments

When I was growing up, I often accused my mother of favoritism–feeling as if she was more devoted to one of my two sisters or other brother than me. Yet today, I can’t recollect a certain situation that gave me the chutzpah to suggest to her that one sibling got preferential treatment over another.

Of course, whenever I raised the indictment, my mother always answered the same way, “How could you say that? I love all my children the same.”

I don’t know. Maybe what she said was true for her. But I was always suspicious of her definition of equality. None of us was the same in our looks, our likes, our talents and abilities. Each of us had something that made us special. So I was never really certain how our individuality and distinctiveness measured against Mom’s distribution of love. To me, she adopted “separate but equal” as a legal family doctrine in order to avoid conflict, but conflict always had a way of showing up.

Later, as a parent, I wrestled with whether one son was better than another. I came to the conclusion that I didn’t love them equally–I loved them differently.

Many years and careers later, when I was in a classroom setting teaching emotionally and learning disabled students, the notion of picking a favorite became a source of reflection. Of course, I was more inclined to curry favor upon students who were better prepared, less of a discipline problem, and willing to try. These were my “go-to” kids who were eager to respond to open academic questions whether they knew the answer or not, and it was hard not to treat them differently.

And so, it’s much the same with determining which is a favorite of the tens of thousands of photographs I’ve snapped since becoming a “serious” photographer. After scanning through archives of images that still thrill me, I’ve decided that I cannot pick one over another, since each “favorite” has a different integrity, or power, or message.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that my favorite photograph is the one I’ve taken last, because it’s in that moment that I’ve given it the most attention, and therefore overshadowing all the other images that have preceded it.

Currently, as I travel south with Leah to meet my new destiny in St. Augustine, I am following a ribbon of asphalt that curls through the ridgeline of the Blue Ridge Mountains between Virginia and North Carolina. And while I’m certain that it’s picturesque, given the large number of overlooks that the 1930’s Conservation Corps has carved out on both sides of the Parkway, the ongoing fog and rain clouds have obscured all sitelines, making this a dissapointing journey.

However, a short break in the weather while passing milepost 176 of Blue Ridge Parkway in Floyd County, Virginia gave us a chance to stretch our legs and take a self-guided tour of the mill by the water…

built by E.B. Mabry in 1903. Originally, a blacksmith and wheelwright operation,

Mabry later added a sawmill,

and seeing the need, added a gristmill as an additional service.

From all the rain, the scene was eerily green…

and serene.

And for one precious moment, it became my favorite place to photograph…

until the next assignment!

A Touch of Blue

May 28, 2018June 3, 2018Posted in culture, humor, National Parks, Nature, Photography, Politics, Sociology, travelTagged Cooter's, Dukes of Hazzard, Luray VA, Shenandoah Valley, television12 Comments

After dry camping (no utilities or hook-ups) for three days at Mathews Arm campground inside Shenandoah National Park,

the threat of rain, the need for groceries, and the desire to charge our tablets and phones drove us off the mountaintops to Luray, the valley town nearest the Thornton Gap park entrance, and renowned for its fancy formations. But having previously explored so many other holes in the ground over the past year, including Luray Cavern at an earlier time, the lure of Luray—after shopping at Walmart—now lay in the living shrine to The Dukes of Hazzard, as memorialized by Cooter’s on US-211 West.

For those unfamiliar, The Dukes of Hazard was a TV show from the early 80’s…

that followed a rash of 1960’s programming that satirized rural Southern living, and fish-out-of-water sensibilities beginning with the Andy Griffith Show, The Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction, Green Acres, and Andy Griffth spin-off, Gomer Pyle USMC.

The Dukes of Hazard series popularized chase scenes with a Dodge Charger named General Lee that could catch air and outrun every Cherry Top….

and daisy dukes (short shorts worn by Daisy Duke).

With equal parts giftshop…

museum…

fast-food fare, and live music venue…

Cooter’s has become the perfect one-stop Good Ol’ Boy stop-over. As Cooter is so fond of saying, “With free parking, free museum admission, and free music, if you’re not completely satisfied, we’ll give you your money back!”

Immediately, upon entering, I felt out of place—like I was intruding—even though I’m a big fan of Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers Band. Perhaps a combination of morbid obesity, and full-color body tattoos may have automatically disqualified me from fitting in. But like a train wreck that’s almost impossible to ignore, I could not be dissuaded from gawking at the regulars,

who come to Cooter’s to: consume heart attack chili, “so good it’ll kill ya!”; show the young’uns all the neat merchandise that Pops grew up with;

take foolish pictures with cut-out faces of the Hazzard cast;

or take a $10 ride…

on a monster truck;

and enjoy country music with a decided “red (political) and white (racial)” edge.

Richie, the bassist got the party started with some tunes by Merle Haggard and Buck Owens, but the mood got serious with a rendition of Lee Greenwood’s God Bless the U.S.A. One-by-one, the crowd stood in obeisance as they sang from hearts solemnly covered by hands. Some of the crowd actually got weepy.

Richie acknowledged their emotional valor with some patriotic pearls, “We sure do love this country—finest country on Earth. But I don’t need to remind y’all ‘bout that, ‘cause this ain’t rocket surgery.”

Richie segued, “Now this here’s the part of the show where I like to ask our visitors where they’re travellin’ from. How many of you folks are from out of town?”

Scanning the room for volunteers brought a few announcements, “Pennsylvania…Maryland…North Carolina…” all met with applause.

Leah whispered, “Are we from New Jersey or Florida?”

“Well, besides the Airstream, there’s only one state I know where we own property,” I advised.

“We’re from Florida!” Leah called out. More applause.

Richie declared, “Then I declare, without even botherin’ to load all that data into GPS, that you people from Florida are the farthest guests from here today, and that makes you the winner!”

As if on auto-pilot from the other side of the stage, George on guitar intones, “Tell her what she’s won, Richie.”

“You bet, George,” affirms Richie. “She gets to pick our next song.”

[To Leah] “Any song, sweetheart!”

Leah panicked, “Quick, Neal. Give me a song!”

I felt like I needed to stand up for the Blue Team. “How ‘bout Blue Velvet,” I offered.

Richie, incredulously, “You mean that number by Bobby Vinton?” [singing] “She wore Blue Velvet, dah da dah, da dah.”

I felt like a contestant on Stump the Band.

Richie confessing, “I think that’s all we got for that one. Why don’t-cha pick somethin’ else?”

Pausing a moment, I suggested Blue Suede Shoes.

“Now, that song’s gonna be a part of our second set,” Richie previewed, “so gimme your favorite country group instead, and we’ll play a song from their songbook.”

“That’s easy. Play something from the Dixie Chicks,” I requested.

Richie didn’t expect the ambush.

Unfortunately for the Texas-bred Dixie Chicks, they were vilified by their fanbase when they spoke out against the Bush/Cheney Iraqi invasion, with some goons going so far as dispatching hate mail and death threats.

The still unforgiving crowd at Cooter’s became uncomfortably silent. People turned in their seats to stare, wondering, “Who is this interloper who dares to break the 11th Commandment at Cooter’s? Thou shalt banish the Dixie Chicks from all of country music’s memory.

Rita, the vocalist fronting the Cooter Garage Band put things in perspective. “It’s been ‘bout ten years since we did this, and I never thought we’d be performing it again, but we’re gonna play it for Florida, so please don’t hold it against us.”

The band launched into a stirring rendition of Some Days You Gotta Dance that even had the most ardent cynics tapping their toes and bobbing their torsos.

Not one to overstay our welcome, we left shortly afterwards in search of BBQ.

Score one for the Blue Team.

Chihuly’s Twisted Garden of Glass

May 24, 2018May 24, 2018Posted in Architecture, Art, Nature, Photo Challenge, Photography, Poetry, travelTagged Chihuly, Garden of Glass, Seattle, Space Needle, twisted20 Comments

What’s to see when in Seattle?

There’s no need to wheedle,

When tourists flock to the very top

of the steeple called Space Needle.

But in the shadows down below,

there stands a garden made of glass–

where colors reign and forms arrange

to entertain en masse.

Sophisticated patterns blown

from molten globs of flexible fire

Illuminating worlds unknown

to ponder and admire.

Details reveal a melting pot,

a tints and hues collision

explodes to form a twisted star,

and match Chihuly’s vision.

Prelude to a Move

May 19, 2018May 21, 2018Posted in daily prompt, money, Philosophy, Photography, travelTagged awkward, complication, FSBO, moving, real estate, transitioning9 Comments

From the moment Leah and I returned to Jersey living, we knew our lives had changed forever. There was no going back to the familiar home and life we left behind one year ago. There was only the open road ahead of us, and knowing that our fate would soon be determined by our imminent move to St. Augustine.

After the journey, friends and family told us they noticed a change in us as well. While we wanted to believe the many who tried to convince us that our marathon trip rolled back the years on our appearance, or that we seemed more relaxed than the last time they saw us, they couldn’t see nor imagine our overwhelming anxiety as we buttoned up our affairs in Jersey and prepared for a future in Florida.

There was still a house to sell; a lifetime of stuff to sort through; a long-distance move to coordinate; an avalanche of doctors’ appointments to schedule and attend; an Airstream to relocate; and a need to embrace and say goodbye to as many loved ones as possible before our grand departure. Our calendar was so full, it was hemmoraging with all the commitments and obligations we could muster.

Selling the house became priority one. We returned to our homestead, recently evacuated by our tenant, and staged it for photographs–inside and out–which included clearing a 150-lb. bough that narrowly missed the front façade of the house after crashing down from the weight of a record-breaking 27-inch snowstorm twelve days earlier.

Welcome to a flow-thru floor plan on two floors, representing the best of comfortable living with luxurious finishes.

Feel the warmth of boutique hardwood floors throughout as you enter to a spacious living room/dining room concept,

with one-of-a-kind accented powder room,

that opens up to 17-foot ceilings, accentuated by a marble-clad wood-burning fireplace, and a wall of light capped by Palladium windows.

A modern kitchen awaits, anchored by solid wood cabinetry with granite countertops, and a quad of updated appliances featuring a gas range and oven.

Sliders open to a spacious enclosed patio with two-tone pavers.

Take the golden-carpeted stairs to the 2nd level for access to two large bedrooms,

a main bath with tub,

a laundry room,

and a master bedroom with vaulted ceiling.

Walk past two walk-in closets to encounter a marble sanctuary with floating vanities, a deep-soak tub,

and a walk-in spa shower with glorious pressure.

Located within a diverse community, surrounded by greenspace, minutes from Interstate-287, and priced to sell–this property won’t last long on the market.

Your next home awaits you.

The timing was perfect! It was officially springtime (although the harsh weather belied the season), the real estate market was hot, and local inventory levels were low. We clearly had the upper hand, so posting an F-S-B-O (for sale by owner) sign by the roadside figured to be a beneficial experiment with a commision-savings payoff that would potentially subsidize our move should we pull off the sale of the home on our own.

I listed our house with Zillow on Thursday for an Open House on Sunday. Over the next couple of days, I tracked the website for hits, and was encouraged by the response; many had saved the listing, and I wondered who among them would show up.

The smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and vanilla-scented candles wafted through the air. It was 10am on Sunday, and we were open for business! Ten families traipsed throughout our home, making it a successful day, but the real proof arrived the following day when we accepted an offer from a retired couple intending to downsize.

Sorting through our belongings proved to be our next and more difficult challenge. While we had a notion of what we wanted to move, we still had to figure how we would liquidate everything that wasn’t coming with us. So, Leah decided to press our luck with a garage sale the following Sunday. She listed the event on-line with garagesales.com, and in anticipation of the event, we tagged all the furniture, furnishings, and assorted knick-knacks in the hope that we could lighten our load.

We intended on selling the complete contents of the living room, dining room, and office, with special consideration given to the sale of our baby grand piano.

I reached out to a reputable used piano store that I located on-line, but they balked at the asking price, given the expense of long-distance shipping to Baltimore. Oh well, there was always the garage sale to look forward to.

The weather was glorious on Garage Sale Day. In fact, it was the sunniest Sunday, and warmest day of the new season. At 10am, I hammered the garage sale sign in the same spot once occupied by the F-S-B-O sign, hoping that lightning could strike twice.

“It’s beautiful outside,” I informed Leah. “How can we miss?”

“Somebody’s gonna get a good deal today,” she intoned. “Everything is priced ridiculously low.”

We waited…and waited…and waited…until 2pm…for somebody anybody to show up…but no one…not a single solitary soul paid any mind to our sale…NO ONE!

Maybe our luck had run out? Leah and I blamed it on the weather. Perhaps, it was too nice a day to go rummaging, when so many customers were probably out and about (as we should have been), enjoying the fresh air.

True, it was a set-back, and a minor complication toward down-sizing, but we were determined to find another way to find new caretakers for our shit.

Enter OfferUp, a mobile app that speaks to millenials in a way that makes garage sales passé. Just snap a picture of the item, add a brief description with a price tag, and wait for the Ka-Ching! chirp to announce an offer.

Over time:
[Ka-Ching!] We sold the living room ensemble to a young guy who had just leased his first apartment in Paterson;
[Ka-Ching!] A young woman from Harrison jammed all of our outdoor furniture into her SUV; [Ka-Ching!] a young couple from Garfield bought our dining room set and loaded it into their pick-up, while their small boys played with wrestling action figures on the floor where the table had stood for so many years;

and [Ka-Ching!] A fellow from Parsippany dispatched two friends to shlep back the office ensemble, needing two trips to complete the transaction.

Here a chair, there a chest, it all entually sold, until only the piano remained. I think we lowered the price twice or thrice to encourage a response, and then it happened!
[Ka-Ching!] “Would like to inspect piano.”

A couple from Hillsborough visited with their two young girls to look and listen. It was awkward at first. The family had come to appraise the piano’s value and maybe make an offer. But I had an additional agenda. While a sale was important, I also wanted to believe that the piano would continue to bring music to a new family–that it would be played and protected.

After we all got acquainted, I could see that the mother of the girls had made an emotional connection, and was excited and determined to return to playing like she had years ago, before children. I played a refrain or two and the deal was sealed.

Days later, professional piano movers arrived to escort our piano to its new home. It was a melancholy Monday to be sure.

Our living room was naked, except for a lounge chair and a wicker rocker. Over the next few days, whenever we watched TV in our hollow-sounding living room, we reminisced about how comfortable and relaxing it used to be. But the deconstruction was also a wake-up call. While it rang out with bargains and new beginnings for every buyer–as they carried away, piece-by-piece, all the trappings that became a regular part of our life here–it also reminded us that we were ready to turn the page, in anticipation of writing our next chapter.

And then, [Ka-Ching!]

Leah received a picture-text from the new guardians of the baby grand–showing us its new footprint–and I knew we had entrusted it to caring hands.

Not long after, a video followed with a note, “Thank you. We will take good care of it. Good luck in Florida!”

Indeed, I believe they will!

Liquidscape

May 16, 2018August 16, 2018Posted in hiking, landscape, National Parks, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged Bear Lake, Mt. Wuh, Rocky Mountain National Park13 Comments

While hiking the Bear Lake Loop Trail at Rocky Mountain National Park, I was drawn to a cluster of lodgepole pines raked across the water, with Mt. Wuh peaking in the distance.

Subsequently, the wind picked up, disturbing the mirrored reflection–a quiver of ripples now transforming my quiet reality into a impressionistic interpretation of my Nirvana.

I was captivated by the shimmering shape of sky and treeline, and inclined to shift my focus to the water, with the notion of turning nature upside down…

…and anchoring the soft glow of a landscape into a liquidscape.

My Place in the World

May 10, 2018May 10, 2018Posted in hiking, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Philosophy, Photo Challenge, Photography, Poetry, travelTagged Banff, Biltmore, Bonaventure Cemetary, Charleston SC, Coachella Valley, NYC, place, Redwood National Park, Riding Mountain, Sonoma Valley, Tombstone17 Comments

Where is my place in the World?
Where is my home?

**Is it deep in the forest**
**where redwoods are burled?**

gnome house — **Or far in the garden**
**protected by gnomes?**

crashing waves.jpg — **Could it be by the ocean,**
**where waves crash the rocks?**

Lake Moraine canoe rental — **Or how ’bout the notion**
**of boats by the dock?**

Biltmore Castle — **And why not the castle**
**that touches blue air?**

TSQ traffic — ***Or maybe the hassle***
***of crowded Times Square?***

Banff — **Could I hike to the mountains,**
**reaching higher and farther?**

Charleston waterfront.jpg — **Or lounge by a fountain**
**with views of the harbor?**

***Might I stroll through a villa,***
***grapes ready to prune?***

Kate's — **Or sip sasaparilla**
**at a Western Saloon?**

Salton Sea.jpg — ***Can I conquer the valley’s***
***remote isolation?***

Theus Bonaventure.jpg — **And weave through an alley**
**of tombs and cremation?**

My place is a harvest
of everything listed.

No one place defines me, lest
l ever existed.

Anatomy of an Email

May 3, 2018November 8, 2018Posted in daily prompt, History, humor, Philosophy, Photo Challenge, Poetry, PoliticsTagged Donald Trump, email, fundraising, internet, Jim Comey, Lara Trump, Melania Trump, Mike Pence, observe, political campaign, red meat, unlikely25 Comments

I’ve been getting lots of political email lately. In large part, it’s been requests for donations coming from Trump’s 2020 Campaign for President, with rally words added to hype an emotional response, and misinformation intended to misguide the nation. It amuses me and terrorizes me at the same time.

It all started when my curiosity compelled me to participate in a Republican National Committee (RNC) survey at Donald Trump’s email behest:

https://action.donaldjtrump.com/listening-to-america/?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ET_16&utm_campaign=20180417_2585_listen-survey-welseries-2_donaldjtrump_jfc&utm_content=gop_surveys_button_take_bottom_other_all

I was game. I swallowed the bait and jumped down the RNC rabbit hole for a deeper look at the Mad Hatter’s tactics. Confronted by leading questions, I answered in a way that left no doubt about my disapproval of Trump’s policies, his absence of ethics, and his lack of leadership.

For instance, when asked at the end of the survey, “What else do you think the President needs to know about the real America? We’re listening.” I responded in chapter and verse about his controversial WALL:

Humpty Trumpty wanted a wall
And Mexican pesos to pay for it all
But all the Trump bankers
And all the deplorables
Couldn’t find ways to make it affordable.

I presumed that my straightforward responses would immediately disqualify me from any future Trumpian communication, but I was wrong. I received an immediate response:

Wow! I couldn’t believe I had just earned the right to take $6 off the purchase price of a MAGA cap as a reward for my participation and apparent support! Is this a great country, or what?

However, controversy continues to surround the manufacturer’s claim that the president’s swag is 100% proudly made in America. According to factory employees (who stitch the hat in Los Angeles) and an independent laboratory conducting microscopic fabric analysis, the hat components have been sourced and imported from overseas.

I decided to pass on the hat for two reasons: First of all, I disapprove of the messaging, feeling that America, despite its flaws, has always been great, and doesn’t need to be reinvented by a game show host who panders to white supremacists; and secondly, the hat doesn’t come in blue–only hot pink, yellow, camouflage, and red.

Again, I thought this was the end of things, until I received another blast from Donald J. Trump, forewarning me about my negligent membership status:

Imagine! The President of the United States, a self-professed billionaire–whose estimated wealth is dubious because of withheld tax returns–now counting on me…for a single dollar contribution to his campaign, and pressing me with a renewal deadline!

What a dilemma! Of course, I still wanted to track the Trump Big Top. But what if I didn’t come up with the money in time? Would I no longer be welcome inside the circus tent? I decided to wait.

The next day Eric came calling under the guise of FAKE NEWS:

Eric makes quite an argument for my dollar–defending Daddy from a CRUSH of criticism, and a chance to be on the right side of America. This was good stuff.

And then this arrived the day before the FEC deadline:

…with another declaration of war against the media.

No doubt, being President of the United States is a demanding job that requires intense concentration and extensive hours studying the problems of the country and the world, followed by intense debate and policy development to secure America’s safety and enable continuing prosperity.

Yet, as of April 28, Trump has managed to spend 111 days of his presidency (or 22% of his time in office) at one of his organization’s golf resorts swinging a club, and costing taxpayers tens of millions of dollars in the process. In fact, there’s a Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/trumpgolfcount) that’s devoted to Trump’s rising count. And this coming from a man who chided Obama, who spent a “tiny, tiny little fraction” of his time on the links compared to Trump.

We’ve also learned–from Trump’s own admission–that Trump’s day officially begins at 11am, after Executive Time, which essentially translates to TV and Twitter time.

So given Trump’s extreme schedule, I couldn’t help but wonder, “How on earth did Trump have the time to notice that “[my] name is no longer on [his] list of official Sustaining members?”

I passed on paying the dollar, rationalizing that there was no reason to contribute to Donald’s green fees.

March passed into April, and with a new month, it was time again to feed the political war chest, this time in the interest of national security–by parlaying an immigration crisis into a $25B resolution: building THE WALL.

Considering I had raised my objection to building THE WALL the month before, receiving my financial support was unlikely. In fact, I returned the survey with a comment, petitioning the president to consider an idea more fiscally responsible and in keeping with his laissez-faire principles: privatization. I proposed that he reach out to the Walton family, a fine upstanding bastion of Republican sensibility, and convince them to build THE WAL-MART, a very long and skinny store along our southern border. By day, the Mexicans could buy American, and by night our border would be protected by Wal-Mart security teams. Imagine the savings!

Trump never responded to my idea. Instead I got this:

…an appeal to subscribe to Real News Updates, a weekly webcast hosted by Donald’s daughter-in-law, Lara Trump, wife of Eric Trump. Interestingly, no one was asking for money, just a commitment of my time to shower me with the real truth on Trump TV. However, after watching ten minutes of noise disguised as news, I found I didn’t have a nose for nonsense, as it reeked of propaganda.

Shortly after, I received another exchange from Donald recruiting me for another purpose: defeating LIBERAL OBSTRUCTION…

Here was Trump blaming the Democrats for his inability to get America’s work done. By the numbers, there are 1,212 presidential appointments requiring U.S. Senate confirmation, and 353 presidential appointments which do not require confirmation. As of April 27, 2018, 315 of Trump’s nominees have been confirmed for 640 key positions, and 129 are awaiting confirmation.

^{On what he called Trump’s “glacial pace in selecting nominees,” Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer posited, “If the President is looking for someone to blame on the slow pace of confirmations, he needs only to look in the mirror,” and suggests that the President should “roll up his sleeves and get to work rather than pointing false fingers of blame.”}

Equally as astounding, was Trump’s White House personnel turmoil as diagrammed by The New York Times:

Even today, in the wake of Trump’s impending historic summit with North Korea’s Kim Jong Un, there is no nominee in place to head the South Korean embassy, and that’s on Trump.

After a week’s time, I received multiple invitations to renew my 2018 Sustaining Membership and I ignored them all, but then an email arrived from Mike Pence that was impossible to overlook. He was offering me a chance to win dinner and a picture with him in North Carolina.

I checked my calendar to make sure I was available. I dreamed of the possibility of gnawing on BBQ ribs with Mike while listening to his sanctimonious defense of zygote life, his hypocritical defense of Trump as an adulterer, and his evangelical discourse of hysterical homophobia, as if he had been touched by St. Paul. I entered the contest…without a contribution…by discovering extremely fine print on the submission page that hyperlinked me to a free entry form, thereby sidestepping the requisite donation.

While I applauded my cleverness, no one called to tell me I’d won. I think I had Chinese take-out that Friday evening, and watched Real Time with Bill Maher instead.

A couple of days later, Donald reminded me that Melania’s birthday was approaching:

I have to admit, I was taken by surprise that Donald would turn up the spotlight on Melania when the world was wondering out loud about his sordid affairs with porn star Stephanie Clifford (aka Stormy Daniels), and Karen McDougal, Playboy’s 1998 Playmate of the Year, only months after the birth of Melania’s son Barron.

It’s now undeniable that Michael Cohen, Trump’s consigliere paid $130,000 in hush money to Stormy Daniels twelve days before the presidential election. Campaign election law violation? We’ll see.

I was happy to sign Melania’s card, hoping that it might represent even the smallest distraction from her otherwise burdensome existence, and perhaps put a smile on her forlorn-locked face.

Oh, how she shrinks from Donald’s touch as he ceremoniously attempts to lock hands during so many pomp and circumstance moments when cameras are rolling, and oh, how she spurns his pussy-grabbing fingers, sending a silent #MeToo message to her coterie:

And then instantly, the news cycle abruptly turned to former FBI giraffe, James Comey’s imminent release of A Higher Loyalty: Truth, Lies, and Leadership. Naturally, Trump launched a preemptive strike that landed in my inbox :

…even going so far as to transmit a less than scientific survey to his ardent supporters one day later:

Comey made the rounds of many a talk show, eager to tell his story, clear his name, restore honor to his bleeding Bureau, and peddle some books. But unlike Trump’s failed attempt to blunt free speech by trying to prevent publication of Michael Wolff’s Fire and Fury, all he could muster this time around was a weak attempt to disparage, discredit and dismiss Comey as a liar and a leak.

Yet, for Trump to accuse James Comey as lying is no different from a cesspool telling a septic tank that it’s full of shit!

With Trump’s ascension to the White House,

perhaps, the President’s residence should temporarily be renamed, Home of the Whopper.

Jimmy Kimmel put it best in his classic “mockumentary”, Trump’s 2,000 Lies:

Finally, Devin Nunes, chairman of the House Intelligence Committee and TrumPuppet released a final partisan report that the President had been expecting, and considered long overdue:

Of course, Donald had a shiny new object to distract his core, but the real crime was the damage done to a one-time prestigious watchdog panel once charged with rooting out intel abuses, but now acting as the President’s personal pit bull. By shutting down the investigation and claiming no evidence of collusion by refusing to interview anybody who might have had evidence of collusion was like pulling the ripcord while still inside the plane.

Over the past two months, I’ve received dozens of email communications from Trump and team–all designed to collect a dollar and a steal a soul–while observing a Republican Congress willing to embrace Trump at any cost. And although I was never interested in contributing a dollar, I was more than willing to offer my two cents.

That’s when I received this email:

I clicked on CONTRIBUTE OTHER AMOUNT, and was whisked to the secure Authorized Website of Trump Headquarters:

By selecting Other, my blinking cursor filled the empty box in anticipation of a big round number. I entered $0.02 and pressed CONTINUE.

Rejected! The campaign wouldn’t accept anything less than two bits. So here it is, Mr. President…two bits of advice: Stop lying to the American people, and resign before the real truth comes out!

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