July 28, 2016

Fellow Travelers: Trump and Putin

Nicholas Kristof (Did Putin Try to Steal an American Election?) correctly cautions against viewing the apparent Trump-Putin political alliance in terms of cold war conspiracy. Trump is not some "Siberian Candidate," a deep cover agent for Moscow. It's worse than that.

Trump's is not an ideological or moral commitment to a foreign adversary. His willingness to walk up to the line of treason in spirit if not in law is rooted in a pure lust for power and personal gain by any means; one that leads him to conflate himself, his prejudices, and his business interests with American national interest. That is the sum of his America First patriotism: Trump First. Putin also conflates himself, his power, and his gain with Russian nationalism. It's the core of his own demagogic appeal. Trump's "I alone" affinity for Putin's post-communist authoritarian kleptocracy is a frighteningly natural one of like minds and like leaders.

That Trump's financial interests coincide with the Putin kleptocracy and its overseas stash of untold billions looted from Russia's economy is not merely a matter of money and currying favor for investment. Though it is that, it is also a matter of the company Trump keeps. It is no surprise to find a man as poorly grounded in any genuine knowledge, moral commitment, or ideology as Trump, with the attention span of a flea according to his ghostwriter, mouthing views that are commonplace consensus in his pool of prospective investors.

Trump is a fellow traveler along the path of greed and self-aggrandizement.


August 2, 2000

Baja, San Quintin

Baja, San Quintin To the left is VANITY...
And her name is MARGARITA.

She's the reason I have very few pictures from a recent camping trip to Baja California, to San Quintin, except that she's in them. I planned to photograph the place, the people, the wildlife, the incredible Baja sea and landscape. But every time I went for the camera, there she was. She pleaded. She insisted. She demanded. She jumped up and ran to get in the way. She stamped her feet and got very, very angry. It's just that, from her perspective, any use of film other than on herself seemed an outrageous waste of time, money, and opportunity--her time, her money, her opportunity. She's working on a set of photo albums for when she's 80. So she can't stand the idea of missing a chance, any chance, to see then what she looked like right now, and right now, and right now, and right now. Beauty fades with each passing minute....

Margarita is my wife, so I'm in no position to argue. Besides, there's no arguing with Russian women once they're set. "No" is meaningless, just an empty sign of some vast, vague and entirely irrelevant male conspiracy against all things that really matter, especially personal vanity, its endless accoutrements and attendant privileges. And since she's also my venture capitalist, supporting me in whybother.org and other web adventures, who am I to say she can't have a page or two of flattering photos of herself? Believe me, just starting to post these photos is already making my life much easier.

Three of us took a week off and drove down to San Quintin on a whim...Margarita's whim, needless to say. Our friend Lucio (more recently "One must imagine Sisyphus happy" at My12Steps.com) had been traveling back and forth to Baja for some time, staying in various places and basically enjoying solitude, meditation, his books, and his writing. But as he was about to start another hermit stint, he made the mistake of hinting that Margarita might want to come along. She leapt for it, or maybe it was her hint in the first place. In any event, it would be a chance to realize her favorite English phrase since arriving in America nine years ago. "Let's go... let's go... let's go." Somehow I suspect that's her favorite phrase in any language.

Baja, San Quintin

Of course, there were complications. Lucio confessed he had second thoughts, half-wishing he hadn't offered to take Margarita, assuming he ever really did. There was simply no way that going down to Baja with Ms. Letsgo was going to be either simple or peaceful. But there was no backing out. And so I had to go, too, for full measure and to serve as a buffer between Lucio's dream of solitude and Margarita's urge to go on and on and on. Nice solution all around, but before we came up with it we made the mistake of trying to talk her out of going, telling her there'd be absolutely nothing to do where we were going, that Lucio just wanted to play hermit, that she'd be bored. Of course, she didn't believe any of it and got furious and hurt and furious again.

Continue reading Baja, San Quintin

July 21, 2013

The Prophet

R.Crumb, Despair

I only bother to look once in a great while. So it happened only this evening that I noticed the "whybother.com" domain next door had fallen into the hands of some breed of Adventists, evidently the kind of Christians convinced that atheists are doomed to plunge into the depths of despair, their lives meaningless, teeth-gritting bouts with emptiness, anguish and enui, until they hit bottom -- Praise the Lord! -- and click on FindGod.com. Yes, such is name of the tediously god-infested site to which poor whybother.com is now undignified portal, and such is the design of the apparatus, the page layout of the lure. I'm not going to dignify either with link. If you want to look, you'll have to do it yourself.


Why Bother

All Hail Freedonia!
Google Giggles
Literacy and Its Discontents
Old and In the Way
On the Road
Pretty Vacant Video
Readers Notes
The Climate Suits My Clothes
The Net Takes You Nowhere
Time Keeps On Ticking
Weapons of Mass Distraction
Why indeed?


Recent Posts

Fellow Travelers: Trump and Putin
The Prophet
3 Beach Monkeys, 1997
Ocean Beach Dog Wrangling
blue moon - 2009
Republican Neo-Permissiveness
Far Right Republican Family Values
Miss Congeniality
Free the Falls


Sir Walter Scott, Ivanhoe Sir Walter Scott

Readers' Notes
William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying William Faulkner
As I Lay Dying

Readers' Notes
>Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer Henry Miller
Tropic of Cancer

Readers' Notes
Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Virginia Woolf
Mrs. Dalloway

Readers' Notes
Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man Ralph Ellison
Invisible Man

Readers' Notes
Wallace Stevens, The Palm at the End of the Mind Wallace Stevens
The Palm at the End of the Mind

Readers' Notes

Dose of Hoopla

Looky Looky Looky

Creative Commons License
This weblog is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Copyright © 1998-2016
Why Bother | WhyBother.org