Featuring...
November 1, 2020
pre November 2018
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
Parts of the site under reconstruction
finito
La Baguette
1.
Narrow streets converge at a corner
where food merchants are plying their trade;
a hubbub in the stillness of a postcard depiction.
A woman had then sashayed on by
on Rue Dauphine
as only French women can.
Who has directed her diagonal cut
across this Parisian street? Buñuel?
Hip thrust forward, la vie d’amour
implicit in the every step,
her dress on this sulty day clinging;
her hand encircling an unbagged baguette.
Long and lean and lancing the air,
a master stroke in alliteration.
A man stands transfixed in speculation.
With whom would she share it?
Taste it? Tear it?
Leaving specks of crust on pouty lips
the soft white dough filling her mouth.
2.
He crosses Pont Neuf, a bridge built in halves
becoming enjoined after twenty six years.
Not too long a span of time for stone
but a good-size chunk of a marital life.
That cliched better half lies languid in a room
of long-stemmed walls and painted roses
time passage in beige.
She notes as he enters,
his trench coat twistingly belted;
a would-be Bogart in that parting scene.
Autumn winds on this ashen day,
have had their way with his desperate hair
resulting in an enchanting disarray.
Eyes turn to the surprising baguette he brings.
She gives him a smile as long as the Seine.
Subtitles follow in the space beneath them.
Et tu Toobin?
I met Jeffrey Toobin in 1998 at a New Yorker luncheon that the magazine had set up with our agency. David Remnick had just taken over as the editor and introduced me to him. I remember Remnick and I, among other things, had discussed how the Yankees were doing. He had some concerns. But I don’t remember what Toobin and I had discussed.
Certainly, not sexual proclivities or fetishes. Nor even garden variety masturbation, let alone its intricacies while multi-tasking on the job. And of course, who could foretell that there would one day be something called Zoom. Which as the name implies, can zoom in. As Toobin has unceremoniously discovered.
He seemed an affable guy who at the time looked younger than his 38 years. He looked smart. He sounded smart. He looked like the sort of nice Jewish boy, whose mother had always wanted him to become a lawyer. Which indeed he did.
Later, he would add the job of being a legal analyst on TV to his credits. And he has since authored ten books. The latest having been published just this past August, True Crimes and Misdemeanors: The Investigation of Donald Trump (insert irony here).
Although, has Toobin himself committed a crime? Or a misdemeanor? As apparently he didn’t intentionally expose himself, but rather was caught unawares, I would imagine no harm/no foul. Other than his career has been greatly damaged. Perhaps, fatally so. Other than who knows where this will lead in his personal relationships, first and foremost with his wife and family. That's all.
This incident is a new variation on a theme, of masturbation in unexpected situations and places. The list of perpetrators is growing long.
There’s Lewis C.K., who was often courteous enough to first ask a woman if it was ok for him to expose himself (Sarah Silverman once said yes). For Harvey Weinstein, who is serving a 23 year sentence for other systematic predatory sexual behavior, spilling his seed into a potted plant in a tony restaurant was the least of his transgressions. Mark Halperin, an author, anchor and columnist, allegedly, used to do it in his office under his desk . And then there’s Paul Ruebens (aka Pee Wee Herman).
He chose an adult movie theater for his self-encounter of an intimate kind. Though he claimed his innocence by way of this Holmesean deduction: “I’m right-handed, and the police report said I was (masturbating) with my left hand. That would have been the end of the case right there, proof it couldn’t have been me.” Elementary my dear Watson.
All the same. He pleaded no contest.
Such acts have led to job suspensions and terminations, and loss of future career opportunities. Not to mention public humiliation, and being the butt of jokes. Bill Mahr has already suggested a new verb…Toobining.
So where does this leave Toobin, who as of this writing has been suspended by The New Yorker and is “on leave” from CNN? It goes to the issue of credibility and judgment. Which is a bad place to be when your life’s work has to do with, in the main, analyzing and critiquing matters of the law. And writing books, which at times can be very judgmental. Not to mention speculative. As in the case of Patty Hearst.
While I’ve only read one of his books, The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court, I have read many of his pieces in The New Yorker over the years. I’ve found him to be a captivating writer. He’s able to take essentially the dry matter of jurisprudence and those entrusted to practice it, and bring it to life. And his CNN commentary is usually offered with lively conviction. But now, how could you ever listen to his point of view on wrong-doing, for example, without visions of sugar puns dancing in your head.
O.J.--- a paragon of virtue, of course--- immediately began trolling Toobin on Twitter … “Damn, Jeffrey Toobin. At least Pee-wee Herman was in an X-Rated movie theater, I'm just sayin'." O.J had been none too pleased with the book Jeffrey wrote about him almost 25 years ago.
Yet, Toobin’s explanation for his impromptu (?) self-pleasuring is quite laughable. He offered this:
“I believed I was not visible on Zoom. I thought no one on the Zoom call could see me. I thought I had muted the Zoom video.”
Which misses the point by a few hundred yards. You don’t masturbate during a business meeting. I know sometimes they can get boring; the mind can stray. But maybe you could try doodling instead? And by the way, you mute an audio, not a video. Though technologically challenged, even I know that.
This is a case of either a Vente-size (see Barrett above) bad judgment, or impulses that need some serious looking into. Or a combination of both. You couldn’t wait another hour or so?
He has expressed his extreme embarrassment and an apology to all who were subjected to his indiscretion. But is a comeback possible with the passage of time? So far none of the aforementioned celebrities, and the scores others, have been able to return to a level of prominence they once enjoyed.
O' the baggage that comes along with having a penis. An apparatus oft mishandled, leading to the downfall of many a mighty man.
New technologies come with many perils. Private actions become publicly exposed. But the fault dear Brutus, lies in us. Not in our apps.
Word of the Month
kak·i·sto·cra·cy
noun/kakəˈstäkrəsē/
A kakistocracy (/kækɪˈstɒkrəsi/, /kækɪsˈtɒkrəsi/) is a system of government that is run by the worst, least qualified, and/or most unscrupulous citizens.
The word is derived from two Greek words, kakistos (κάκιστος; worst) and kratos (κράτος; rule). It was coined as early as the seventeenth century.
(dictionary.com)
Used in a Sentence
The cacophony in this kakistocracy has reached a new level.
The Malaise of November, Past and Present
November has always been a rather somber month for me, when it isn’t being ominous. I can pinpoint exactly when it all started. November 22, 1963. A college freshman. Shock. Loss of innocence. And all that.
Just two Novembers later, there was that massive eerie blackout that affected over 30 million people. The vulnerability of our infrastructure was exposed. You could be plunged into an extended darkness without notice. Perhaps by a hostile adversary. Then just two days later, something far worse. A family tragedy. Events forever etched in memory and recalled each year when November rolls around. It's only been fifty-five years. I'll get over it. Anyway, no, I don’t care for November.
A November quadrennial can be especially trying, when it comes to elections with so much at stake. And your candidate loses. Like in that riotous 1968 when I first became eligible to vote (voting age then, 21). Nixon vs. Humphrey. War vs. peace? And your draft status is 1A. And Vietnam is all the rage. Oh yeah, almost forgot. There was a third party candidate, a White Supremisist. All that was missing was the hood. And he would get 14% of the vote.
And there have been other personal November unpleasantries, which I won’t get into.
Fast forward to the apocalyptic “now.” Which starts in two days from this posting.
Having just voted in a Presidential election for the fourteenth time, I’m stressed out in a way I haven’t been since that first one. Of course, I’m hardly alone. As one writer deftly summarized it, referencing Greek mythology in the process…
“It’s hard to overstate the degree of anxiety, as the country confronts a Hydra of troubles,
the violent plots against public officials, the assault on voting rights, the state-sponsored
misinformation, the sense that democracy itself is on the ballot.”
That anxiety cuts across party lines. According to a recent study by the American Psychological Association, "76% of Democrats and 67% Republicans are 'significantly stressed'.” Since regardless of the outcome (whenever that gets finalized), much upheaval is anticipated. Most especially, since the president won’t commit to accepting the results if he loses. He has taken a stance that reminds me of the old flim-flam coin-flip bet:
“Heads I win. Tails you lose.”
Then there's that Black Friday clip seen on the local news each year. Grossly overweight people charging like elephants on the Serengeti, to get goods on sale or that year's hot Christmas gift, the moment a store opens its doors. To put a black bow on the oncoming sense of darkness that November represents to me, daylight savings time ends tonight. I like daylight savings time. It should be year round. November takes it away.
By the way, November wasn’t always the 11th month of the year. Get this. It was originally the ninth month of the calendar of Romulus c. 750 BC. It retained its name (from the Latin novem meaning "nine") when January and February were added to the Roman calendar.
That’s right. Calendars are not carved in stone. Or maybe that one was, as paper was only invented about 2,000 years ago. So if you can add months, can you take them away? And as with all things these days, we can have people vote on it online, as fans of the game Clue did last year in adding a new room to its mansion. A bathroom, of all things. Which I wrote about last November complete with visuals, in an attempt to add some whimsy to this dreadful month.
What to make of this meandering off the main road into a forest of minutia? A month's ancient history, and an update on a 70-year old board game? Procrastination. Escapism. I know. Especially as I don’t want to face this November, with that haunted house of an election so closely following Halloween.
Beyond my stormy view of this month, there has always been the rainbow of Thanksgiving up ahead. Not this year. Not with a pandemic that's ony getting worse. Travel is being highly discouraged. As are family gatherings in confined spaces. God, I can't stand November.
What I Swear I Saw at the Hearing
I didn’t watch in its entirety, the Supreme Court nominee hearing that ran for four days last month under the aegis of the once esteemed institution of the United States Senate. To have done so would have been akin to watching a recorded baseball game that will run for 18 innings, all the while knowing that the final score will be 6-3. Though I made a point to catch replayed snippets of this marathon on TV news, punditry programs and online sources. Even tip-toeing through the transcript in the aftermath.
One of the first things I couldn’t help but notice, was an implied product endorsement. And by a Supreme Court Justice to be (and now is), no less. Amy Coney Barret appears to be a Starbucks coffee drinker.
Seen here wondering if she used her best judgement in ordering a Vente. Whereas a Grande would have come across as more centrist. Though she was careful not to place her cup down too far to her right.
Product placement endorsements at televised Senate and Congressional Hearings! Wow, what a concept! Especially as there have been so many opportunities for such exposure over these past four years.
The mind further wandered. I couldn’t help thinking about an incredible missed product placement opportunity two years ago (it only seems like decades), for an iconic tissue brand.
Who knows where this can all go. Might not a future nominee pause in the middle of an interrogation to hold up a bottle of Tylenol while intoning… “When it’s been a long long day and a headache is coming on, one tablet and you’ll feel like your old evasive self again. Tylenol. For when the truth hurts.”
But back to Barrett.
She was cagey, even when asked questions that required a simple yes or no answer. But I can almost hear a Greek chorus of false equivalency in the background proclaiming in unison… They all do it. They all do it. They all do it.
I got the feeling that if Justice Barret was even asked where she stood on a woman’s right to choose to decaffeinate her very own coffee, her answer, based on actual words taken from the transcript, might very well be along these lines.
And now, I can’t help but think that Biden’s dodging of the question on whether he would pack the Court (assuming of course the polls have gotten it right this time), could be dependent upon lining up Supreme Court Justice hearings sponsorships. For all we know, a “3-Justices” package deal could be in the works with Poland Springs, even as we speak. And would Dunkin’ Donuts be interested in a place at the table? You bet.
“… I would need to hear arguments from the litigants, and read briefs, and consult with my law clerks, and talk to my colleagues, and go through the opinion writing process.”
How about a ruling on whether to remove Pumpkin Spiced Frappuccino from the Starbucks menu--- currently stacked with 11 flavors (you hear that Joe)--- a flavor millions of Americans with pre-existing sweet-tooth conditions, can’t live without the minute the fall season kicks in? More so than even a flu shot?
“Senator, it would be a gross violation of judicial independence for me to make any such commitment or for me to be asked about that case and how I would rule.”
Or in answer to a question on a customer’s right to request extra foam in their drink? Must a Starbucks barrister honor it? Even if it goes against their religious beliefs?
I can’t characterize the facts in a hypothetical situation, and I can’t apply the law to a hypothetical set of facts.
Well, Senator, that seems to me to be pulling me in a little bit into this question of whether the President has said that he would not peacefully leave office. And so, to the extent that this is a political controversy right now, as a judge I want to stay out of it, and don’t want to express a view.
OK, I’ve had my fun. But this is serious stuff.
Putting aside any of her responses to questions concerning Roe v Wade or the Affordable Care Act, both of which have been long debated, most chilling to me is something about which there should have been no equivocation. It occurred when Senator Corey Booker asked Judge Barrett if she believed that every President should make a commitment, unequivocally and resolutely, to the peaceful transfer of power?
Her exact unedited answer:
Perhaps, your reaction might differ from mine which is… WHAT?! A defeated President must leave office peacefully. Political controversy? One falsely created based on nothing? I’ve run out of emphatic font treatments on how to say this.
It is unfathomable to me, that a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America, the self-proclaimed world’s greatest democracy, would not bring herself to answer a question that any educated American citizen would regardless of their political persuasions: “Yes. Of course, Senator.” If this doesn’t illustrate how far off the rails the train of truth has gone, I don’t know what else does.
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