(To be sung to a favorite country tune)
That dumb egotist in the White House
and with that cat-lady hater named J.D.,
together what we had
they will turn from good to bad;
(To be sung to a favorite country tune)
Ours is a crucial election--
If we select that clown
the grossness of his nature
will have weight to drag us down!
Ours is a crucial election--
If we select that jerk,
the rich will get their tax-cuts,
and the poor will become serfs.'
Ours is a crucial election--
If we select Stupidity,
Project 25 might be
fatal to democracy.
Ours is a crucial election--
but we can't remove Liberty's pox
by an act of violence.
Stop Bozo at the ballot box!
Ours is a crucial election--
We must defeat Narcissus.
Help Truth shut Cheeseburger Mouth
Nirmala and
I approached the big date, June 27,1024 with some trepidation. We had previously toyed
with the idea that we would emigrate, perhaps to Canada, if Trump won. Of late we decided that we are too old
and that we will have to, as our knees demand, go down with the ship. Yes, it’s
that bad. Who would have ever thought that a portly Pied Piper of New York
would make children, angry children, out of so many of us. But that is exactly
what happened.
Unfortunately,
in U.S. debates, appearances always defeat substance. I remember the debate
between Nixon and Kennedy so many years ago. Those that listened on the radio
believed Nixon won, but those who watched the debate on live TV thought the opposite.
I remember Kennedy’s winsome smile. I remember Nixon’s sweaty brow.
This debate
was even worse. It seemed like, from my
perspective at least, that a very bad unqualified man was debating the
remains of a good man. Yes, Biden came across as cadaverous. He appeared to be much older than Trump.
I think he
might have Parkinson’s Disease. His voice was very soft. He seemed to have
mobility issues. He was very stiff. His facial expression was mask-like. All
these are symptoms of Parkinson’s—but also of old age as well .
No, it isn’t
a contest between Honesty and Deceit—if so, Biden would have easily won—but a
debate of appearances Biden, unfortunately, lost.
Yes, Biden
has done a lot for the country. He is a consummate politician. Trump, in contrast,
is or was a ‘blowhard in chief’ as he was called by Jeb Bush in the past.
One would
think that one should vote for the party, and not just for the individual.
Which party would like to bring forth universal health care? Which advocates
for raising the minimum wage and raising taxes on the very wealthy? (If you
believe in the wild and mendacious imaginings of Ted Cruz that the Republican
Party is the party of the working class, you might be
interested in purchasing the Brooklyn Bridge. That so many white men and women
have been seduced by this lie indicates how far we have fallen.)
Still, that
Biden let him get away with stating that he never had sex with a porn star was
too much. “Swear now, before your conscience and ours, that Stormy Daniels was
lying!”
No, that
didn’t happen. The debate devolved into a he said-he said confrontation. Trump
came across as a more vigorous candidate. Truth lost, Trump won.
Perhaps we
haven’t lost yet. Says the optimist within . Perhaps we already have, says the
pessimist. Lots of things can happen between now and November. We can only hope
that decency will prevail, even against all odds.
I was a bit shocked when I heard the news that Donald Trump had been convicted on all counts. I don't feel triumphant. I don't feel schadenfreude. But I do feel happy for America.
I didn't laugh, but I did laugh previously whenever one asserted that no one is above the law. Finally, for perhaps the first time in his life, Donald Trump is being held accountable. For a man who has gotten away with horrible behavior all his life, this conviction is too little too late. For, say, a reckless alcoholic who has ruined not only his own life but the life of so many others, to get up and say, "My name is Donald Trump and I'm an alcoholic,"--Well, I don't see that coming.
One of the worst insults in Trump's world of playing with the Truth is not "You[;re fired," but "You're a loser." Well, he's a loser now. Will he ever admit it? No. But let's hope that enough people will not elect someone who is not worthy to become president.
Now, at last, it's democracy l, Trump zero. The final score--the 'jury,' (us), is still out, but it now seems more likely that enough Americans will come together to keep this unqualified man out of the White House.
Who knows what the final score will be? The venomous Republican response to the verdict indicates that the battle is far from over. Still, at last, it's Democracy 1, Trump, Zero.
Neulich hat mir mein Schwager, Sudhir, ein Gedicht gesandt, das er im Nachlass von unserem lieben Neffen Ranjit gefunden hatte. Der im Juli 2023 so fruh verstobener wunderbsrer Mensch vermisen wir noch sehr sehr sehr.
Es folgt das Gedicht, das ich vor Jahren verfasst habe. Moyses Purish, der auch night mehr auf Erden ist, war ein KoIllege, der ein sehr guter Artzt war. (Das Gedicht kannte er nicht. Jetzt ist es leider zu spaet.)
Sue! Sue! for Moyses Purisch
Today they came and fired you,
Not because you're the incorrect hue
or because you don't know what you do,
it was simply because you are old.
They won't give you a pension or a gold
watch--Their words convey, "Go join the fold
of ancient kine put our to pasture--"
Winter's a oink slip. "Go get yourself a sinecure--
Rest assured, we are not against the mature,
however... It's time for you to live in style!"
The true meaning behind every smile,
wildebeest meet crocodile.
A sick mother and kids meant that you couldn't save,
Serenity without a wage?
You'd have to be a Hindu sage.
Rage, rage--Nothing else for you to do?
This is America--Remember, you
haven't been fired in Timbuktu. Sue! Sue!
We recently returned from a cruise to Bermuda; we had a great time--I would like to tell you about it. It was a rather brief; two days in New York followed by a five-day cruise.
We arrived
at our New York hotel, The Giraffe Hotel, on 26th St and Park Avenue
Park Avenue South. This was a mere two blocks away from one of our favorite restaurants—bad
décor but excellent food—Saravana Bhavan, which has a branch in Chennai
which we have frequented. I had onion and tomato uttappam. I got sick
the next day, but I’m not sure of the cause. Nirmala said the maavu
might have been a little old, since it’s the same batter used for dosa.
We walked
about a bit and picked up a sandwich at Pret-a-manger, which we ate at our
hotel.
The next
day, a beautiful one with a cloudless azure sky--I remember humming “Nothing
but blue skies from now on,” as we headed for Central Park. Our walk through Central
Park was really quite invigorating and brought back lots of memories from the
time we lived in the city.
I made it
to the Metropolitan Museum, although my Parkinson’s was acting up.
The visit
to the museum was far from the highlight of our trip. I had a frequent need to
sit down. I couldn’t read anything due to my poor vision. Nirmala wanted to see
the exhibit on the Harlem Renaissance, which, when we found it, disappointed.
It might have been a good exhibition, but there were no seats and I couldn’t
see much.
We visited old
friends in the Asian section; we had lunch at the museum. The food was not
particularly good and I got very ill. We took the subway home.
That night,
we attended a performance of John Adams’s El Nino at the Met Opera, our
old haunt. The music I found fascinating in parts, but not very emotionally
riveting. We don’t need another oratorio about the nativity in this age full of
doubting Thomases. (It was indeed an oratorio; little to no stage action,
crucial in an opera. (I, of course, could not read the subtitles, so maybe I
missed a great deal.) In spite of everything, we enjoyed the music and had a
very good time. We took the subway back and arrived at the hotel around
midnight. (Yes, New York is safe.)
On day
three, we took an uber to the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal and boarded our cruise
ship, the immense Meraviglia, an Italian liner operated by MSC cruises.
It is an immense ship. After waiting a while I was whizzed on board via
wheelchair.
Day four
was spent at sea; days 5-7 were spent in Bermuda; after a day at sea we returned to New York where we got
our train back to Baltimore.
Days 3-7, The
Cruise. The ship was immense. We had a
nice little room on floor 13. There were a whole lot of staterooms—if the ship
were at full capacity, we could have been on a slightly rocking version of
Grand Central Station. Unlike on other cruises, we could always find a seat at
the food courts on deck 15.
The
entertainment was better than on most ships. The highlight was an Irish
comedian named George Casey. (I remember at least one memorable joke: two
Irishman died and met St. Pater who told them they looked unsaved. “If you tell
me a poem with Timbuktu in it, I just might let you through the Pearly Gates.”
The first person recited doggerel which
didn’t please St. Peter at all. The second recited a little poem the content of
which related that after two women entered a bar, Sean bucked one, but Tim
bucked two! St. Peter laughed and let the man through.
Nirmala
chose an MSC cruise because there were reportedly a lot of dance lessons. There were. We participated in nearly all of
them. We usually started the day with calisthenics. Mostly Chinese tourists, who were in good
shape and good form. So many whites and blacks were fat! We received many compliments, especially from
couch potatoes. (If you believe that someone with moderately advanced
Parkinson’s is a good dancer, you’re not a good dancer)
We took an
all-day tour around the island of Bermuda, We visited Hamilton the capital, and
St. George on the opposite side of the island. The beaches were splendid and
the water crystal-clear Wouldn’t want to live there, though.
The food wasn’t
particularly good, but we got by quite well. We made friends with a couple at
dinner. The wife was Ukrainiana; she loved it when I said, Slava Ukrainie!
(Victory to Ukraine.)
There was a
lot of shopping onboard; along a huge corridor on deck five were many shops. We
didn’t buy much.
Most
onboard were very kind and went out of their way to help me, a handicapped old
man. When I fell flat on my back while exiting the theater, I was helped to my
feet quickly. (I escaped with a few minor bruises.)
I wrote one
poem onboard, but was unable to read it due to my Parkinson’s micrographia and also
due to my very low vision. Here’s what I salvaged:
Be humble,
yet noble; remain nobly and humbly selfsunfulfilled;
self-ish,
self-critical, self aggrandizing; self-less, which
side of the
dashes are, doubting Thomas, vanity of vanities,
you? Humbly
and nobly accept the truth: you, liar you,
nobly and humbly, accept nonsense, your slippery self:
Almost Nothing, doubting Thomas,
redemptively still is.
Although
the trip home was a bit difficult, we had a very good time; a vey good time
indeed.