Part One -Bubba and the Death Tiki

The coverage of Hurricane Harvey has me thinking about another climate invasion, the one that destroyed Kona Village on the Big Island.  It was the tsunami that hit Hawaii in March of 2011. Kona Village was originally built in 1965 and there are plans to rebuild and open once more, for the 2019 season.  But:

Before that disaster Kona Village was one of my favorited places to vacation. Everyone got their own hut surrounding either a small shaded lake or one that had a beach front.  There was no television, no radio nor a telephone in any of the huts and only the open windows and a ceiling fan for any sort of air conditioning. All you really needed, outside of just having fun, was taken care of with just a signature and hut number.  If you really needed to contact the outside world for an emergency, there was one land line telephone at the caretaker/receptionists desk at the dining hall.  It was great for the kids, a protected place to rough it old Hawaian style.  

One morning I made my way down to the pool - which has a bar. (It was not totally without creature comforts).  The family was off doing activities so I decided to purposefully pursue my relaxation.  I settled into a nice lounge chair in the shade of a palm tree and ordered a Bloody Mary. The great thing about Hawaii and its climate, if you are just out of the sun in any sort of shade, there is a trade wind breeze that fans you like a celestial concubine.  When the bartender came back with my drink he said, 

"Do you want to just keep that on the tab open, or do you want to close it."

"Tab?" I said.  I just arrived and this was my first time to order anything from this bar.  The bartender said, 

"You have an open tab at the bar."

"I don't think so. It must be the wrong hut number, because I just got here.  This is the first thing I have ordered from this Bar." 

The bartender was very nice and said he would check on it, as I enjoyed the Bloody Mary and the beautiful Hawaian morning.  Another great thing is the perfumed air that is Hawaii.  I am not sure what the scent is, Sandi says Plumeria, I don't know about things like that.  To me it just smells like a wonderful morning on the shores of a Hawaian beach.  It is, as the poets say,  intoxicating. 

A few minutes later the bar-keep brought me one of those receipt forms with the drink orders recorded.  Sure enough, there was a charge for three Pina Coladas at 9 bucks a piece with my hut number at the top.  They were all from earlier that day.

"Gee, I don't know what these charges are. Like I said, I just got here and this is my first order."  

Again the Bartender was very non-invasive and said he would see what happened.  

It gave me time to think about the experience I had the morning before.  Kona Village was built on the edge of an old lava flow.  These ubiquitous rock formations look like gigantic frozen cow patties covering the country side.  But the lava flows just on the edge of the Kona Village property were even more special. Carved  into these lava rocks were petroglyphs from hundreds of years ago.  Ancient graffiti scratched into the surface of the lava by people who sat exactly where I currently sat, centuries before.  There were hundreds of these ancient art projects.   Some of the drawings have worn away to near invisibility, but the idea that I was connected with the art of ancient artists was a religious experience.

Now Hawaii is a Mother Earth experience to me.  I am fascinated by the culture and traditions of the Island people and always appreciate it when I'm there.  I got the idea that I would commune with the spirits of thoses artists from long ago and celebrate sunrise over the petroglyphs.  I was so excited to have this adventure that I woke up in time for sunrise even without an alarm clock.  

It was twighlight and there was just enough light to easily negotiate the lava flows. I found a place to sit in the middle of the petroglyph field.  The sun was not yet up but as the sky became brighter by the second, I could see the markings more clearly.  I sat there in contemplation of this incredible artistic time warp tracing my finger along one of the figures that had been scratched into stone.  That is when the first rays of the sun beamed across the edge of this sea of lava.  Suddenly and for only about a minute or less, the entire lava field lit up with the intense light of the sun's first rays.  All around me and even where I was sitting I suddenly witnessed not hundreds but thousands of petroglyphs.  The sun was casting very low angle shadows so that even the most subtle scratch in a rock became clearly visible.  Petroglyphs which had eroded too far down to actually see in full sun light flashed back alive with new beauty.  I don't know how long it was before the sun moved from this perfect angle, but as quickly as the old drawings appeared they were gone again.  It was a cosmic gift to me for getting up so early on a vacation morning.

Sitting by the pool looking out at the morning ocean waves, I had forgotten about the real world for a moment.  Just in time for my second Bloody Mary the bartender appears in my own personal paradise.  He has with him the signed bar receipts for the Pina Colada's that were on my tab.  Sure enough, my hut number and my signature were prominently inscribed on the tickets....but something was just not right.  I took off my sunglasses to examine the signature more closely.  It wasn't my writing.  It wasn't Sandi's writing, but it was familiar.  It only took a few extra seconds to realize it was the hand writing of my youngest son.  

"Did my son order these?" I said to the bartender.

"The little red haired kid? Yeah that was him." 

"He's eight years old...." I said with a little bit of an edge.

"Oh, they were virgin Pina Coladas... just the mix not the rum."  Naturally the price difference between a high octane Pina and the virgin Pina was only 50 cents so it was just another sale for his shift.  

My young son had figures out that anything he might want was just a "signature" away.  

I said, "Well, in that case put another Bloody Mary on my son's tab."

Then came  the day when a wooden Tiki Statue washed up on shore of Kona Village....  To be continued.... 

Part 2 - Bubba's Death Tiki... tomorrow.  

For now,

Jay

Fly American

My friend Harry Anderson came in town over the weekend for the day to attend a funeral.  I picked him up at the airport and was amazed that he was traveling so light even for just a day's visit.  Literally he had come cross country with two small briefcases.  Both bags together were not as big as a single roll aboard and when he arrived on American Airlines he was carrying both the bags in one hand.  In fact they were of a size that both would fit easily under the seat.  But that is only the preamble to the story.

After the funeral service we headed to the airport.  On the way we stopped at Creature Features in Burbank. It is Harry's favorite store and he is arguably their biggest customer.  Of course while we were there we run into a mutual friend who is sharing the store with his friend from England.  It was serendipity, which we celebrated by continuing the conversation at the nearest pub.  Turns out it was only around the block from Creature Features. There was much conversation and since everyone is a magician but me, I heard secrets that I can't reveal lest they throw me off the Magic Castle roster of members.  So instead of commenting on that part of the trip, I will move on. 

I dropped Harry off at the airport in plenty of time to get to the gate.  But before I got home he called me to tell me what happened.  To get one of the best internet travel deals, Harry booked an arrival on American and a departure on United.  At the counter they asked how many bags he wished to check.  He held up the two small breifcases and said, "This is all I have."  That is when "traveling light" became an issue. 

It seems that this particular ticket on United did not allow for any carry-on bags. Yes you have heard that this might happen, well United has instituted this weird class of ticket.  Harry said he would pay the fee but that was not acceptable.  Even paying a checked baggage fee would not indemnify the cheap price. They said, "There is nothing we can do but check your luggage." 

When faced with rules that make no sense I too have been known to attempt use of the celebrity card. For Harry it went something like this:  "I am a magician and in these bags are part of my act.  I purposefully packed them in bags that would carry on easily. The last time I was here in LA I checked a bag and it was lost for two days. I had been inspected by TSA who did not pack it up the way it was and some of my stuff was broken."  When that fell on deaf ears he said, "Did you ever watch Night Court?"  No response, "How about the other show I did called Dave's World?"  Blank look.  "Maybe you saw one of the Saturday Night Live shows I did... maybe when I hosted?"  

The truth is these counter agents for United have not see a video screen that didn't have a reservation code and seat assignments on it in decades.  There was no way the bags would be carry on.  This conversation with these agents was a non starter. Suddenly, Harry's fairy godmother shows up.  She is a supervisor, older, more in the demographic that would have been a fan of Night Court.  Harry took a shot.  "Hi, I wonder if you can help me?"  

"OMG you are Harry Anderson. I've seen you on TV."  Selfie's came next with Harry and the supervisor.  Harry explained his delimna.  The agents countered with this logic: "Well, even if we let you go to the gate with those bags, TSA will not let you through. That ticket doesn't allow you to carry on.  They will make you check the bags and that is a bigger hassle."

Now let me say that in all my miles of traveling by air before and after the installation of the TSA, I have never heard this could happen.  The only thing TSA is looking for on your ticket is the TSA cleared stamp and if the name, day and time of the ticket is all correct. I can't imagine they know every code for every discounted ticket and what that means.  But that is the excuse the gate agents used to tell Harry he had to check his stuff.  

Harry once again explained the events of his last experience with checked baggage and once again held up the tiny carry ons.  

The supervisor looked at Harry, looked at the bags and then the agents who were holding firm on a draconian regulation. Then she said to the agents,

"Don't you guys know medical equipment when you see it" and stamped his ticket with red stamp.  She said, "You have a nice trip Mr. Anderson. " 

And that was that.  

Harry told me he thanked her and asked what would be the best thing to do if this ever comes up again.  She said, "Fly American". 

It was great to see Harry, we are like kids at camp every time we have the chance to get together.  However, I was glad this time he was flying and not me. 

As you were,

Jay

Theatrical Post Mortem

This is a picture from last night.  It was a confusing Marquee to say the least.  It appears that a show called "Jay Johnson- One Night Only" closed a week ago after running since June 30.  It was actually a black box acoustical version of my show "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" entitled "Excess Baggage" and it played for  one night only August 19th.  Evidently they changed the name of the show and not the date/dates. To all my friends who came in spite of a dyslexic marquee, thank you.  I didn't get to visit much with anyone for very long at the post show gala.  But I knew you were there and appreciate your attendance even if I could only give you a quick hug after wards.

The one thing that I know after performing "one night only" at the Group Repertory Theater last night is this: I don't know how I did 8 of those shows a week at the Helen Hayes in New York. If anyone says, "you were younger then" they risk a verbal smack down from some wooden actors.  In those Hayes  days I would come home and write about the experience before I went to bed.  Last night I was too exhausted to sleep, much less to use my fingers for typing. But with the perspective of the "morning after" I have come to some conclusions about my show and performing it.

It's not a big theater and the sound system is mostly used as background sound effects for their productions.  I knew it was going to be a nakedly acoustic show but I also knew I could be heard clearly, even un-amplified. After all,  aren't we actors supposed to be able to do that?   I found the lack of amplification was not an issue when delivering the text of the show,  but performing the delicacies of ventriloquism was a challenge.   Being a ventriloquial purist I was shocked at how much I have become accustomed to amplification.  Not so much for the audience as for me.   More than anything, I missed stage monitors. So as not to get too technical and bore readers who are not ventriloquists here is the easy explanation. 

A distant voice requires the vent to "recreate" a sound as if it is coming from another place.  This is done by manipulating the epiglottis to change the amplitude of the sound. (See the Jay Johnson book on ventriloquism to come out soon).  It is basically a balance between diaphragm pressure and the controlled resistance of the vocal chords.  If you push too much with your diaphragm or do not have the correct tension on your chords the "distant voice" is pushed out of the sweet spot you're going for.  

For years, and certainly every time I have ever done my theatrical show, I have relied on hearing what the audience is hearing to adjust that distant voice sweet spot.  It is like singing off pitch, and if you can't hear the pitch you can't correct it.  I have to hear what the audience is hearing, not the sound  I hear in my head.  In a perfect situation I have stage monitors, second best is performing with a house audio system that allows me to adjust my hearing to the "bounce back" sound.  In this case I had neither.  I found that my training to project my voice to be heard without a mic was in direct conflict to finding that sweet spot of the distance voice.  Since I could not hear what the audience was hearing it was easy to lose the balance.  

I am sure that if I were to have more than one night in a "mic-less" theatre my ears and technique would adjust to find the sweet spot. However,  when opening night is closing night there is no chance to learn those corrections. Maybe that's what I love about performing. It doesn't matter how long you have done something or how good you try to be; there is always more to learn because every audience and every theater is different. 

The audience was wonderful and followed the journey and my story with sublimely supportive energy. They did not seem to know  my ears were continually trying to decipher what they were hearing.  I was glad to help raise some money for the theater. Perhaps an updated sound system can go into the budget.

I was lucky to have one of my co-directors in town for this show.  Murphy Cross is not only a wonderfully creative soul, she knows this show better than I do and always has the perfect perspective.  I was treading water until she stepped in and brought her incredible vision to not only the space but to my performance last night.  Her gentleness and angelic qualities are unique in the ego driven world of show business, and I will always be grateful for the Muse that brought us together.  I probably better stop my effusiveness at this point, in case Sandi is reading my blog.  However, if anyone could think more of my friend and partner Murphy Cross than me and Paul Kreppel,  it would be my wife Sandi.  

The task of repacking the show. 

I didn't make a curtain speech last night but if I had , on top of the list of people to thank would be Sandi and Murphy.  Followed by Stan Mazin, Mr. Kent, Rishie, Steve, Larry and all the people who make the Group Rep Theater function. 

For me it will be a day of trying to repack the show for the next performance. That is of course after I catch up on some rest.

As you were,

Jay

High Crimes and Stupidism

 This is not a meme, nor is it a photoshopped picture.  I actually saw this sign at a new construction site in Rancho Cugcamonga.  To me it symbolizes the unrest this country is experiencing, we know something is wrong and we know conflict is coming, we just don't know what it yet might be.

The country is in a leadership crisis.  We are like chickens with our heads chopped off, running around with no direction.  The country needs someone who will "stand" for America and unite us like a leader is supposed to do. 

The founders of our country and the creators of the Constitution addressed the possibility that we could accidently elect a crook as President.  Crooks are usually clever enough to pull the wool over the public's eyes to get in office.  They created Impeachment so that we could get rid of the crook before destroying our Government.  

The founding Fathers assumed we might elect a person  we didn't always agree with but at least had the character and integrity to lead America.  That is why the threshold is so high for Impeachment.  We can't just Impeach a person because we don't like them.  We are a country of laws and the President has to break one of those laws for us to use the process to remove him or punish his behavior.  That is supposed to be true for EVERY American citizen.

  

None of the Constitional framers thought we might some day elect a narcissistic, racist, moron who wanted to be the Emperor rather than public servant. They never thought we would have a President who is so ignorant of what the country is and how it works.  They never imagined we would elect a liar who would threaten, bully and berate the very people he is supposed to be leading.  They never imagined we could elect a person who would praise dictators but scold Gold Star parents.  

Unfortunately, being an asshole is not a crime.  Being a lousy human example and worthless leader with no principles or agenda is also not a crime. Until a duly elected President commits an indictable crime, he stays in office.  Unless the investigation now underway finds some definite law that 45 has broken, we are stuck with him.  In light of this, unless convicted or forced to resign,  he is the de facto leader.  

Without a leader who can lead we are like a study hall class with a bad substitute teacher.  With no one to give us an example of what good behavior is supposed to look like, those students who feel emboldened by a lack of direction will attempt to take over.  They will fill the leadership gap with their own bad acts. With no one to tell them to sit down and shut up, they will continue to disrupt the rest of the class.  

Allowing and, yes, even participating in bad behavior does not clear the bar for High Crimes of a President, but it is just as destructive.  By turning your head, waiting days to condemn bad acts and bad behavior,  you are basically sanctioning it.  If you don't inoculate a virus early, it will spread, grow and destroy its host.  

Doing Corporate shows I learned something that is very true for the country today.  I noticed that if a joke was on the edge of what might be acceptable for that specific group, the crowd would look to the CEO to see if they think the joke is funny before they will laugh.  A captive audience will look to their leader to see if something is acceptable to the group.  They will follow his lead.  The country is looking to the President to see if this current behavior is acceptable. If it doesn't seem to bother the one in charge, it must be okay.

If we do not stand for something we will fall for everything. How can we combat a rogue Nuclear threat when we are not even united on who is an enemy? Ultimately this cancer on Constitution leadership is much more dangerous than North Korean nukes. 

We expect a President to be the highest example of Freedom, Liberty and Tolerance 24 hours a day 7 days a week while occupying the office. We expect them to be their absolute best, much better than they were as an average citizen.  While it is no crime to be the laziest example of the entitled American while holding the office of President, it is just as destructive to our Country.  The country is waiting for this man who occupies our executive office to "man" up and be the person the office requires.  If he will not do that then we can only hope that his behavior sinks to the level of crimes.  I personally think that is too long to wait.  

As you were,

Jay

Poop Bags

Everyone is talking politics and nobody wants to, it just seems to occupy most of the conversation, and writings of our Era.  Not me. Not today. I have decided to discuss something different, POOP BAGS.

Bambu the wonder dog.

I will try to tell this story without using the word shit.  However, since I already wrote the word  this may be an exercise in semantics only, not good manners.  However, for the rest of this blog any word written in italics is a substitution for the word shit.

Every urban dog owner knows what a Poop bag is. As the name implies it is a portable device (bag) used to transport dog poop for a short distance to be deposited in a more socially acceptable place than left on the street.  The PB is a protective sanitary barrier between the human hand and dog doody.  It works sufficiently well for that task, usually.  Details to follow.

First off,  I don't like the name, Poop bag for a reason you might guess.  As a ventriloquist I am always aware of words that have heavy plosives consonants and difficult phonetics.  Poop begins and ends with the letter "p" which is one of the no no plosives ventriloquists struggle with.  This is followed by another word beginning with the most difficult plosive, the letter 'b" in bag.  Poop bag is not a word phrase  I would use in a stage act and would not really come up unless I inserted it into a conversation with one of my wooden american friends.  Attempting to be a consummate professional using the phrase poop bag on stage is something I would not do.

The problem of the name was solved recently by my friend Mary Willard.  She gave me some poop bags imprinted with the face of Donald Trump.  The bags are called... dumps for Trump.  So now I just refer to the poop bags as "trumps".  Technically there is a "p" (plosive) at the end of the word trump but for some reason it doesn't bother me to slur that name just a little bit. 

Everyone has their own way of dealing with a trump.  I think I am over cautious in sealing the tump with a good knot in the top of the bag so no accidental contact with the contents can occur.  But for me, tying a knot in a thin plastic bag is difficult.  Over the years of walking dogs I have developed a technique to accomplish the important part of securing the trump.  I twist the top of the thin plastic until it becomes more rope like than bag like, since it is much easier to tie rope than a flat surface. I have even perfected a way to spin the bag using the weight of the contents to twist the top into a cord. After that a knot is easy to maneuver.  With practice the "rope spin"  can be done with one hand.  

This method works efficiently... most of the time.  However when I explain the physics of this technique you will see that there is a flaw in execution.  Twisting the top of the bag causes the package to condense and compact into a tight bundle.  The inertia of the spinning causes the contents to lose it's relative position and order in the cosmos.  It also puts pressure on the trump which it was not designed to handle.  If there is a weak seam, or god forbid a hole in the bag, the deliverable inside the bag squirts out like the last contents of a toothpaste tube, which the law of odds states will happen one out of a hundered times.  When it occurs you find yourself blocks from home with your dog on a leash and dirt on your hands if not your shirt. It is not a pleasant experience.  

So now in addition to walking the dog with plenty of trumps, I also have to carry sanitary baby wipes for the occasional emergency.  Leash, sun screen, a hat, walking shoes, sun glasses, water, trumps and baby wipes are now on the check list before Boo and I can leave the house.  I sometimes feel like Batman suiting up to fight crime every time Boo wants to take a walk. But once again the name Baby Wipes contains two "b's" and a "p" another ventriloquial nightmare.  So, today I came up with the work around solution.  Instead of Baby Wipes, I call them Muellers. Muellers are made to clean up the mess that a trump makes when the pressure causes a breach. Pressure on the thin skinned trump can sometimes cause the contents to spew forth from a nasty break in integrity.  So in addition to carrying Muellers I take one more safety precaution. I check the flaccid trump for imperfections. I inspect the trumps very carefully for tears and holes, I call them tweets, in the plastic skin. 

My suggestion to all dog walkers is to never leave home with out some Muellers just in case the trump fails to do what it is supposed to do; which is be responsible for the stuff it is supposed to keep inside.  

As you were,

Jay

The Fox and his Hen house

You can't really see the energy and power generated by nuclear fusion, but you can see the reactor where it happens.  Such is the case with the nuclear talents of Charles Fox.   One can open their ears and their minds to hear the incredible gift of Charlie Fox, but to SEE it one must visit the factory where it is generated. Such was the case a few days ago when I was invited into the "sanctum" of the Fox.

The studio has all the tools one needs to write music, score films, compose operas and arrange orchestral beauty.  There is a huge mixing board in front of a large flat screen, cabinets filled with arrangements and charts, audio media of every kind and a play back system to access it. There are platinum records, prestigious awards and pictures of Charlie with every musical talent in a who's who of show business. 

In the opposite corner of the room from the mixer is a desk that could belong to any executive.  Perpendicular to the desk accessible with the turn of his chair is a 9' Steinway Grand Piano. Even among the Emmy and Grammy awards and impressive electronics this beautiful instrument stands out.  The only time a guy like me might see a 9' Steinway Grand is from a cheap seat at Disney Concert Hall.  In this case, however, I was not alone in my appreciation of this beautiful instrument, standing next to Charlie and me is Richard Sherman.  Not the Seattle Seahawk football player Richard Sherman but Richard M. Sherman the Disney composer and legend.  That word legend is kicked around a lot but if the word ever applied to any person it applies to both the men I find myself standing with at this moment.   

Richard and Charlie's "other woman"

As Richard walks around the desk to briefly play this beautiful piano, Charlie's wife walks into the studio.  She notices that I am stunned by what is happening before my eyes and says, "Oh I see you have met the other woman."  

Richard finishes a musical  riff with a bass chord that shakes the room.  As the vibration begins to slowly fade Richard says, "She is beautiful". As he starts to continue this musical romance, Elizabeth Sherman says, "You've played enough Richard." In my twisted mind I hear her say, "Get away from that other woman, Richard."  What I saw was the instant connection between a musician and a beautiful instrument.

My Dad used to say he was the luckiest guy in the world. Dad was wrong, he RAISED the luckiest guy in the world. I am the luckiest guy in the world. To stand next to two high priests in Fox Music Temple was exciting, humbling and inspiring.  Genius comes in many packages, and sometimes that package is not tightly wrapped.  To find the core of their genius you sometimes have to peel away layers of onion skin that protect that creative spark.  Not so with these two men.  To know them is to love them and I am blessed that I can call them both my friends.

However, there is nothing so inspired that a ventriloquist can't screw up.  The next day I sent and email to my friends to thank them for a wonderful evening.  I wrote to Charlie and Joan, "I was delighted to meet Charlie's "other woman".  Given that my dyslexic perceptions are sometimes corrected by auto text in my favor, this was a time when the computer corrections did not save me.  Rather than write "delighted to meet Charlie's "other woman" the text actually said "delighted to meet Charlie's "MOTHER woman".  I did not notice the error until after the email was sent.  I immediately sent another email explaining the error.  Joan wrote back to say, she was glad to read the corrected text and glad that there wasn't also another "mother woman" in Charlie's life.  Charlie simply signed his email response with the phrase Charlie and the Mother woman.  

It was just one moment in an evening with the Foxes, the Shermans, the Johnsons and the Willards (Fred and Mary).  Moments of extreme laughter, great show business stories and talk of music and comedy punctuated the dinner.  Those moments are not to write about here, but they are for me to hold close and cherish in the memory of my creative soul.  I celebrate the artistry of this company and embrace the blessing of having been put into an orbit that brings me close to such genius.  

As you were,

Jay

Charlie, Richard and Elizabeth (who asked me if I could photoshop her to appear taller) 

What is Too Far?

For a man who battles depression, and struggles to maintain his life at the top of his emotional roller coaster instead of the bottom, times are tough for yours truly. Every morning I wake up to a world that is reeling from yet another Trump tweet.  Every evening the Washington Post publishes yet another discovery that Trump is an invasive species of sociopath who wants to run the country as his own personal golf course.  This is the pattern in which we all find ourselves immersed daily.  

It is a constant rub on my sense of decency, civility, tolerance and spirituality.   I keep thinking that if enough people become aware of what a total failure Trump  is as a leader, moral example and human being, the masses will run him out of town on a rail.  And yet he continues to be defended by a cadre of sycophants who have to compromise their own integrity to even comment. 

When asked if she thought the President went too far in this tweet about a television commentator, Sarah Huckleberry Panders, said, "No he didn't go too far."  Well, Huckleberry, what is 'too far' in your purchased opinion? For me he tweeted too far in accusing his predecessor of being a Kenyan Muslim five years ago, but then my morals are not for rent.

What I fear most is that this constant assault on my idea of how a President should behave is creating a callus on my sense of morality.  Eventually that part of my emotions gets so tough, I no longer know what it really feels like to be outraged.  Perhaps this is why I will continue to write about this blight until he  is exorcised from our country.  Even as I do this I realize the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result.  I feel bad that my persistence might be a display of insanity which causes depression and I quickly fall to be bottom of my emotional roller coaster.  And now this Meglomaniac and his Congressional minions are trying to take away access to the meds and treatment we all need to tolerate the things they are doing to our country.  In the words of Shakespeare. "Ah there is the rub."

When will someone remove this stone from our shoe before our country loses its footing.

As you were,

Jay

24/7 Trump

I was talking to a friend this morning about the business of shows, show business.  We determined that there are two types of people who seek the path of show business.  Some go into the world of entertainment because they want to express their desire to make ART.  Others go into show business to wallow in FAME.  Although that distinction is not so easily quantified and the line gets blurred the two ideas come from two completely different perspectives.

Not until this administration, now dubbed the Trump Era, did I realize that the world of politics has fostered similar personality traits.  There are two kinds of people who seek a political career.  Some go into government because they have a desire to help make our democracy stronger.  Others go into politics to wallow in wealth and FAME.  

I don't know anything about politics, I have never been interested in running for any office. Some of the reasons are: I do not feel like I am qualified, I do not have a burning desire nor any talent in that area. But I now see if I lacked a desire for Artistic expression I might want to go into politics, if fame was my goal. I can see now, thanks to the Trump Era madness, that some politicians today want fame more than they want to do the job of governing.  

Silent Auction Item at LA Charity

Total number of bids on Trump Collage.....

Mr. Trump is not interested in Making America Great. He does not care about helping Americans who can't afford to joint his Golf clubs. He even said exactly those words in a rally this week. He thinks rich people are better suited for the job of governing than poor people that is why his cabinet is the single richest body of  profiteers ever assembled in one administration.  It is not unlike the Russian model of Oligarchy where the rich dictator gets to assign lucrative, highly profitable businesses to his friends.  Then the dictator makes sure the "government" does not interfere with regulations that might keep the people safe but impede profits.  That is not a politician nor a leader that is a monopoly granter. 

Trumps motives are even less ingenuous.  All he wants is the fame of being the "leader". He doesn't want to earn the title he simply wants the title "bestowed" upon him. He wants to dominate the conversation, not to stimulate the discussion toward a negotiated goal, but simply to hog the fame for himself.  He is by personality and experience the worst kind of person we could have as any sort of leader.  Trump is the very kind of carpetbagger and tycoon the government should be protecting Americans from.  

His lies are not even good ones.  He lies about things that can be disproved with a smart phone, and disputed by his own words.  He has no care that he is caught in a lie, the fact a lie caused people to talk about him fulfills his need for adoration and attention.  The lesson of "The little Boy who Cried Woof" is totally lost on Mr. Trump.  The lying boy is mauled and in some versions eaten by the wolf because no one believes him when he actually does speak the truth.  Mr. Trump is setting himself up to be eaten alive by the lies he is telling.  That in itself is of no concern to me.  I believe in Karma and ultimate justice.  "God has a way of bringing down the over-bearing, God's dice are always loaded."  -Ralph Waldo Emerson.   Unfortunately I am not the one to deliver the retribution to this ego maniac and may not live long enough to see it happen, but it will.  

My fear is that the wolf will not be satisfied to just eat the cheeto flavored blubber that is our tar baby president, I fear he will continue to hunger until more than just the rich assholes are devoured.  

There are no tapes of the Trump/ Comey conversation. If they did ever exist, 41 days of speculation is enough time to summon Rosemary Woods from the grave to accidentally erase the content.  So in absence of any evidence to the contrary are we going to believe a career man in law enforcement who has a sterling reputation for telling the Truth, or a known liar who lies about every aspect of his life.  Hello Karma... this is a no- brainier.  

Here is the dilemma for me.  With 24/7 Trump on every news cast, and every comic who has a daily monologue writing jokes about the Orange wonder, I am bereft of any inspiration to write about most anything else.  What is the point?  If I had information about him that no one knew, I might have a motive for commentary.  I don't.  All I know is what I see him doing, saying and how he is behaving. It seems wrong on every detail. If his supporters won't even acknowledge that the Emperor is  naked, why am I preaching to the saved?  Is there nothing the orange embarrassment can do that would sully their blind faith in this extremely unqualified human.  

His obsessive need to be the dominate headline even if it is due to a lie or his own stupidity has a sour affect on the thinking of the world.  I have a hard time seeing anything funny when this guy is in charge.  Now I have a cousin who will say, "Yeah, but we suffered through 8 years of the same thing, so it is your turn."  To that cousin I would say... "No you didn't".  Late night television was not obsessed with the stupidity of our President back then. They saw humor when it was there, and irony if it was relevant, it was not Obama 24/7. There were no scandals, no special prosecutors, no question of the integrity of the elections, we had a complete government, and an articulate intelligent representative in the White House. But again, my cousin would not be able to see that any more than the fact that Cheeto is completely naked.

I don't thing the governmental process is swift enough to get Trump out of office before the next election.  I think too many in government are using the narcissism of the President to feed their own desire for fame.  Hello... Karma, bring a large van...

So I will try harder to find things of interest, humor or value to write about.  Trump is a bore and a boar, and I am tired of seeing his face.  I would hope he would just fade into the sunset of bad politicians, but he is not qualified even to be a bad politician.  Although I would not like to see his body hung at a gas station upside down so the masses could use him for a piñata (like his doppelganger Mussolini), I would like to see Karma be as swift with judgment of him.  But perhaps the worst thing I can do to Mr. Trump is dismiss him.  I shall ignore him as much as possible and at least not perpetuate his desire to be famous.  Mr. Trump your 15 minutes has expired. Please go away now.

As you were,

Jay

Perhaps "The World is a Circus."

 If Shakespeare was alive today instead of writing the line "The world is a stage and all of us are players," he would have written "The world is a Circus and all of us are clowns."  

It is impossible to crawl inside the mind of THIS President, although there is apparently a lot of room in there, but I shall try just to imagine what his narcissistic logic might look like concerning the firing of Comey. 

But first let's see what has been happening "outside" of that "mind". 

During a campaign he seemed to be losing last year, Trump's mantra was "Lock her up".  He insisted that we shouldn't  have a President who might become involved in a criminal investigation regarding her emails.  In July of last year James Comey gave a press conference saying that Mrs. Clinton was "careless" but not to the level of criminal charges.  It was seen as a great boost to the Clinton campaign and potentially the end of several years of intense Congressional investigation into her actions.

Then came the election.  Russia was even then being investigated for election hacking and voting influence.  During the Presidential transition period there were Trump associates ( and family) still  having questionable contact with Russians.  The investigation continued until Sally Yates (Acting Attorney General) came to inform Mr. Trump that Michael Flynn was a big target of investigation.  Flynn resigned (was fired) under pressure and then Sally Yates was fired.  Jeff Sessions was confirmed and appointed AG, now incharge of the DOJ.  The Russian inquiry continued and it was determined that Sessions omitted or lied about contacts he had with Russian agents during his confirmation.  He did not resign, he recused himself from all Russian matters.  

Now back inside the spacious mind of 45.  He is thinking, everyone is talking about this "Russian thing".  There is a cloud of suspicion all around me and the investigation of Flynn continues in the background.  He decided that a loyalty oath from Comey was needed.  He didn't get it.  He continues to attempt "grooming" Comey and asks him if HE, Trump himself is part of the investigation?  This is key to the Trumpeirian narcissistic world.  How is this Russian Thing affecting ME.  According to Trump, his Attourney and confirmed by Comey, three times (a Biblical number) Trump got assurance he was not currently part of an investigation.  Then Trump says to Comey he wishes Comey would announce that fact to the world. This desire to be "vindicated" was expressed several times.

Back outside in the light of day,  Comey is rudely and ham fistedly fired.  The reason stated, in a letter, says he was fired because of his handeling of the Clinton investigation.  But there are contemporaneous notes of the Presidential conversations taken specifically because Comey believed Trump would lie about the conversation. The Clinton investigation was never mentioned in these conversations, only the Russian probe.  A day later Trump tells the world in a television interview that Comey was really fired over "this Russia thing".  The Comey notes are made public and Comey testifies before and open hearing in Congress, yesterday.  

Now everyone is concentrating on the more juicy sections of the conversations between Comey and Trump.  Looming big is  "obstruction of justice" that might haven occurred when he asked Comey to "Let the Flynn thing go".  

News pundits believe that Comey was fired because he wouldn't walk back his Flynn/Russia investigation.  Obstruction of justice? or the actions of an inexperienced numbskull.  Either one prove to be the actions of a man not qualified nor fit to be President.

But there is a more narcissistic explanation for the Comey firing and it does not involve Flynn.  As we have seen,  Trump does not hesitate to throw any associate under the bus if it makes Trump look better.  He has no loyalty to Flynn. He is not concerned that Flynn might be a traitor as long as Trump enjoys big ratings and large crowds.  Like his reality show experience, Flynn has been fired... written out, gone,  no longer a part of the Trump circus.  One contestant is gone, no big deal. 

So, why did the he fire Comey?  You have to think in the most personal of terms when dealing with a narcissist.  It wasn't about Flynn it was about Trump. Comey was fired because he would not publicly state that TRUMP was not under investigation.  Comey did it for Hillary, he would certainly do it for the man who beat her in the election, wouldn't he?  Why wouldn't he call News Conference to say that Trump is not under investigation?  He wouldn't, he didn't, he's fired.  Simple as that.  

Never assume there is obstruction, or incompetence involved in a decision when you can explain it by pure ego-centric narcissism, especially in the case of Trump.

In a circus the clowns perform until the Ringmaster blows a whistle signaling that the next act is ready.  When will someone finally blow that whistle and get these clowns out of the ring?

As you were,

Jay

 

 

Goldilock Zone

I guess climate is a big issue for me. I have always enjoyed breathing safe air and drinking non-contaminated water. In fact, of all the things I would give up, breathing and drinking would be the last to go.  I also enjoy living in a place that is not too hot and not too cold, not too wet and not too dry.. but for me, just right.

In Astrophysisist- speak,  Goldilock Zone is the distance from any given sun or star that is temperate enough for liquid water. The Goldilocks reference implies this zone is neither too hot nor too cold for water to flow. Of course our Earth is uniquely positioned in one of those perfect Goldilock zones in orbit around our Sun. It doesn't matter if you try to calculate the odds or give homage to divinity; our Earth experience is a uniquely fragile existence compared to the eternity of  the vast universe.  

As we understand our unique position of delicate balance in space,  the Earth becomes extremely important for our existence. In fact it is the only planet so far that would support our existence. And Mother Ship Earth has no life boats.  If she hits an iceberg even first class, like the rest, goes down with the ship.  But if the Earth is like the Titanic I am less afraid of hitting an iceberg than I am about a coal boiler explosion. 

Some people think  humans have had no effect on the world's climate.  Is it ignorance, arrogance or disregard that supports this opinion? Does anyone remember the Dust Bowl days?  It was a man made climate disaster that affected the lives of millions. We acknowledged it was human error and corrected our mistake, but forgot the lesson learned.  The American Bison was almost hunted out of existence.  We realized it almost too late to save a species of animal.  Don't we understand how humans and each individual affects the rest of the world?  Obviously not. 

Local case in point: 

 All over the park, where I sometimes walk my dog, are signs that say do not feed the wildlife specifically the birds.  This "Did You Know" sign which is also well displayed explains why.  It is not because they don't want the park critters to be happy, they want things to be normal. One of the more disgusting reasons that affects my enjoyment  of the park is because:  if you feed a duck human baked food like say, "bread" they do not process that food well. It is twice the mess when the ducks decide to give the favor back.  It is like taking a walk in a mine field. 

  

Here is the cycle when humans interfere with the natural pecking order of the Balboa Park of Encino. Feeding the ducks keeps them from migrating which causes over population, which causes disease, which increases rodents, which bring the coyotes which eat the children who come to the park to FEED the ducks.  Because no one really understands how they are affecting the coyote population, yet another sign has to be posted. 

 

But in spite of the warning of posted signs here is the reality of the world.  

 I snapped this picture only days ago.  Directly beneath the sign that says "don't feed the birds" a young mother is teaching her daughter that signs don't matter. It appears that her child's interaction with the ducks is much more important than the opinion of  naturalists who went to the trouble and the expense of posting a sign.  And note that she is feeding a flock of ducks  not just the scrap of a hot dog bun uneaten from a picnic; this is a new loaf of white bread crumbled for this very purpose.  

If we disregard the posted signs of scientists trying to keep the experience of wild life pure for future generations in our own back yard, why would we care about our contribution to the melting of the polar ice cap? And there is the conundrum. 

For me, protecting the environment is not a political issue. Is is not a national issue. It's a global responsibility.  We only have one Earth and one atmosphere.  Climate knows no national borders.  We are all on this Earth together and moving to a cleaner planet is not an option. Ultimately it is an issue that each one of us can affect regardless of national or even a global policy.  

The Paris Accord was just that, an accord. Not a law, not a decree but an acknowledgment that we all must participate in the health of the planet... all of us.  It circumvents politics, economy, or even belief.  It is the truth about mans stewardship of the Earth.  The tipping point is here, there is no more time to wonder, the time for action is now.  

As you were,

Jay

Dogs Life

I am currently sitting in a McDonalds across the street from the Doggie Dental Clinic. I am waiting for Boo to have her teeth cleaned.  With Pet care a $60 billion dollar industry in America (that is with a B - billion) it was only a matter of time before veterinarian specialist would be open up. They have made it as much like a human doctors office as possible.   I could have waited in their lovely waiting room but it reminded me too much of being in a hospital.  

 Nurses in uniform greet you to fill out forms just like the last time you changed doctors.  It was all very professional. Boo is an extremely healthy dog (partly because we have her teeth cleaned on a regular basis) so the questions were mostly answered in the negative.  At one point Boo was being very friendly to the nurse, who said,
"My you are a very sweet boy".  To which I replied,
"Sweet yes and she's a girl". The nurse craned her neck down to look between Boo's hind legs and said,
"Well of course she is".  This would have been the same scientific method I would have used to make that determination.  Who knew I had a natural talent for veterinary medicine.  

It did, however, make me think of the whole issue of transgender identity and states like Texas which are struggling to understand.  Boo is a great example of how much it really doesn't matter.  It happens quite often.  She is a cute dog,  her gender is not really a major factor in her existence. I don't know what gender her inner canine identifies with but I have the feeling she doesn't care.  Her thinking is probably no more complicated than: "Do trick, get treat."  The point is, it doesn't bother her to be identified as a male, even when a trained nurse has to glance at her genitals to affirm she is a biological female.  No one has ever said, "You know Jay's dog Boo? He is really a she." 

So why is it an issue when humans look different than their biological equipment that identifies them.  Unless reproduction is the goal, a human is just a human. 

This has always been an interesting statement to me.  Jesus was asked a question about marriage in heaven.  It seems a man had remarried after his first wife had passed. It was asked, which wife would he be with in heaven. https://biblia.com/bible/esv/Matt%2022.30  He said, "They neither marry nor or given in marriage, all are like angels in heaven".  Some other translations say "they are neither male nor female but are like angels in heaven." So.... it would appear that there are no genders in heaven.  Why do we get so concerned here on Earth about gender since for the rest of eternity it doesn't matter?
And I am sure, if there are also dogs in heaven they look exactly like Boo - angels.

As you were,

Jay

Sweeney Trump

Every morning when I wake up I check my email.  Most of my business communication revolves around this process. It is the "self employed" way of checking in with the office now-a-days.  That in itself would not be a problem.  I actually like addressing business issues in my bath robe, but this enjoyment has been grossly interrupted by something called "push notices" on my computer.  Like most of us I get headlines for stories of the day in this manner.  They just pop up. Before I have had time to even think about the news of the day, they require that I see them if only to dismiss them. This has proved to be a terrible distraction to my creativity.  

The headlines for the last 110 days have mostly been about the incredible ineptitude of the current government.  I get pissed off and that sour feeling seems to cramp any humor that might be ready to come out later in the day.  I end up writing, not some new show or routine, but a missive tainted by my utter disbelief and anger.  I really thought by now the distraction would settle down, but it hasn't.  Every Presidential tweet, that is reported, inflames my senses.  Each time I see one of those tweets I realize, instead of addressing the Nations needs, the Korean threat, the war in Syria, the war in the Ukraine, the extreme division in the country, filling governmental appointment jobs or just doing the job of the President, Donald Trump is ignoring those duties to craft some 4th grade 140 character snipe. 

Saturday my routine was altered.  I got up early to go participate in the reading of a new play directed by a friend of mine. I didn't have time to even check my emails that morning. No push notices to know what was going on. I didn't turn on any news. By one o'clock I was so energized with the creativity I participated in that my whole day felt, enlightened.  The Muse of art resurfaced and briefly held the "anger demons" at bay.  Suddenly a song became an ear worm and would not go away until I wrote it down.  This is the result of that worm.  I share it with you giving apologies to Steven Sondheim and in homage to Randy Rainbow:

 

Donald Trump – the Demon in charge of the Whitehouse 

(To the tune of "Sweeney Todd – the Demon Barber of Fleet Street" opening song.)

Attend the tale of Donald Trump

He can’t distinguish his head from his rump

He wanted America great again

But now it’s clear he’ll never begin,

That’s Donald…. Donald Trump.

The dodo in charge of the Whitehouse.

His hair is long and his temper short

He has no income that he’ll report.

He changes his mind in the blink of a eye,

It doesn’t matter, it’s always a lie,

That’s Donald … Donald Trump.

The one that’s ruining the Whitehouse

Bridge:

Swing you golf club high, Donald

Tweet to make them cry, Donald.

If you get into a bind, bomb Syria.

Donald’s bitch is that Putin Red

The ones who know are currently dead.

He only wants to be admired,

Disagree and your suddenly fired,

That’s Donald…. That’s Donald Trump. 

The asshat in charge of the Whitehouse. 

It’s off to Mar-a-Lago again.

He’s there to work, on his Cheeto tan.

He surrounds himself with billionaires,

And Congress tells us that nobody cares, 

That’s Donald… Donald Trump

The Cheeto that lives in the Whitehouse. 

Donald can’t keep his story straight,

He should be studying Watergate.

Everyone knows the reason why,

You never should piss on the FBI

That’s Donald… that’s Donald Trump

The con-man in charge of the Whitehouse.

What will we do with this piece of shit?

We’re all just waiting for the fan to hit.

How will America ever survive,

If he does manage to stay alive,

That’s Donald… That’s Donald Trump.

The looser in charge of the Whitehouse. 

Before he even ties his shoes

He tweets out hatred for all of the news.

At this job he certainly sucks

But he’s just in it for all of the bucks,

That’s Donald Trump

The demon in charge of the Whitehouse. 

As you were,

Jay

Dear Mr. Trump:

I know you are not a politician. I know you are not a traditional leader. I know you aren't bothered by integrity nor personal honor, and I know you lie.  I know your vocabulary and tweeting skills are on par with a fourth grader. I know you are mentally unfit for the job, based upon your own actions and words.   I know you are not a scholar, nor a historian, nor a student of civics nor a believer in the Constitution. I know you said this job of President was a lot harder than you thought, almost as complicated as health care, but  then as you said, "who knew".
Until now I also thought you were a pretty good Con-man. Now I "bigly" realize that you are not even an adequate con-man, Mr. Trump.

I'm no expert but I know one of the "con-man ten commandments" is: "Don't run when no one is chasing you."

Let me try to explain that in fourth grade English.

Don't act guilty if you are innocent, and if you are guilty, try your best to look innocent.  Every action you have taken has a veil over it like you are a bad magician trying to provide distraction for an ill rehearsed trick.  Your timing sucks.  A real con-man would know when the time is right.  A good con-man would not be so ham fisted with his manipulations.
Mr. Trump,  you have no grace, even for a con-man thug.  If your action toward Mr. Comey was completely justified and without hint of a Russian cover-up why was it handled in such a humiliating way?  In front of his peers and FBI employees at a meeting in Los Angeles, a media capital, Mr. Comey sees the announcement of his firing on television.  The meeting is cancelled.  It is not even certain that he has the authority to fly home in the FBI plane.  His "perp walk" to the airplane was broadcast by television helicopter for all to see. Do you understand that humiliation was not called for nor necessary? Perhaps you thought this was better than brining him into the oval office as you sat between Ivanka and Steve Bannon, telling him"you're fired" on camera.
Mr. Trump, I know your American history is fuzzy but Nixon was eventually brought down by a source named "deep throat".  Now there has been an immediate comparison of the Comey firing to Nixon's time in 1972 when he also fired someone investigating him.  Here is the historic part you should have thought about before you sent your body guard over to the J.Edgar Hoover Building to deliver your letter.  Forty years after Nixon's resignation, and before his own death, it was reveled that "Deep Throat" - the whistle blower who brought down Nixon... was a high ranking FBI agent at the time.  I know,  who knew?
What I am saying Mr. Trump, is this: A good con-man would have known all that.  And of all the things I thought I knew about you, I thought for sure you were a better crook than Richard Nixon.  But you are not.
Mr. Trump, I did not know Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon was not a friend of mine, but I can tell you sir, "You are no Richard Nixon."   You are just another crooked Dick.

With the saddest of thoughts toward you and your family,
Jay Johnson