Michael Corleoned

There I was, happily bouncing towards retirement in a couple weeks. Then yesterday I get a call from the senior vice president of my company. He offered me the position of area vice president for New England.  It’s not as lofty a title as it sounds but the offer is intriguing. I would be able to work from home for the most part and determine how many hours I want to work each week, sort of an independent contractor role. I was reminded of the Godfather movies (because everything can relate to a Godfather movie) where Michael Corleone utters his iconic quote - "Just When I Thought I Was Out. They Pull Me Back In." This would allow me to push back the date I apply for social security and offer a transition to full retirement in a couple years. My first thought on hearing the offer was, my son is going to give me a ration of shit. He’s been saying for the past few months that he’ll believe I’ll retire when he sees it, after a couple planned retirement dates have slid by unredeemed. Of course, I only get 49% of the vote in this decision but I think my Favorite Panamanian is inclined to agree.

2 Months Old!!!!

Speaking of my Favorite Son, his daughter, BR3 is now fully two months old. The ABFA had a great comment on her Facebook account, something about not being able to kiss BR3 enough but she’s going to keep trying. BR3 was already a beautiful baby and then she recently started smiling which is devastating in its effect. Her parents would probably tout the fact that she now sleeps through most nights as her most endearing feature. The BRS remains a dynamo in constant motion during our calls. Last night she pushed her kitchen chair over to the sink where she took up washing her own pacifiers (the dreaded binkies). My son offered her the opinion that it probably wasn’t a good idea to wash them with hand soap but she’ll figure that out the first time she puts it back in her mouth.

Hanging with the ABFA

There was celebration down in New Jersey as Wingman’s long pursued backyard re-invention reached a significant milestone. When they bought the house, the backyard was in a multi-year state of disrepair. He’s transformed it and yesterday the final remnants of the accumulated junk, concrete, fencing, tree roots, and even the pesky tire were hauled away by the junkman. Yesterday also saw the completion of the deck and front porch painting. The most impressive feature of this makeover is completing it while still providing not inconsequential day care for the past four months to the very energetic FBR.

The New Backyard with Painted Deck

They Also repainted the Front

Has anyone noticed that the price of jigsaw puzzles has skyrocketed! I gave away a bunch of puzzles I bought for $14 just a few years ago. The very same puzzles are now selling for over $60. Life in Pandemia where puzzles have become the coin of the realm. I started on my journey through Luc Besson films last night with what is arguably his best – The Professional. So weird to see Natalie Portman so young. Finally, a friend posted the below essay on Facebook and it captures most of what my problem with the Twitterer in Chief is. The Brits can be lethal with words and these struck me singularly eloquent on our president.

“Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?” by Nate White

Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England wrote the following response: A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a sniveling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

• Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

• You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish: ‘My God… what… have… I… created?' If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.
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RECURRING CHARACTERS                                           

BR3 – granddaughter #3, BRS - Blog Reader the Sequel - second granddaughter; FBR - First Blog Reader - first granddaughter, ABFA – Amazing Best Family Athlete = my daughter in law; Wingman – my son in law; Keene Friends 1 & 2 – friends since high school from my home town of Keene, NH; Soxfather - my brother in law; Great Aunt - my elder sister; Cantankerous Friend – friend since grade school who likes to argue about everything, poses as radical leftist to attract women; Pittsburgh College Roommate – high school friend, also a “Minor Celebrity” in Pittsburgh; Deckzilla – our backyard deck which grew to monstrous dimensions once my wife got involved in planning; Maine and Virginia Musqueteras – two close friends of my wife – her US sisters, my wife is the 3^rd musquetera (musketeer); Riggins - also known as the Grandpuppy, son's dog; PanaGals – female relatives/friends of my wife from Panama; Panamanian/Latin Mafia – inevitable group of Latino friends my wife accumulates wherever we have lived & their spouses; Neighborhood Mafioso - wife's close friend and Panamanian mafia member, Favorite Panamanian - the wife (of course); First Friday – celebrations to mark the First Friday of the Week; Curbside Girls – close friends of my daughter acquired during her single days in Brooklyn