I was trying to distinguish my lies from those of Donald Trump, so I dug out Maslov’s Hierarchy of Lies. I aim for fibs, the most harmless category of storytelling created by Fibber McGee and Molly, the radio show my wife and I model our marriage after. Little White Lies are often justified as innocent, like when you do not want to hurt someone’s feelings. For example, occasionally someone tells me they read my Blog. However, Big White Lies are not excusable, most famously demonstrated by the one Caucasians told Black Americans about “separate but equal.” Untruths, Falsehoods, and Damned Lies have many fine distinctions to challenge liars as they wander through the Maslovian stages. Whoppers have long been toppers of the pyramid but The Donald has popularized a new Trumpian Lie category. I hate that we give him so much attention for lying but I cannot tell a lie. He has perfected the Art of the Lie.
The chatter page in People Magazine quoted Jennifer Aniston dismissing recent criticism: “With all due respect, I’m not heartbroken.” On the same page, Beyonce claims she is “in no rush” to shed her “mommy pouch” after the birth of twins. The celebrities on the chatter page are by definition very interested in image, so I cynically imagine they obsess over even the smallest criticism. It would seem uncool to expose personal vanity but it would be refreshing to hear, “I can’t help going into a funk when I hear about people bashing me.” Since I care what people think but pretend I do not, I assume everyone else is exactly like me. In fact, I project any flaw of mine to the entire population of earth. Any good or cool characteristic I possess, as hypothetical as that might be, I attribute only to myself and a few rare anomalies wandering the planet.
Many years ago, my Dad met Dolly Parton at a function. He did not know who she was and asked her what she did. When Barbara Mandrell was hired to appear at a United Way function in Seattle, he had to ask other committee members to tell him who she was. I had to force him to watch a few minutes of a Simpsons episode when it was at the height of its television popularity. He had never heard of the show and just stared at the screen blankly. It obviously did not amuse him but he had nothing negative to say about it either. It just did not exist for him. His mind was spinning on more important stuff and he was just humoring me. It probably helps ground celebrities when they meet someone who does not know who they are. In my case, my Dad’s experiences made me feel good. I realized that even if I had become a famous country western singer or produced the show Beavis and Butthead, I would not have impressed him in any bigger way. And I also discovered I ranked higher than Dolly Parton and Homer Simpson to him because at least he knew who I was. Well, sometimes. He often called me Kevin.
Michael Avenatti represents Stormy Daniels in legal actions related to her alleged affair with Donald Trump in 2006. He also graduated from George Washington University Law School along with my eldest son Ryan in 2000. Twenty years ago I told Ryan he should not be specializing in Intellectual Property Law (boring) and should be studying Presidential Porn Law with Mike. That new specialty was inspired by the then fresh Bill Clinton escapades. Avenatti graduated first in the class of 2000 because his courses were interesting, the field trips were fun, and grading was on the Silicone Augmentation Curve. Ryan missed out on the Order of the Coif because professors tend to fall asleep reading essays on Patent Law. You would expect this taught Ryan a lesson and that he now takes my advice. But as of this year, he is still paying his taxes.
Bruce Taylor, editor of Fantasy Football Index, wrote that his seventh grade English teacher took quarter bets from students on football games (a dollar for the Super Bowl). I suspect that practice would not last long in today’s world. Early in my career, co-workers smoked in my office and I thought nothing of it even though I was a non smoker. Some slaveholders would likely be shocked at their own participation in that practice if they lived long enough to absorb the changing times. Others cling to past practices for security, nostalgic pleasure, and resentment at being bullied by change makers. Last week, a man at the entrance to Safeco Field was not happy with the options for the pocket knife on his key chain: return it to his car, pay to store it in a locker, or drop it in the trash. He probably had not been to a Mariners game in awhile. If he stabs someone with the knife on the way back to his car, that option will probably be eliminated in favor of confiscation. I was annoyed because he was holding up the line but I have known people who enjoy whipping out pen knives to eat their apple or whittle. He was obviously upset that a ballgame knifing somewhere had impinged on his lifestyle. Luckily I am legally free from feeling sympathy because we have all been adequately warned every step of our lives that “Times Change” and “Life is not Fair.”
I scroll through all my junk email, quickly deleting as I go. Occasionally I rescue an email that is not spam and I feel like I won the game. Some of the junk comes under the name of someone I know but when I allow the cursor to hover over that friendly name, the true email address emerges and I can comfortably delete without opening. I suspect the goal is to maximize hits on a site by hacking accounts that provide trusted names to entice a recipient to open advertisements. Often the subject line is a giveaway. The hidden email address can raise suspicions as well. Yesterday’s posting on the Name Game reminded me of the junk email from Haley Bunk with an address that started “iarcon.” Apparently that was an honorable con attempting to fleece only victims who are so gullible that they would just give their money away to someone else if Ms. Bunk did not extract it.
My work on the West Coast is done after solving the mystery of Bigfoot by proving that he is blurry. So yesterday I flew to Washington D.C. because I think I am on candid camera and I want to be present for the big reveal. I have been left gaping at all of the shenanigans on The Lady and the Trump show but I think I am being pranked with each new absurdity. Anthony Weiner’s sexting triggers the demise of Hilary. Rudy Guiliani plays against type in a role of comic relief as Donald Trump’s lawyer. David Pecker of the National Enquirer runs a “catch and kill” operation to silence Stormy Daniels from implicating the President in a porn deal. Some of these characters cannot be real people and the names must be made up to hype a movie announcement. The roles are apparently modeled after Riddler, Catwoman, Penguin, Joker, and other Badman villains. I will remain back East seeking sightings and return only when I obtain evidence reliable enough to be sold to the National Enquirer.
Sometimes I find it difficult to decide what stories I want to tell. But I have much more clarity on the ones I do not want told. For weeks I have had a smoke detector sitting on my desk with the battery door open and begging for new AA’s. I definitely do not want the story written that a fire destroyed our house while a smoke detector languished nearby without batteries. So the first thing I need to do this morning is write a Blog about this.
Monday was a great birthday even though the only two attendees at the Pool party were grandchildren. We had reserved the entire lower deck but the three of us pretended we were not related to the “no shows” for that party. Unfortunately the kids cast suspicions by talking way too loudly about my birthday and my age. Although I have been facing certain death my entire life, my age was the good news this birthday because now less than 29 years remain until my 100th birthday party. I remember when I was over 90 years away from that milestone. Back then the century mark seemed impossibly distant. I bet my 100th birthday will be way better attended. Too bad I will not recognize any of those guests.
I hope the people directing their energies and hopes toward a 2018 impeachment of Donald Trump know that even if he were removed from office, he would immediately begin campaigning to be elected President in 2020. He loves the Campaign Trail, especially when he does not have to be distracted trying to govern. And he would thoroughly enjoy putting the referendum directly to the American public and trashing the politicians we all cannot stand either. He would be in hog heaven.