I'm ready to get home. It has been a long week learning the new gig. I have a grasp of the basics, but learning a whole new portfolio of products is no easy task. A new company, new competitors, new applications I don't understand combine to make me feel foolish and overwhelmed. The realization I will have to find new applications for widgets I barely comprehend leaves me down and drained. It will come to me, of that I have no doubt. Still, I have to keep pushing the adage about old dogs from my mind. Every night I go back to my hotel and study power point presentations, videos, catalogues and websites. I get trained on systems and products and part numbers during the day.
Sometime late today I will head back home through the lousy Chicago traffic. I will get home when I do. It looks like the long weekend will be a wet one. So it goes.
I stubbed my foot on the edge of the big dresser/TV stand thing in he hotel last night. I managed to rip the toenail off the middle toe on my right foot. I am going to guess that you do not want pictures.
...We find out that people in Trump's inner circle or even the President coordinated with the Russians to release the hacked DNC emails via Wikileaks. So what? What crime has been committed? That would be no different than NBC calling up Hillary and telling her about the Billy Bush video and asking her if she cares if they release it. Dirty politics is not illegal. How is it different than the NY Times publishing the Pentagon Papers or any of the dozens of leaks about Trump?
I'm not a lawyer, but I really am spending this week in a Holiday Inn Express and I call bullshit on the whole thing.
The wife and I were heading out last evening to meet some friends for dinner. We were running late because one of us couldn't get ready on time. You guess. Here is a hint: it was not the one named Joe.
As I was about to get into the SUV something dark and furry scurried into he garage and hid under the granddaughter's tricycle. It was a juvenile raccoon. I yelled "Get him, Jim", but alas, I am not Marlon Perkins and this wasn't Wild Kingdom. I would have to do my own critter wrangling.
We were going to be really late.
I used the trike to block his efforts to move deeper into the garage. I managed to block him with a combination of footwork and oaths until I got a hold of a broom. I then did my best-ever hockey goalie impersonation. Until the little hissing growling bastard ran under the car.
I asked the wife if he came out the other side. She answered from the bottom of the driveway. Thanks for your help, Honey. But she did exhort me to close the car door on her side so that he "wouldn't climb inside" . If you cannot tell, my wife has never been around animals. I told her to tell me of she sees the momma heading towards my back. She did not answer, but retreated into the street.
I spotted the 'coon over by some shelving looking to hide behind the boxes. I beat him to the spot. That animal was starting to really hate my broom. I pushed him back. He arched and hissed and growled. He wanted deeper into the garage. I wanted him out. Stubborn met determination. I don't know which trait was most representative of me, but I know I shoved the little bandit into a five gallon bucket. I win!
I covered the bucket with the broom. What does one do with a bucket of raccoon? I thought about dumping him under the neighbor's shed, but that wouldn't be too neighborly. If the jerk who used to live there still occupied the place I would not have hesitated, but now? Nah...But if I let him out near the shed, it is not my problem if he runs under there, is it?
The yard was wet and soggy and muddy from the almost two inches of rain we got earlier in the afternoon. Did I mention we were already running late? I dumped my bucket of raccoon in the side yard and gave the critter a push in the general direction of the big hole beneath the neighbor's shed. Little Rocky Raccoon gave a final deep growl, snapped at the broom one more time and headed in the opposite direction, towards my backyard. Seriously? He climbed halfway up the fence post closest to the house and hung there, staring at me with malevolent eyes. I tried pushing him down with the broom, but the little growling fiend wedged himself into the boards and hung on tight.
I grabbed the bottle of rodent spray we put on the flowers to discourage the rabbits and coated the top of the fence above him. I was late to dinner and he was out of my garage.
I called a truce. I suspect this was just the opening battle. I imagine the next front will be in the backyard. I hope he does not form a coalition with the rabbits and chipmunks.
As populists throughout history have found (just Google the Gracchi if you want a two thousand year old example) fighting the established political powers is a perilous task. Far from draining the swamp, Trump is slowly sinking in the mire. Eventually he will be spit out covered in muck and mud and slime. Both political parties and the press want him to fail. His own insiders are stabbing him in tne back with the intensity of Brutus on Caeser. I doubt he has the brains or political savy to survive the daily death by a thousand cuts.
The politicos may fight among themselves. They may squabble over who gets to divide the pie, but no one in Washington is interested in making the pie smaller. Politicians fight too hard, kiss too many asses, debase themselves in their quest for power and money. They will not give it up to an outsider, an interloper, a businessman. Spit.
An outsider and populist never has a chance. When one does, like Hughey Long, he is eliminated. A flawed, shallow, megalomaniac such as Trump is easy pickings. He will destroy himself. He will build his own noose with ill-advised words and 40 character ravings. The press will hoist him on the scaffold and the political parties will nod in assent. Don't fool yourself, Bernie Sanders would have suffered the same fate. The bureaucracy -- the modern Preatorian Guard -- is too entrenched, too corrupt to let anyone endanger the flow of money. I assure you more than one elected official lamented that voters get to, well actually vote, on election day. Many in the press and political class secretly believe they are far more equipped to select the leadership of the country.
Trump is not a danger to The Republic. He is dangerous to the Republic as practiced by the powers in Washington. He will be cowed or destroyed. The socialist Democrats and the socialist-lite Republicans do not really care which path he chooses.
He won't be impeached. That will make the Republicans look bad and hurt heir chances of being in charge of cutting te pie in tne future. But they will work behind the scenes to make sure he does not last more than four years.