Fandango’s February Expressions #16


For years, Garry had a thing about westerns. “Why,” he asked, “Do they always break the windows? Don’t they realize how expensive reglazing is? Can’t they just open the window?”

A friend from Texas felt it was the drama of the breaking glass. “Shattering glass gets the audience’s attention,” he said. It certainly always got mine.

I have never lived in a glass-house, but I have lived in houses that contained a lot of glass. I admit I was very careful about throwing things — and not just rocks. Pottery, books, old dysfunctional cell phones, blocks, tools — anything hard was a no-no. Especially when it came to really BIG windows, you can easily spend a month’s salary getting someone out to your place just to give an estimate much less repair the damage!

So should I ever be unlucky enough to live in a glass house — which I would rather not do since it would require I always be dressed and make would make showering treacherous, I would definitely hold back on any casual stone-throwing. Unless I was making a movie. Then I’d fling stones to my heart content.

Because we want the viewers to feel more involved!


Fandango’s February Expressions #15

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!

If someone is giving me a horse, I promise to only check to see if he or she need massive dental work. I’m already having that problem with Bonnie and the money involved is insane. It’s more expensive than having work done in Garry or my mouth! I can only shiver with fear about HOW expensive it would be to have a horse’s teeth done.

My experience with gift horses, in the more symbolic sense, is if it sounds too good to be true, it’s not true. When a company, an individual (who isn’t family or friend) is offering you stuff for free, there’s a catch. These days, we assume it’s a scammer or hacker trying to get at your personal data so he/she/they can pawn it off on the darknet or wherever they offer it.

But even if it’s a job offer that sounds way too good to be true, take it all with a dash of salt. The perfect job is rarely perfect. All my perfect jobs have turned out to be perfect when they sounded perfectly normal on the surface and only later did I realize I had somehow managed to get a fantastic boss and the world’s best co-workers. It was never in the job description. All job descriptions sound perfect — or nearly perfect. The reality is usually depressingly unlike the description.

In short, be sensible. Keep your hopes in check until you know how the land lies. Assume that if it isn’t written in the contract, it’s mostly hot air. If you turn out to be lucky and everything is amazing and wonderful, then leap for joy and smile every day that you can continue to work there.

Rarely are the things you dream about gotten free. Even if the potential is there,  you still need to put in your hours, sometimes, years to get from pretty good to great. There’s nothing wrong with optimism, but don’t confuse it with a phone call out of the blue or a headhunter who says “this job is the best ever.” Maybe it is or will be — but maybe not.

OMG By Marilyn Armstrong

Have any of us ever calculated the number of posts on Facebook, Twitter, and even WordPress that start out with OMG or something like it? The sentence which follows might — or might not — have anything to do with the opening OMG. My personal favorite is when the author tried to fully engage the excitement, shock, horror, fear, loathing, and paralyzing awesomeness of his personal “event.”

She says, “OMG! I’m 25! That’s so OLD!
What can I do NOW?”

I would expect, given that she or he has lived 25 years of life to its fullest, surely it’s time to make burial plans. Buy a plot of land and a nice casket or arrange for a ceremonial burning. Any amount of time living life past 25 would be an obvious waste. Really, hasn’t she done it all? Any activity from this now on would be mere repetition

While we were out on the water with Tom and Ellin, there was an emergency in progress. A man had fallen in the water and apparently was “swept away.”

That doesn’t make a lot of sense as the water was dead-calm. It was low tide with water running into shore, not out to sea. But we’ll skip all that for now. I’m pretty sure Garry has more to say about the story. He can do news and probably never said OH, MY GOD, in all his years of reporting.

What we saw were people on jet skis closing in and apparently hoping to find … what? A living guy? A dead one? If you find a floating corpse while zipping around on your jet ski, what’s your next step? IS there a next step? Can you call the Coast Guard from your jet ski? Do you watch him float away while you zip back to shore to Tweet your friends about how you saw the “totally OMG coolest thing in the WORLD in the WATER?”

However much we may feel that the news no longer really is the news, at least not like was, if you consider how the news would be done without professionals? It makes me nearly collapse with laughter.

GOOGLY EYES – Marilyn Armstrong

I know I’ve posted this before, but I really like it so I’m doing it again! It makes me laugh every time I read it.

I woke up this morning with an earworm. Not your normal earworm. Mine was a 1920s earworm. It was a song my mother sang often and for once, she actually got the words right. Ask any member of my family and they will assure you: my mother never ever remembered the words to any song — except this one. She would sing words from other songs to whatever melody was bouncing around in her head. But she knew all the words to this one. It’s SUCH an earworm, once you listen to it, it just sort of sits in your head and goes around and around and around.

So I get up this morning and this is what I’m hearing, but without the scratches:

And by golly, the words I had in my head were dead on. Next, the obvious question arises:

How did Google get its name? – Mobilis In Mobile

The mysterious mysteries of the Internet

How did Google get its name?You may have read this kind of “official answer”: Google derived its name from the word “googol”, a term coined by then nine-year-old Milton Sirotta, nephew of the American mathematician Edward Kasner. The story goes, Kasner would have asked his nephew to invent a name for a very large number – ten to the power of one hundred, and Milton called it a googol. Blah-blah-blah!

Whatever say GSpecialists, Wikipedia or Google corporate itself, last Friday I discovered the secret when I was twittering with Orli. Google was named after Barney Google.*

Just listen to Barney Google’s song. No more to say!

One of you might write an essay on how, when and why granny Brin and/or Page was singing this song.

You may have read this kind of “official” answer: “Google derived its name from the word “googol”, a term coined by then nine-year-old Milton Sirotta, nephew of the American mathematician Edward Kasner but I’d bet money (and I never bet money!) that Google was named after Barney Google.” The most popular comic strip in the U.S. for dozens of years … and still around even today.

Barney Google – The History

Now you know the truth about Google and somehow, it makes a lot more sense than
any other explanation I’ve heard!


One night, I explained to Garry about house-elves. He isn’t a big reader of fantasy, so some of this stuff was news to him. I told him if we left milk and cookies out, the little folk would come to our house.

Overnight, while we sleep, they would clean, scrub, repair, and cook. Fix the roof. Clear the snow. When we got up the next morning, the coffee would be ready along with delicious, fresh-baked goodies.

Homemade pound cake.

He looked at me. I think he wasn’t sure if he had heard me. “Is this like, real? Has this ever happened?”

“No,” I said. “Only in folk tales and fantasy novels. And Harry Potter. But wouldn’t it be nice if it were true? We could leave out milk, cookies, and an old pair of socks. Just in case.”


“Yes. They use them as clothing.”



One eyebrow went up. “You know some furry family members who would surely eat everything. And Bonnie would steal the socks. They might leave us a gift, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be freshly baked croissants … or a clean house.”

I’m sure I had him, if only for a few minutes. I think I could have turned him into a believer. Underneath our rationality, we want to believe in magic. Raw reality has such rough edges these days. It’s exhausting and frightening.

Give me myth and please pass the magic. It’s so much better than reality, isn’t it?

TASTING EVERYTHING – Marilyn Armstrong

I’m a firm believer in tasting each item on your plate separately. Why? Because I put effort into cooking each part of the meal and I want you to taste it.

I’m in favor of not mixing your whole meal into one gloppy mess. If I’ve made the effort to cook three or four separate components to make a meal for example chicken limone, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh asparagus with a hint of butter sauce.

I want to be able to taste each part of the meal separately. I want YOU to taste each of them separately, too. If you are one of those people who mixes everything into one heap, I will sit across the table and glare malevolently at you until you finally ask me what’s wrong.

I will then tell you what is wrong. In considerable detail, probably more detail than you want to hear.

I will explain the intricacies of the preparation. not to mention the labor I put into producing these gourmet delights.  And how by mixing them, you have nullified my efforts and personally offended me.

Telling “But that’s the way I like it” will win you an invitation to go buy an everything pizza. You are not worthy of my table. If you have, perchance, put ketchup on it, just back away from the table and leave quietly. It’s for your own safety.

I have figured out that I’m not “typical” as far as this style of eating goes. I often feel like I should never bother to cook anything more complex than pasta or chili. Or stew. Why bother to make separate items if no one can tell which is which? Why not just throw it all in one pot and cook the hell out of it? It’s one of many reasons I’ve lost my interest in cooking.

WORLD SHARING, EXTENDED EDITION, 2-10-2020 – Marilyn Armstrong


by Melanie B Cee


Do you snore? How do you know it, if you do?

I did but I no longer do. It turned out as soon as I lost 100 pounds and started using a movable bed, it disappeared.

I know this because Garry told me. Yes, I snored loud enough for HIM to hear me. That’s a statement! I’m not sure why anyone snores. Most people do, at least a little bit.

What do you find funny? (credit for question given to Rory and this post in particular):

What I find funny are — well — funny things. You know. Comedians. Wit. Humor. Parody. Satire.

I find THIS funny.

I don’t like anything where people are humiliated or hurt and I’m not fond of physical humor (Three Stooges are not my idea of funny).  A lot of things that other people find funny, I don’t find funny. I hate seeing anyone embarrassed or teased. I don’t find it funny.

What was the last furry thing you touched?

Note that one of his ears goes up and the other down. His muzzle is crooked too.

Hugging my hip is The Duke. I can’t NOT pet him. He’s glued to my right hip and if I let him, he’d be writing this post himself.

How do you handcuff a one-armed man?



This morning before I’d even gotten out of bed, our washing machine died. By the time I got up (before 11), Owen had bought us a new (okay, second-hand) washing machine AND had it installed. What a guy! Seriously, REALLY what a guy!


We almost never travel these days. The last time we stayed in a hotel was when we went to a wedding in Boston. We made the pricey decision to stay overnight in a nice hotel, or at least the nicest hotel we could manage. That way, we could enjoy the wedding without worrying about the long, dark drive home late at night.

I made the reservation about six weeks in advance, just after getting the invitation. A few days before the event, I got a bunch of emails from the hotel’s parent chain. I assumed that amidst all this communication there would be a reservation confirmation. I had already given them a credit card, so there was no reason why there should be any kind of problem.

aloft hotel aerialshot

There was no confirmation or even a reference to our having made a reservation. Nor was there any information about the hotel and its facilities. Instead, when I opened the email, it told me to log-in to their “club.”

You know how it works, right? Your airline, hotel, rental car are part of a much larger corporation that includes other hotels, motels, and rentals. They want to parlay your one-night reservation into a long-term relationship. Not likely, in our case, but I understand it’s their job to generate business. I don’t mind all the rest of the stuff, but where was the information I needed?

The problem was that this login screen required a username and password. I had neither. The email also lacked a few basics. Like the hotel’s address, phone number, directions, and information about parking. All of that information was probably accessible in their application. Which I couldn’t access.

They did include a corporate phone number. No address or reservation number. No confirmation number. I sighed that huge heaving sigh I use when I know I’m going to spend the next several hours dealing with customer service.

aloft lobby

I called the corporate office. They couldn’t help me. Nor could they transfer me to the hotel, but they found the hotel’s phone number. I called the hotel. After being put on hold for far too long, a man got on the phone. I explained the problem and he said, “Sorry, I’ll send you a confirmation now.”

The email turned out to be a full 6 web pages. In full color with animated graphics.

My printer has never in its life refused a direct order, but in the face of this massive overload of data, it would not load. It tried. Gamely kept trying. Eventually, it locked up my computer and refused to print.

I called back. “Can’t you just send me a plain text confirmation? And this time, please include the hotel’s actual address, phone number, and whatever other information I will need during check-in.”

So he sent me another email. Still no address, email, or telephone number.

I called again. “Uh … an address … and the check-in, check-out times … and your phone number … would be really helpful.” I paused, pondered. “What’s the parking situation? Are you walking distance from the Sheraton?” This hotel was part of the Sheraton group, so I had a feeble hope that they were near one another.

It turned out parking was $40 per night and was several blocks away. In a lot that was not adjacent to their hotel. Moreover, the Sheraton was on the other side of Boston, so we’ll definitely need a taxi. I was getting a headache. Why was this so complicated?

“I’m disabled,” I said. I really hate having to explain, but if we have to haul our stuff blocks from car to hotel, there’s no point in staying overnight. Goodbye convenience. Hello, expensive and inconvenient.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, we have disabled parking at the hotel. You could park there. That would be a lot less walking.”

“Can you promise me there will be a space in the disabled parking area?” I’ve had problems with this before, where they have two disabled spots and both are taken.

“Oh,” he assured me. “There’ll be space.” I’m wondering how come he’s sure because I’m not.

aloft guest room

Eventually, I copied and pasted the plain text email into a document, manually typed the address and phone number, then printed it. Supposedly, they’ll save a handicapped space for us. Maybe put an orange cone in the space. All of this adds up to why the joy has fled from traveling. A night in a good hotel should be fun. Easy. Why make it so complicated?

It was a nice hotel, though it had no dining facilities, not even a coffee shop. The only food you could get was from vending machines. Still, the room was clean and bright and the bed was comfortable. It was a tiny room without a dresser or closet. Just a bar with a couple of hangers. Clearly not a place you’d want to stay more than a night. It was the airline seat of hotel rooms. Rather like the least expensive room on a cruise ship when you won’t pay extra for a bigger room.

I’m old enough to remember when travel was something to which we looked forward. I would call a hotel or motel, made a reservation, then off we went. Sometimes we didn’t even make reservations but stayed wherever we happened to be. I fondly remember the good old days when a reservation involved one phone call, not half a day trying to get basic information and confirmation. Isn’t computerization supposed to make our lives easier?

Ironically, when I later googled the hotel, my reservation came up online with a note that only I could see displaying my reservation. Why didn’t I think of that? How did the information get into Google when I couldn’t get it on my computer?


An advertisement I couldn’t abide showed up on an email this morning, as follows:

Content from Partnership for America’s Health Care Future
American families can’t afford Medicare for All.

Studies confirm that Medicare for All would force Americans to pay more for worse care. Economists agree, there’s “no way to pay for Medicare for All without tax increases.”

After I got on Medicare, I’ve had the best medical care I’ve ever had in my entire life.

I’ve had the best doctors, been to the finest hospitals, and not been afraid to see a doctor when I thought I needed one. I’m pretty sure without Medicare, I would be dead. The only thing better than Medicare alone is Medicare with Medicaid.

I don’t know what it would cost, but compared to commercial insurance, Medicare is cheap. When they calculate what “national” Medicare would cost, they never calculate what medical care is already costing Americans.

How about subtracting the current cost of care from the total and THEN tell us what it would really cost? Because we pay a fortune for medical care in this country, far more than they pay in other “first world” countries. We do NOT get better care for the money.

Then, how about calculating how many people die for lack of any medical care? What’s the price tag on that?


How in the world can you lose your glasses when you essentially never remove them except to sleep? That is this morning conundrum. I tried to fit it into someone else’s prompt, but no matter how hard I shoved and pushed, it just didn’t fit.

I know I was wearing my glasses last night. I’m pretty sure I wore them into the bedroom and obviously at some point, I took them off. I always put them on either my little computer table or my night table. Occasionally, I put them on the headboard which has bookshelves and every once in a blue moon, I discover I left them in the bathroom or they are caught in the bedclothes, meaning I fell asleep with them on.

Garry and I hunted through all the places they ought to be and a lot of places they shouldn’t (but might) be.

Nothing. We then added the clothing I took off when I went to bed. No glasses. They aren’t under or behind the bed nor in the drawer in my end-table — OR the bag in which I keep my medications. Not in the bathroom, not forgotten in the living room which I considered unlikely since I was watching Colbert before I went to bed and no doubt was wearing them while watching.

I gave up and put on another pair.

Where are they? I didn’t leave the house. I didn’t go downstairs. They have to be up here … but where?

The worst part of hunting for your glasses is that you can’t see because you can’t find your glasses. Oh well. I suppose they will show up at some point, hopefully not crushed under my ( or someone else’s) shoe.

ANSWERED MYSTERY:  In the wastepaper basket.

IF IT AIN’T BROKE … Marilyn Armstrong

Fandango’s February Expressions #3

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. You mean like our 31-year-old furnace that works but is guaranteed to give up the ghost any time now? Or the back deck that’s propped up in one corner because it was falling off the house?

Finishing the door

I think you could definitely say this about software because almost all their “upgrades” which supposedly fixes inevitably make the simple stuff more complicated and the complicated bits unusable.

On the other hand, when it comes to the things in your household? Replacement or repair before it blows up, burns down, or collapses leaving holes in ceilings and potentially causing life-threatening injuries to persons or pets? Maybe you really need to fix whatever it is sooner rather than later.

The room, well lit

Fixing that broken toilet for $900 was a lot cheaper than replacing the floor, ceiling, and burying whoever was sitting on it when the floor caved it!

So maybe this needs a minor wording change:



As much as I hate telephones, I loathed pagers. I was, admittedly, spoiled by years of minimal interference in the field. We did the usual schtick on the 2-way. Hand over mouth responding, “We can’t hear you. You’re breaking up. We’re headed to the story. No landlines. Sorry, can’t hear you”.

There was one phone call where I almost blew a major story and probably would have also blown my career at the same time. I was still working for ABC Network in New York. One night, around 3am, having just gotten home from a late shift and making my way home from Manhattan to Long Island. I took the call with an obvious attitude. The voice at the other end was nonplussed.

“Garry, don’t pull any of your BS. You really want to hear this call.”

Heavy breathing from me.

“Garry, don’t be a jerk.”

More heavy breathing.

“This is a good one! They want to send you to Vietnam with the team …” In essence, they wanted me to go as a grunt back-up to the A-list correspondents. President Johnson was in Vietnam and something “big” was expected.

“Are you serious or is this a bad joke?” I finally asked.

“No joke, Garry. They like your ballsy attitude and think you’ll be a good fit with the ‘old guys.’”

“Jeezus H. Christ,” I answered.

“Yeah, Garry, that’s right. Grab some of your old Marine gear and get your ass in ASAP. There’s a debrief and then you’re on a special flight to Saigon.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads up, round eyes.” Laughter on both sides of the call. I grabbed some of my old gyrene gear and headed to the door.

My mom yelled, “Garry, where are you going, NOW?”

“Mom, I’m going to Vietnam. Call you when I can. Love you. Bye.”

I heard Mom yell, “What?” as I headed out the door and into an exciting new chapter in my life. Glad I took that call.


Anyone who had cancer, no matter how many years have passed, knows you are never “cured.” The best anyone can say is “so far, so good.” Cancer isn’t one disease nor is there a test to tell you whether or not your body is free of cancer cells.

As this life crisis was ongoing, I did a lot of reading. Most of the books were escapist and rather lackluster, but one is worth mentioning. It spoke to me. It is not a book about cancer. It’s fiction and more about getting through life crises and the strange ways we deal with them.

Life and Other Near-Death Experiences: A Novel by Camille Pagan grabbed me from the first page and kept me engaged to the end of the book. I wished it had gone on a little longer, to find out the end of the story — if there is an end.

This is surprising. I usually avoid books that remind me of difficult times I’ve been through. I gravitate towards books that take me to other worlds and other realities.

The book features a young woman who discovers — in one day — that she has a very rare, aggressive form of cancer and her husband is leaving her.

life-and-other-near-death-experiences-coverWhat makes this book unusual is how well it handles crises, life, and death.

The author never takes the easy way out. There are no cheap or easy solutions. It confronts real-life decisions that people who experience major life crises are forced to make. It does so with humor, wit, and realism. It never gets grim and it also never gets silly. It manages to find that edge of reality that eludes so many books.

The main character of the story freaks out when her life falls apart. She can’t deal with any of it. No matter how urgent her situation is, she needs time plus substantial family support to face her new reality. It’s the most realistic story about dealing with cancer I’ve read and it wasn’t depressing. It reminded me how regular people react to appalling news. We all react even though exactly how is highly variable. Everyone is changed by facing death especially when you know there’s no guarantee you’ll beat the odds, no matter what you do.

Once you’ve had any medical crisis that will kill you if left untreated and might kill you anyway, even with treatment, you never look at life the same way. You don’t take life as a given. None of us should take life for granted, but most of us do until we come face to face with the dark angel and he’s got our number.

This is a good book. A surprisingly good book. I hope it will get some attention. It is lumped into the category of “humor” where it doesn’t exactly fit … but I’m not sure where it would fit. Maybe humor is as good as any other placement.

Regardless, any book that can make you laugh in the face of death is worth a read.


Fandango’s Provocative Question #2

Is there a difference between these two things? Isn’t wisdom an elderly version of intelligence, fired by time and hard knocks? I read a bunch of definitions of the difference between intelligence and wisdom and basically, it boiled down to intelligence is using wisdom intelligently or alternatively, wisdom is a wise use of intelligence. They are bound together.

You can’t be wise until you turn 70. Certainly not before 60.

Can a child be wise? A child can say something that we interpret as wise, but wisdom from children isn’t wise because it isn’t intelligently thought out and it comes without any experience that makes it real. We can act like it’s wise, but the kid didn’t think it was wise and probably doesn’t understand the concept of wisdom.

I don’t think anyone is wiser than his or her years. You can be very smart for your age, but wisdom — the real deal — requires experience. You have to live a little to get your first hint of wisdom. Being old doesn’t guarantee wisdom. There are plenty of dumb old people.

No matter how smart that kid is, he isn’t wise. He may be a very quick thinker, he may have, within his limits, a better understanding of what wisdom might be, but wisdom itself is connected with time and real-life experiences.

This reminds me of a movie, Peter Sellers in “Being There.” He’s actually simple-minded, but everyone is convinced he’s very wise. They misinterpret everything he says and they are, by the end of the movie, ready to elect him president. If you haven’t seen the movie, see it. It’s eerily relevant and not in a good way.

I am not wise, but I’ve got a very smart ass. I think it’s possible Garry is wise. I’ll have to ask him when the next commercial break comes on.

TRUMP THE BELLWETHER – Marilyn Armstrong


This is a book I have read many times. I read it (again) because it’s funny and finding something to laugh about has not been easy recently. And also, because each time I read it, I see something in it the rings a gong in my brain.

Yesterday, someone asked me, “Why do people follow Donald Trump?”

He doesn’t do it on looks or personality. He’s not handsome., intelligent, witty, or moral. He’s a criminal, a fraud, a bigot … and he is cruel. Why do people follow him? Not merely follow him, but treat him as if he is the second coming (or first coming, depending on where you are coming from) of the Messiah?

Connie Willis_1996_Bellwether

Trump is America’s bellwether.

He is our lead sheep. His flock will follow him into nuclear war, into a fiscal deficit from which we will never recover, even into the death of their planet. They will applaud his vindictiveness, vicious attacks, and forgive his obvious stupidity and lack of education.

They can’t help themselves because they are sheep and need a bellwether. Without such a leader, they will mill in circles and bleat endlessly into the uncaring wind. It’s also why you can’t talk to these people. They are not people.  SHEEP! Have you ever tried to chat up a sheep? I rest my case.

So I read Bellwether — again and as usual, it grabbed me. Having read it at least half a dozen times before, I didn’t expect a surprise, but suddenly, I was surprised. Aside from all the humor about chaos theory and fads, it explained the meaning of “bellwether,” a term I’d heard, used, and misused for years, but never understood.

This time, I got it. The reason people follow insane, crazy, cruel tyrannical leaders is because they are sheep. A bellwether leads sheep. There’s no special reason why a bellwether leads and or why the flock follows. There is just something about that ewe!

That’s how a moron like Jim Jones can convince nearly 900 people to commit suicide and inject poison into their children’s mouths … and why these fanatics think Trump is right up there with God and Christ.

We are not those people. We aren’t sheep. Hillary Clinton got it wrong. She thought they were deplorables embodying evil. Evil notwithstanding, that’s not why they follow. It’s because, despite their human shape, they are ovine. Woolly-headed men and women who need a bellwether to tell them what to think, where to go, what to do.

We no more recognize our bellwethers than does a flock of sheep. We follow them with the same mindlessness. Is it some atavistic instinct, embedded in our DNA? That some are born to lead and others to follow?

Bellwether suggests answers to previously unanswerable questions. Why do people vote against their own self-interest and do so many stupid things? They’re following bellwethers who are loose amongst us, the usually invisible shakers and movers. No longer invisible, we have given this bellwether power … and guess what? He is using every IQ point in his ovine brain to do as much damage as he can. Moral of the story?

Never elect a sheep to be your president. Really bad idea.

You should read this book. Whenever nothing makes sense, I reread it and suddenly, something makes sense that didn’t before. When all other explanations fail, look around. Find the bellwether. That might be the answer.


This was the cover of the March 5th, 2017 “New York Daily News.”

It wasn’t newsworthy when it became the cover of the Daily News. Everyone knew our ”Commander In Chief“ was nuts and most of us had known it for as long as he had been in office. Many of us knew before the election, which is probably why we never believed he would be elected.

His nuttiness didn’t matter when he was on “reality TV,” but when he somehow got elected, it mattered. A lot. So what was newsworthy was that the story was on the front page. The incident that caused everybody to notice he was nuts wasn’t the story.  The story was that the President of the United States is wingding wacko.

I wrote a post pointing out that this ought to be the story on which the media focuses. Since I wrote that post, exactly what I expected has happened.  The press is covering his insanity more and more. They can’t stop. Even if they wanted to stop, the news business would never let them stop. Trump’s craziness sells the news.

Whether you like him or hate him, he is suffering from a severe mental illness. The diagnoses vary, but he is ill.  You can be as sympathetic as you like about people who have a mental illness, but that doesn’t mean you want one running our country.

We all have family and friends who suffer from dementia, Alzheimer’s, narcissism, and much more. When they reach a certain point, someone with a clearer mind needs to take control of the situation.

You might have to put them in a safe place and make sure they get help.
You might have to take away the car keys.
You need to make sure they take their medication.
You might need to turn off the household gas.
You may have to put special locks on the door so they can’t wander off.
Or you may just need to keep an eye out to make sure they don’t do something dangerous.

But there’s one thing you don’t do.


In almost all TV cop shows and movies, the bad guy, usually a mad psychotic, a mad genius or a mad psychotic genius, is always one step ahead of the good guys.

For at least the first half of the show, the good guys keep getting caught in the bad guy’s traps.

Or (and?) the bad guy keeps escaping at the last minute.

Inevitably, at some point (usually about halfway through the show) the chief good guy says: “We’re constantly playing catch up. We gotta get ahead of this guy.”

This is when someone on the team, usually the brilliant but nerdy computer expert, finds a tidbit of information that enables the good guys to capture or kill the bad guy. The end. Stay tuned after the break for scenes from next week’s episode.

Three years after his inauguration, we’ve learned a few things:

  • As bad as we all thought 45 would be, it’s a thousand times worse.
  • His “illness” is contagious. We should have known that from all the other deranged leaders who’ve led their followers to suicide. Somehow, we forgot when it went national.

He is the one writing all these insane executive orders even when every sane member of his cabinet (are there any sane ones left?) screams “NO NO, don’t DO that!”  Naturally, he has dumped all the nay-sayers as soon as they said nay. You just don’t say “NO” to El Gigantico Egotistico.

We are living in a very bad Reality Show and are in the final quarter of what is either the final quarter of the show or the closing of the first half. The media are constantly playing catch up. They continue to react to every insane tweet and blatant lie. Every horrific executive order. This is not going to work. The press has to get ahead of him. We don’t need a brilliant but nerdy computer genius to do it.

He obsessively watches cable news.  He then goes off on a twitter rant over whatever it is that he sees. This includes his own impeachment. Rumors to the contrary notwithstanding, I doubt he even understands what it’s all about having never read the constitution or anything else.

The point: “Is The President of the United States Mentally Ill?”

That by itself should be sufficient to take him out of office. Crimes and lies aside, he is not capable of running this country.

The current resident of the Oval Office is a textbook case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Antisocial Personality Disorder (yes, you can have multiple personality disorders at the same time). He might well also be a socio (or psycho) path. Who can tell?

This is something both my wife and I are intimately familiar with. Both of our exes suffered from the former. Here is a test sample question from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. The DSM-V.


Any of that sound familiar?

If THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IS MENTALLY ILL, he should be removed from office. Going under the assumption that impeachment won’t work, whoever is nominated needs to make it very clear that this insane man should not be president of this or anything else.

We gotta get ahead of this guy.