Art is 80

I have been attending Passover seders for 83 years now. Not always two each year, so not 186 seders. But maybe an average of 1.5 seders a year, which would bring me to about 125 seders. Of course, if you asked me to describe and rank the 125 seders, I attended, you would find that I don’t remember most of them at all.

But I do remember the seders that I attended for the first, say, ten years of my life. Each year, my grandparents, our family, and my Aunt Loraine and her family would be invited to a seder at Mima Gitel’s.

Gitel Chervitz Ridker was my mother’s father’s (also known as my grandfather) aunt, making her my great, great aunt. There were a lot of kids in the Chervitz family, but most of them were gone before I could ever be expected to remember them. Gitel lived a long life, along with her husband David Ridker, known as Fetter Duvid. Duvid and Ridker lived with their daughter, Myrtle, her husband, Oscar, and their son, Neil. Their house was only a few blocks away from ours.

Of course, there are things I do not remember. For example, I do not remember if Gitel and Duvid spoke English. Their natural language was Yiddish (they were from the same town in Ukraine that my great, great plus many greats grandfather the Baal Shem Tov lived in), and if they spoke English, it was an English that they mumbled and that I couldn’t as a child understand.

Gitel was born in 1874, and Duvid in 1870. If we are talking about seders held between, say, 1943 and 1953, Fetter Duvid was between 73 and 83, and Mima Gitel between 69 and 79. I am obviously older now than they were, but to me (and maybe to them, as well), they were ancient then. They also were different – coming from another part of the world unknown to me, but clearly not at all like University City, Missouri. I should add that they both lived into the 1960s, and into their 90s, but we saw them very little after my grandfather died at 66 in 1953. Our fault? Perhaps. Beyond “perhaps”. Our fault, probably.

Back to the seders. You know how they say that seders are usually for the kids? Telling them the story laid out in the Haggadah, and so forth. Well, not these seders. We were superfluous at best. Gitel and Duvid were East European traditional. Does this mean they were orthodox? I suppose so, and certainly would have said so growing up. But, come to think of it, I have no idea if they belonged to, or attended, a synagogue. And as for Myrtle and Oscar, and Myrtle’s sister Rose and her husband Ben? Again, I have absolutely no idea.

But the seders droned on, and we sat their politely (I think). I also think that the entire seder was in Hebrew, going through the standard Haggadah word for word. I could be wrong, but I certainly don’t remember going around the table, everyone reading a paragraph. And the four questions? I don’t think I ever had to ask them at their house. And I don’t remember who did. I could have been considered both too young, and too uneducated. The younger kids certainly did not participate. Maybe Rose and Ben’s son Edward, who was probably 10 or 15 years older than I was?

I think that Duvid and maybe Oscar conducted the seder. Certainly, no women were involved. There was also someone named Nachman, who every year came down from, maybe, Detroit, to attend the seder. I think he was a Chervitz relative, the son of one of the Chervitz siblings, but I am not sure. He would appear for the seder and never be heard from or of any other time.

I was expected to sit through the first part of the seder, before the meal was served. I am not sure who cooked the meal. Myrtle? Gitel? Or was it their maid, who helped serve, clear the table and, I assume, do the dishes. I don’t remember the name of their maid (of course), but she was there every year. (Every family I knew growing up in St. Louis then had an African-American maid, and they were integral to the family’s well being.)

The seder continued after the dinner. I remember spending that time in the living room (with the other kids?) hearing the droning go on. The afikomen? I am sure I was involved in that. No memory.

My grandfather was obviously very close to Gitel. Every Friday, she baked challah, and her would go and pick it up from her house. After my grandfather passed away, our connection with that house loosened. It is possible that my mother’s sister, my Aunt Loraine, kept in closer contact. I suspect she did.

But for my mother (my father clearly had no more of a connection to them than I did), the rhythm of her life and the rhythm of their lives had absolutely nothing in common, and she was not one to identify with past generations. So, although Duvid and Gitel lived to the 1960s, and Myrtle and Oscar (and Rose) lived to the 1990s, I don’t remember any further contact with them. Neil, on the other hand, who was five years younger than I, lived a troubled and much too short life.

After we stopped going to Gitel’s for Passover, we had a seder every year in our house, but it was hardly the same. It was very relaxed. We did have Haggadah’s , but we never got very far in the, and we never had a second act after the meal. When I went away to college, I think I had seders every year with my room mate Bob’s family in Belmont, Massachusetts. Always nice, more like my family’s, not at all like at Gitel’s.

And then, I was grown up. And pretty soon, I was in charge.

We didn’t go to the Tidal Basin, but we took 5 year old Izzy to see the magnificent display of cherry blossoms in close-by Kenwood MD, a fairly extensive area that sees gawkers in cars and on foot every spring. At first, he enjoyed them, but in the middle of the third block, he said very politely, “Let’s leave this neighborhood. I’ve seen enough”.

It is going to be a busy few days here as we get ready for Wednesday night’s Passover seder. Cleaning refrigerators, cleaning the pantry, moving things around, buying food, cooking food, moving plates, pots, pans and silverware. What is equally hard is trying to figure out which of these things should be done first, as each is, in a way, dependent on each other. It is always a bit chaotic (and tiring, to be sure), which is ironic, since the concept and title of a “seder” is that everything is in a set order. Or maybe, it isn’t irony. Maybe it is just that, after a few days of confusion and movement, we can finally sit down at a seder, where the order of everything is set for you in advance.

This year, the seder will be just us, children and their spouses, grand-children, and two cousins, one who lives here, and one who is coming to visit us from Asheville NC and who yesterday confirmed her volunteer role as Edie’s sous-chef for Wednesday. Hannah and Michelle will do their parts, and Joan and Izzy will figure out how to ask the four questions. Izzy said that he will do it in English, like this…..”Ma nishtanah…..”. He also told me that he was going to cheat and look to see where the afikoman was being hidden. We told him that that would be cheating. He didn’t seem to care, “I just want to know where it is going to be hidden. You can tell me, if you want.”

Whenever there is a big prize in one of the big lotteries, someone eventually wins it, against great odds. This is where I think we are with this war (excuse me, military operation) against Iran. It is possible that we (read: Trump) will win the war and that Iran will turn out to be as peaceful as Costa Rica and the world will be a happier place for generations to come. The odds of this happening, however, seem to be about the same as the odds that I will be a big lottery winner, which of course are very small, especially since I never buy any lottery tickets.

Trump says that we are close to a deal with Iran, and Iran says that the American proposal is completely untenable and a deal is nowhere in sight. Trump says that we are having good conversations with Iran, and Iran says that they have been engaged in no conversations with the United States. So what is in fact the truth? Ha! Truth is so 2015.

And in addition to refuting any claim that the Iranian government has been in negotiations with the U.S. (perhaps the U.S. has been talking to the parliamentary chair, but perhaps the executive branch in Iran does not think he represents the government), the Iranian leaders have said they might talk with Vance (viewing him as a potential soft touch, perhaps), but not with Kushner and Witkoff, whom they don’t seem to trust. At least that is what the media reports, but maybe it’s because they are Jews?

While everyone would like to see Iran become another Finland, this just isn’t going to happen. And because we do not have any idea of what a solution acceptable to Mr. Trump would be (because there isn’t one that is possible), we, like Brer Rabbit, find ourselves stuck in tar.

Trump is in a situation that he never expected. Not only are the Democrats, the never-Trump moderate Republicans, and the Independents against him, now part of his own MAGA movement, the part that believed him when he said he was the peace president and there would be no more foreign entanglements, is against him. He is finding himself at odds with his vice president on some items (the vice president, as usual, being required to stay in a “see no evil, hear no evil” situation), and with his Secretary of State, who is concentrating on the Americas, not the Middle East. With his sycophantic Secretary of War (that is what he is) Pete Hegseth and his Christian crusader tattoo (which he thinks makes him look manly, but most people think it makes him look like a fool) in action, he has alienated much of the military, and many of the parents and spouses of members of the military.

So, the stock market has fallen more than 10%, oil is over $100 a barrel and gas prices up over $1 a gallon, fertilizer is in short supply, prices generally are going up, job creation is plummeting and unemployment rising, and there is not one index that is trending positively. Trump has ordered DHS to start paying TSA agents after a six week hold-up (which Democrats and Senate Republicans tried their best to resolve), and will have to answer to the question: if you have the power to do this, why did you wait six weeks?

Yes, our borders may be tightly controlled, but – and again this is obvious – nothing else is, and the country is stumbling along, with many of its constitutional provisions, laws, and long time practices being simply ignored.

We know (we really do) how historians will treat Donald Trump. But what we don’t know is how historians are going to treat the Supreme Court. Because it is the Court which is the only “independent” institution supporting most of what Trump is doing. And it is the Court which has, through its various rulings over time – allowing unlimited money in political races, allowing states to gerrymander at will, giving the president virtual immunity for anything he does, striking down laws to guarantee meaningful voting rights for minorities, etc – allowed Trump to be Trump. And of course the historians will look not only at the decisions of the Court, but will look at the Court’s use of its “shadow docket”, which has allowed them to issue opinions on matters without going through the usual steps (including oral arguments and preliminary rulings). And they will look at the manner in which the Republicans have stacked the Court by refusing to bring the Merrick Garland nomination to the floor of the Senate and rushing through the nomination of Amy Coney Barrett.

To end this….what do you get when you cross an Iranian with a cherry blossom? You get a long blog post.

It looks like the numbers for the No Kings denonstrations were at least 9 million. We went to the demonstration on the DC/MD line in Friendship Heights. Just over 500 people had RSVP’d, and I assume there were more than that number in attendance, mainly neighborhood residents with signs and flags. Most fun was watching the cars passing by, honking and waving, and especially the large trucks with their loud horns that normally you would not want to hear, but this time you cheered as loudly as they honked.

The crowd downtown was obviously larger, and there were demonstrations in many, maybe most, neighborhoods in the metro area.

We probably all saw the photos of the mammoth gatherings in big cities, like Philadelphia, New York, and Minneapolis, and also sizeable demonstrations in places like Boise and Salt Lake City. And 500 in Festus MO.

If Trump keeps acting like he does, the next time the demonstrations will be even bigger. Poor Trump. He has really painted himself into a corner.

Following No Kings, we got  to work at home, preparing for a sort of Havdalah pot luck dinner party for our regular group of twelve. I say sort of pot luck, because while everyone contributes, they do so under strict orders from the menu planning subcommittee. Last night, we had Israeli salad, hummus and stuff, crudities, spanokopita, salmon, squash kugel, imam baldi, cous cous salad, and things I have forgotten, plus cake, ice cream and fresh fruit.

We celebrated the 89th birthday of one of our group, a young 89. But – to show you how old we all are – two of our group didn’t come because they overslept. Did you ever oversleep for a 6:30 p.m. dinner party? The food and company were first rate.

Today, we have 5 year old grandson with us, as his sister and parents have some event at the Japanese embassy. Grandaughter Joan is part of a school group concentrating on Japan and this is one of the events connected with that.

But now Izzy is eating his mac and cheese, practicing the Four Questions. He is telling his grandmother about the good pharoah who existed before Moses was even born. His grandmother asked him where he learned that (previously unknown) story. His response: “It just popped into my mind.”

That reminds me of the story of the young boy who returned from Sunday school and told his father what he learned: “The Jews were slaves in Egypt and ran away. They got to the Red Sea and didn’t know what to do, but God sent rocket ships to carry them safely across, and sent death rays to attack the Egptians.”

His father looked aghast and said: “Did they really teach you that?”

His son responded “No, but if I told you what they really taught me, you wouldn’t believe me.”

In order to give my credit card to a waiter at a restaurant, I have to take my hand, put it in my back right pocket in my pants, pull out my wallet, open my wallet, pull out the correct card, and give it to the waiter. Normal stuff.

Last night, we had an Indian dinner at Malabar, down the street from us (more or less) at Connecticut and Albemarle (more or less). As the meal ended, our very spirited waiter gave us our bill (I was spirited too, to the tune of one glass of Tempranillo) and maybe, but only maybe, I gave him my credit card. I say maybe, but only maybe, because I don’t remember going through any of the steps listed above. But I then did go through the steps, and discovered several cards in my wallet, but none of them were the correct card, which had disappeared. Where could I have left it? I had used it once that morning, but I just tapped on something with it, never losing possession. I was baffled.

Then, our spirited waiter danced to our table and gave me back my credit card. Now, logic says that I had given it to him a few minutes earlier, but – as I said – I had no memory of that or of going through any of the many preliminary steps. It was like he had picked my pocket and taken only my card. Or that he had magically lifted the card from my pocketed wallet, and magically returned it to me at the table. I still don’t understand.

He was quite a character. I guess he was of Indian

descent, but he told us he was from Kenya. He was very friendly, but he was also, by instinct, a teacher. We were his pupils, and he was determined to educate us as best as possible. To teach us how to eat. We ordered a Goan stew with halibut, and a spinach dish. He added okra to the mix, and we ordered some bread, parata. He told us to eat the vegetables with the bread, and the stew with the rice. He told us to eat the vegetables and the bread first, because the parata is better eaten quickly, and the rice will taste the same whether we eat it right now, or wait several minutes. He also told us that the kitchen normally serves the halibut with a flavored rice, but he thinks that the flavor of the flavored rice does not really go with the flavor of the halibut, so he serves it with plain rice.

The comparison with yesterday’s lunch at Karma Modern, another high end Indian restaurant, is fascinating. I had lunch with three old co-workers. Actually, to be honest, they had lunch with an old co-worker. They are all of an age where they still work.

Our waitress was a young woman who was Asian, but not Indian. I ordered a dish called cauliflower and peas, which was served with paratha, whic, by the way, is a buttery, flaky Indian bread. Here is a picture (not mine):

As you can see, the vegetables are around the edge, and the bread folded up, but not cut, in the center of the bowl. I thought this a bit weird, and said to the waitress: how should I eat this?

She was not meant to be a teacher, except in the most progressive of schools. Her answer: Anyway you want to.

I said that I could eat the vegetables with a fork, and the bread with my fingers. I could take the entire paratha out of the bowl, or just take small pieces out. Or I could take pieces of bread and use them to lift the veggies out, not using my fork at all.

She was not of much help. I told her that I thought if I had just come from India, I would probably scoop it out. She agreed and said it took her a while not be disgusted by that. Strange comment from a waitress. But she again said that I could eat it any way I wanted.

Well, okay. But imagine if our Malabar waiter waited at Karma Modern. He would have told me how to eat my lunch in no uncertain terms.

After we got home, we watched the last two episodes of Ripley, the Netflix series based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Talented Mr. Ripley. It was low key, fun, and in black and white. Tom Ripley is a con artist who did not have Fred Trump as a father. But he was given an unlimited allowance by a Trump-like guy to convince his son to come back to America. His son has been hanging out on the  Amalfi Coast.

Things don’t work out as anticipated (to say the least) and Tom Ripley gets into jam after jam, all totally of his own making. As I said watching the 8 part series, “He would never have survived if he didn’t have Patricia Highsmith as a friend.”

Speaking of Highsmith, if you don’t know much about her, read the Wikipedia bio. She belongs in the category “People I am glad I am not.” Near the top of that list.

Tomorrow is another No Kings Day. The weather here should be pretty good. But once again, I probably won’t be able to participate in protests against King Donald the Corrupt. We are hosting dinner for 12  tomorrow night. Just the thing to do right before Passover, right?

I watched a snippet of the King’s Cabinet meeting yesterday.

Digression: Why did I capitalize “Cabinet” or “King’s”? It seems to me that I don’t have any idea what to capitalize any more. I think it all started when we were told we should capitalize “Black” when it is used to describe individuals who have any sub-Saharan African ancestry, but not when we use it in other ways (except when we refer to someone like Leon Black, or the New Zealand All Blacks, who are not usually, Black). And then we were told that perhaps we should call people who are not Black, and whose ancestry does not seem to include natives of the Western Hemisphere (OK, there we go again–should I capitalize Western Hemisphere? Or should I capitalize OK?), or Asians, or Pacific Islanders, or perhaps people from the Middle East (there we go again) or North Africa……we are told we should refercto them as White, not as white. (Did you get lost in that sentence?) The Germans solved this problem centuries ago when they decided to capitalize all nouns. Should we do that? Or should I recognize this as my problem, and mine alone?

In any event, I saw a snippet of Trump’s cabinet meeting (this time not capitalized, it appears) when he switched from talking about Iran, and started to talk about Sharpie pens. He has gotten a fair amount of ridicule and criticism about this, but I have to say I am glad he did it. I, for one, would much rather King Donald the Corrupt talk about Sharpies than about Iran. And it reminded me of my blog – one day I talk about matters of worldly importance, and then I just list a bunch of Western Hemisphere (read, if you wish: western hemisphere) cities by population.

Today, I want to join the crowd and to talk a bit about Sharpies. I understand using a Sharpie when you need a bold signature. But I also know that Sharpies tend to be rather blotty and sloppy, and need to be used with care. But here at my desk, I do have a bunch of various Sharpies, which I do use now and then. But never for crossword puzzles on newsprint. On newsprint, Sharpie ink, like Palestinians and Israelis, just want to spread out from the river to the sea.

Not surprisingly, I have a lot of other ball point pens, as well. There are two reasons for this. First, it is important to me that I have pens that will write in any color I want, and any tone of that color that I want. And I need pens that will write at any width from very fine print to very bold print in any color I want.

And more than this, I must admit that I steal pens whenever I can. Especially from restaurants, when the wait staff uses pens which advertise the restaurant. Alright, I don’t consider this really stealing – why else would they have pens with their names on it, right. I think that they want me to take them home to remind myself to return one day. And shame on all of you who would just leave their advertising pen on their table with your tip. And, by the way, if you feel guilty, you can always add $1 to your tip to cover cost of the pen.

Let’s see. Just sitting here at my desk, I see I have pens from the following establishments: The Secret Garden Cafe in Occoquan VA, Clydes in Chevy Chase, True Food Kitchen in Bethesda, Alex’s Pizza in Rolla MO, Lebanese Taverna in Rockville MD, Black Market Bistro in Garrett Park MD, The Union Grill in Washington PA, Moko Sushi in Rockville MD, Bass’ Hancock House in Hancock NY, and several others.

I would also suggest that none of these pens cost the proprietors of these eating establishments anything near the $5 that Donald the Corrupt says that the taxpayer should be paying for Sharpies.

On another front, it looks like Congress and perhaps even Donald the Corrupt will pass and sign legislation opening all of DHS, with the exception of the already opened ICE and Border Patrol, something that the Democrats suggested long ago. And, of course, Donald the Corrupt and the Republicans will take credit for doing this, suggesting perhaps as crazy (not even a controversial adjective in this case) Florida Congressman (here, again: congressman?) Randy Fine said, that the Democrats want to keep TSA from doing its job in order that Islamic terrorists (other wise known as Democrat allies) can come into the country en masse. (If you don’t know Randy Fine, he’s the one who said he likes dogs much better than Muslims.) A riddle: when is Fine not fine?

Hopefully, TSA and American airports can get back to “normal” soon. As to Iran, who knows? Trump has now said that he won’t stage a ground attack until after Easter (the Iranians had to Google Easter to find out when that is, and why it’s a holiday), which will give him time to mass thousands of troops for some sort of invasion.

When all is over (whenever that is), who is going to govern this land of almost 100 million people? If you ask that question to Donald the Corrupt, he will most likely answer: “Who knows? It could be me. Or it could be me and the new Ayatolla. Working together, side by side. I will even let him use my Sharpie.”

Well, I learned something new today. I learned that Wellington, New Zealand, is the furthest south capital city in the world. I learned something else today. I learned that Canberra, Australia, is the second furthest south capital city. And I learned a third thing. I learned that the third furthest south capital city in the world is Montevideo, Uruguay.

When I learned this third thing, it raised a real question in my mind, so I went online and asked: isn’t Buenos Aires, Argentina, south of Montevideo? After all, virtually all of Argentina is south of all of Uruguay. But, no (was the answer). Montevideo is actually south of Buenos Aires. Go figure.

That raised more questions. What are the largest capital cities metropolitan areas in America? The largest metropolitan area itself is Sao Paolo, with over 23,000,000 people. But of course, it is not a capital, so doesn’t count in the answer to my question. But here goes –

1. Mexico City, Mexico 23,000,000
2. Buenos Aires, Argentina 16,000,000
3. Bogota, Colombia 12,000,000
4. Lima, Peru 12,000,000
5. Santiago, Chile 7,000,000
6. Washington, DC 6,500,000
7. Brasilia, Brazil 5,000,000
8. Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic 4,000,000
9. Asuncion, Paraguay 3,500,000
10. Guatemala City, Guatemala 3,200,000
11. Caracas, Venezuela 3,000,000
12. Port-au-Prince, Haiti 2,700,000
13. San Salvador, El Salvador 2,400,000
14. San Jose, Costa Rica 2,100,000
15. Havana, Cuba 2,100,000
16. Quito, Ecuador 2,000,000
17. La Paz, Bolivia 2,000,000
18. Montevideo, Uruguay, 1,800,000
19. Ottawa, Canada 1,500,000
20. Managua, Nicaragua 1,400,000
21. Tegucigalpa, Honduras 1,300,000
22. Panama City, Panama 1,000,000
23. Kingston, Jamaica 600,000
24. Nassau, Bahamas 300,000
25. Paramaribo, Suriname 260,000
26. Willemstad, Curacao 140,000
27. Georgetown, Guyana 125,000
28. Bridgetown, Barbados 110,000
29. Fort de France, Martinique 90,000
30. Port of Spain, Trinidad 85,000
31. Belize City, Belize 65,000
32. Cayenne, French Guiana 65,000

Maybe this type of list isn’t interesting to you, but it is to me. Most lists are. I could spend a lot of time just making lists. Often, I do. In fact, I just did.

But does anything here surprise you? A number of things did surprise me. For example, I would not have guessed that Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince are both larger than Havana, and that the Island of Hispaniola not only has the two largest cities in the Caribbean, but has a total population close to 25,000,000. Cuba only has about 11,000,000 on the whole island, although it is significantly larger.

It also surprises me that Brasilia, created out of the jungle only 65 years ago, now has a population of 5,000,000. I never would have guessed anything near that.

Other than that, I wouldn’t have put these cities in this order. I don’t think I would have guessed Guatemala City was the largest in Central America, would I?

By the way, I haven’t been to most of these places. You have probably been to more than I have. I have been to eight. You?

Today is a busy day, and I am getting a late start, so this will be short and colorful.

First, as we all know by now, the Florida state Senate district that covers Mar-a-Lago will now be represented by a Democrat. A district that Trump won by over ten points has flipped. I have heard that almost 30 state legislative seats this year have flipped red to blue, and none have flipped the other way.

I heard winner Emily Gregory speak last night and she said, during the campaign, her opponent talked about Trump and she talked about local issues.

I think the lesson is clear. While the GOP brings far right MAGA types into the elections, the Democrats should cater to the middle, not to progressives on the Americcan left.

The other thing we learned about the election was that, even while in Florida, the president voted by mail.

I have to run, but I need to remind you that four days ago, temperature be damned, winter turned into spring. And here is some Washington DC proof. Perhaps even more later.

The DC division of the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) has put together a long questionnaire for prospective candidates for local offices, covering many topics. The length of the questionnaire is off-putting, even if you don’t look at the substance. But, if you want a DSA endorsement, you have to fill it out and, of course, it has to say things consistent with the positions of the DSA. And you have to be prepared for your responses to be public, as they will go onto the DSA website.

The questionnaire goes through the types of subjects you would expect it to, such as affordable housing, inclusivity, reproductive choice, defunding the police, a Green New Deal, and so forth. But near the end, there is a topic that you might not be expecting: Palestine and Israel. Do you support the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement? Do you pledge not to have any affiliation with any Zionist lobby groups, or any think tanks that “obfuscate the reality of the occupation”? Have you taken, or will you agree not to take, any “political junkets” to Israel? Will you agree not to attend any event “whose content or purpose contravenes DSA’s stated platform and positions on anti-Zionism, apartheid, occupation or BDS (not including cultural institutions or synagogues)? Do you pledge to oppose legislation that “harms Palestinians or supporters of the Palestine solidarity movement….”? The latter would include supporting sending any military or economic support to Israel, or that argues against or punishes pro-Palestinian demonstrations on campuses. Do you oppose all student exchange programs in Israel, or any support to Israeli educational institutions?

And the list goes on.

One of the candidates for DC mayor this year (the current three term mayor, Muriel Bowser, is not running for reelection) is Janeese Lewis George. George is a 37 year old, Howard University educated lawyer, who currently represents Ward 4 on the DC City Council. Ward 4 is a very mixed ward, racially, religiously and economically mixed. For those who know DC, if you drive north on 16th Street NW, heading from the White House to the DC/Silver Spring line, you will, for the most part, be driving through the heart of Ward 4. Mayor Bowser represented Ward 4 before she was elected mayor.

George identifies as a DSA member and a progressive. She signed the DSA agreement and pledged not to attend any events of the type listed in the agreement. At a meeting held late last week at an Orthodox synagogue in DC, attended by representatives of all (I think, all) DC Jewish congregations and certain other organizations, George apologized for her answers to the questionnaire and apparently did what candidates often do: she blamed it on one of her staffers who filled out the questionnaire, and said she did not see it and would have answered it differently.

But, she did not change her answers, did not apologize publicly or agree to do so, and apparently has not commented, or responded to questions, on the subject since. We have no idea where this will go.

But she is a serious candidate for mayor, obviously. And DSA members can be elected mayor of big cities (ever hear of a guy named Momdani?). Free DC (an organization that, to my knowledge, has taken no position on Israel or Palestine), which actively supports DC statehood, yesterday announced their support for George for mayor. My guess is that her position on Israel/Palestine played no part in their decision at all, but it shows that George has a lot of support in a city filled with progressives of all sorts.

There will be a Democratic primary in June, which will in effect decide the November mayoral race. There are at this time only two real candidates. George is one, and Kenyan McDuffie the other. McDuffie also served on the City Council (first representing Ward 5, and then as an at-large member) and resigned his at-large position to run for mayor. He is a Howard graduate and has a law degree from the University of Maryland, and is significantly more moderate in his positions than George is. At this point, he is the candidate I would support.

I have only seen one poll, and I am not sure how recently it was taken. It shows George with 44% and McDuffie with 41%. Each candidate has received endorsements from other DC office holders, labor unions, and organizations. It is not clear who will be the candidate; it is not too late for other significant candidates to enter the race, although it is getting later and later.

Listed as an organization supporting George is Jews for Justice, a progressive organization whose positions I often agree with. I don’t know whether or not their endorsement will be affected by this latest revelation. My guess is that it might be.

First question for a Monday morning. What is the national dish of Iran? If you Google the question, you get Gormeh Sabzi, which makes you hungry just looking at the pictures. (I know, you never heard of Gormeh Sabzi, and if you were asked to identify Gormah Sabzi, you would have said something like: the national hero of Albania?)

But as of this morning, Gormeh Sabzi has been replaced as Iran’s national dish. It has been replaced by TACO, named not after an Albanian hero, or even after a Persian rug, but after our very own Donald Trump. Trump Always Chickens Out. After promising to destroy Iran’s energy infrastructure if the Strait of Hormuz was not opened by this evening EDT, Trump has given the Iranians 5 more days.

Not only that, but he has given them 5 more days on the basis of the very positive talks the United States has had with the Iranians yesterday. Okay, it is true that the day before yesterday, Trump said he couldn’t be expected to have any talks with the Iranians because everyone worth speaking with (sorry, talking to, or lecturing) had been killed, and there was no one left to talk to. But, apparently, among the 93 million inhabitants of the land three times the size of Ukraine, someone was been found with a telephone (or maybe even a Zoom account) and the ability to speak in English.

I mention a telephone or a Zoom account because obviously (well, maybe that is too strong a word), Steve Witcoff (whose parents once bought a Persian rug) or Jared Kushner (whose parents once considered buying a Persian rug) did not spend the weekend in Iran enjoying Gormeh Sabzi.

So the question is: with whom did which Americans speak? I wondered about that, and wondered if, as a part of his TACO move, Trump just made up the talks. I will be honest, and tell you that I didn’t really think this, but when I just looked up details about the conversations, I found the BBC reporting that apparently no such talks took place.

TACO. TACO. TACO. Of course, TACO is one of Trump’s better qualities. Otherwise, where would we be?

Before the lack of communications with Iranian officials took place, I did wonder what could have been discussed, and would could have made Trump so optimistic that he would decide to give Iran at last 5 more days of electricity. Before I tell you what I concluded, think about this yourself. What could Trump have heard that would have made him so optimistic?

The cynics among you might have said: well, this gives our three warships and 2500 Marines time to get to the Persian Gulf so that they could go into action when Iran has been so crippled that they can no longer use their Zoom accounts. And you may be correct.

The more practical among you might have said: well, Iran must have realized that they were going to lose Kharg Island anyway, so that they have agreed, in return for peace, to give up Kharg Island to the United States, which will take it first as a territory and later as the 56th state, behind Venezuela, Cuba, Greenland, Canada and Puerto Rico, but well ahead of the District of Columbia.

But here is what I was thinking: if the Iranians were able to convince Trump to give them 5 more days of electricity, they must have offered something very very important to him. What could be so important that it would convince Trump that Iran’s energy infrastructure should be spared (for almost a whole week!!)? I think that Iran has agreed to abolish mail-in voting. A sea change in the position of the Islamic Republic.

Switching subjects (I am happy to say), I am happy to say (yes, that bears repeating) that we attended Theater J yesterday and saw a production of Jonathan Spector’s Eureka Day, which I enjoyed completely. We had seen the play in the Mosaic Theatre production in 2019, and it was equally enjoyable then (perhaps more so, because I did not know what to expect). It’s a long one-act play about a private school in the San Francisco Bay area, which prides itself on inclusivity, individual choice, and social justice. And then it is hit by a epidemic of mumps, receives a health department directive that the school is to be closed and no students allowed back until they have received all of the recommended vaccines, and discovers that almost half of the children have not been vaccinated. What to do? And, yes, it is a comedy. A great, and more than timely, show.

We also started watching Ripley last night, an 8 episode, black and white adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley, which was also adapted for film in 1999. I think it is a little slow, but so far worth watching and I think we will see the 6 remaining episodes. It takes place in the Amalfi Coast village of Altrani (yes, a real place), with occasional excursions to Naples. The time is the early 1950s.

I have been in Naples, I think, three times. First, in 1962. Second, in the early 1970s. Finally, on just a day trip from Rome, with Edie, Michelle and Hannah (and my sister Joan) around 1990.

I remember thinking, from my first two visits, how chaotic (and fascinating) Naples was. I remember a New Yorker article 50 or 60 years ago, which called Naples a city undergoing a nervous breakdown, and I agreed completely. I remember many details about my first two visits, and they include a late night taxi ride across the city (was I by myself or with someone?), and the taxi fare increasing (no meter, just conversation) as we went along. I remember wondering if we were even going where we were supposed to be going. I remember getting concerned (even beyond the money) about the driver. I remember him saying that if I (we?) didn’t want to pay the fare he was charging, he would let us off right where we were, and we would be lucky if we ever made it to our destination that time of night.

The problem is that I remember this both distinctly and vaguely. Edie thinks I am imagining it, or it was a dream. Maybe, but…..I know I (we?) got to where we were going ( to my (our) pensione, is that the word?) safe and sound.

I always wanted to go back to Naples for more than a night or two. One more thing that ain’t gonna happen.

While we were growing up, in school and after, how many times did we say it was the fault of the Germans? They could have stopped Hitler from gaining power, and from exerting power the way he did. All they needed was courage that they clearly did not have. It was the fault of the Germans.

Guess what? We seem all to be Germans today. And we all know it. And it looks like there is very little we can do in order not to be Germans. I say that looking at myself, 83 years old with no influence with the public. But it is also true looking at others, even looking like the most influential anti-Trumpers. They seem to have no more power to stop Trump than I do. We are all Germans.

Yesterday was not a good day for my social or political psyche. We spent the day on a short trip to Occoquan VA, had a nice lunch, popped into a couple of shops, went to their elaborate riverfront park, and toured some of the beautiful south Fairfax County residential areas in and around Clifton VA. The weather was beautiful, the company good, and it was relaxing.

During the day, I saw that Bob Mueller had passed away. I wasn’t really surprised because I knew that he had been sick, but it was too bad. He was a man with an extraordinary career dedicated to public service, who was given the very difficult job of leading an investigation on whether the Russians interfered with our election, whether the Trump campaign worked with the Russians in that regard, and whether Trump was involved in obstruction of justice.

He was hamstrung in his job in that Trump was then the president and there was longstanding Department of Justice policy against bringing a criminal indictment against a sitting president. In light of that restriction, Mueller apparently decided that investigating Trump for criminal conduct would not be a worthwhile or proper thing to do. He also (and I am not sure of the rationale here) never spoke with Trump and never sought his testimony or deposition. Mueller concluded therefore that although he could not say that Trump was guilty of any criminal activity, he might reach a different conclusion had he had the authority to conduct a full investigation.

Some time after the Mueller Report was released to the public, I remember that Bob Mueller was called to testify before Congress, and his testimony was a failure. He seemed old and distracted and his memory did not seem as sharp as you would hope. This was a year or so before he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, and it is possible that he was already feeling the effects of the disease that would end his life six or so years later.

So, while I was sorry to hear that he had passed away, as I said it did not come as a shock. But the response to his death by our abhorrent president was a shock, even though it has become so difficult for Trump to shock me any more. I quote from Trump’s Truth (sic) Social (sic) post:

“Robert Mueller just died. Good, I’m glad he’s dead. He can no longer hurt innocent people.”

I put a comment on Face Book that in effect said that there was maybe one person happy that Bob Mueller died, but there would be billions who would be happy if the same thing happened to the president. Obviously, this is so.

But there was more than this that upset me yesterday. After we got home from our venture, I turned on CNN and watched a report that they had from southern Beirut, that was concentrated on the effect of Israeli strikes on children in the area. It was heartbreaking. And, as the CNN reporter stated as the cameras showed residential buildings that had been hollowed out by the bombing: this neighborhood, a week ago, was bustling and vibrant. I understand that Israel is trying to take Hezbollah out of the picture, but at what cost? And I could same thing about the “mistake” the U.S. made when it killed about 150 young school girls. At what cost is this war worth it?

With respect to the war in Iran, it becomes clearer and clearer that Trump has no idea what he is really doing there. He says that Iran’s ability to respond to the American and Israeli attacks has been destroyed, although this obviously is not true, as they continue to send drones into Israel, the UAE, Diego Garcia and Kuwait. He says that the leadership has been wiped out, and any possible successor leaders have been wiped out (he discounts the son of Khamenei as a leader, hardly ranking him as a human being), and there is no one to talk to. He says that we are almost through with the war, but he is not ready to talk peace and he is bringing 2500 (or is it now 5000) Marines and three battleships into the area from San Diego. And from Israel, where the nuclear center town of Dimona was hit, Netanyahu has said, in effect: “Now, I am mad. Now, you will see how mad I am.”

Oil and gas prices have skyrocketed and the experts all say that there has been damage to various facilities that cannot be quickly repaired and that we are in for higher than necessary prices for the next year or two, at least. If the Strait of Hormuz stays blocked, this can go on longer. My assumption is that Trump wants to use the military forces on the way to the Persian Gulf to capture the Island of Kharg, where most Iranian refining and shipping takes place and bring Iranian oil, like Venezuelan oil, under American control. Rotsa ruck, as they used to say.

The way to avoid this takeover? Maybe (only maybe) if Iran obeys Trump’s latest demand – open Hormuz by Monday night (our time), or see your power plants destroyed. Well, as Nick Kristof said last night on MS NOW, if that happens, Iran will target power plants and desalination plants in its neighboring countries and where are we then?

Of course other things are going bad as well – the war in Ukraine, the situation in Cuba, and so forth. But I want to end this by giving a few remarks about our pitiful Congress.

Explain this to me. The Department of Homeland Security has not been funded, and the Department’s various agencies are running (or have run) out of money or authority to spend money. Well, not all of the agencies, because the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency (ICE) was given money through the Big Beautiful (sic) Bill, so that it can keep operating without getting the additional funds that it would get if the DHS bill is passed in its current form. But the other agencies – the Coast Guard, TSA, FEMA and many others – cannot keep operating.

Everyone in Congress, Democrat and Republican, wants to fund all of DHS other than ICE (which the Democrats don’t want to fund, but which has enough money from the BBB anyway, making the debate meaningless). The Democrats have offered to fund everything but ICE, which will have no effect on ICE, until changes to its operations are negotiated. The Republicans won’t agree to this unless ICE is now included in the appropriations bill. In my mind, the Democrats have by far the better argument, but Republicans think the Democrats should just give up, and who knows what Independents think?

Why do I think the Democratic stand is better? Because we are treating those targeted by ICE (undocmented immigrants, properly documented immigrants, U.S. citizens) as bad as Germany treated Jews, Romani, and gays during the early years of Nazi rule.

But the fact that the argument over ICE is, on the ground, meaningless, and every thing else is agreed to, and Congress can’t do anything but blame the other side, is just sick. Pitiful.

I started by saying we were Germans. Are we? Is it possible that we might even be worse?

On Thursday night, we watched Nuremberg and last night we watched One Battle After Another. As you probably know, One Battle won six Oscars last week, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Casting, Best Adapted Screen Play, Best Film Editing, and Best Supporting Actor (Sean Penn). In fact, if you look on Wikipedia, you will see that the film has been nominated for 458 awards, and has received 227. According to IMDb on the other hand, Nuremberg has been nominated for 17 awards and won only 4.

The films are in fact polar opposites. By that, I mean that the crew of Nuremberg started with a very interesting and equally important story line, and wound up with a film barely worth watching (i.e., worth watching, but barely), while Battle took a rather silly plot and made of it an extraordinary film.

As you might know, the Best Casting Oscar which was given out last week was the first such Oscar award. I hadn’t missed it before, of course, but now that it is a thing, I hope it continues. After all, think how important casting is.

A digression. You may think you know this, but why are Oscars called Oscars? Well, according to Google AI, sometime in the 1930s, the Academy’s Library said that the statuettes looked just like her Uncle Oscar. Perhaps, Uncle Oscar was not amused.

The casting for Battle really was impeccable. Usually, in any film, you can at least point to someone and say that they didn’t really do a great job. Not in Battle, where I think everyone was at the top of their game. Having said that, if I had to pick out one actor to give a Best award to, I don’t think it would be Sean Penn (this is not to deny that Penn did a very fine job). I would have given it to one of the other “big three” in the film: Benicio del Toro (he could not have been better) playing the protector of a large group of “illegal immigrants”; Leonardo DiCaprio (who had to show every emotion possible to an actor) playing the former revolutionary now barely getting by; and the actress with the wonderful name Chase Infiniti, playing DiCaprio’s 16 year old daughter (she is really 25, but could certainly pass for 16; in fact, she did). Sean Penn played the demented law enforcement official out to erase his past, so he could join a white nationalist group which required its few members to have no stains in their history.

Another digression. Watching Penn, all I could think of was George C. Scott, both when he played Patton in Patton, and when he played General Turgidson (“Buck”) in Dr. Strangelove. You know what I mean? Perfect posture, rigid body control, need to demonstrate unstoppable power. So controlled that much of the drama came with facial contortions. A sneer, a pursed lip, a blinking eye, a tic here or there. That was Scott; that was Penn. After we watched the film, I Googled “Sean Penn George C. Scott” wondering if anyone else saw that. I came across a review written by John Griswold in The Common Reader who thought that Penn was “channeling George C. Scott”. What a great reviewer he is.

One Battle After Another runs for close to three hours, but you don’t know it. It moves so quickly, and is put together so deftly, that the time just floats on by. This is by and large the result of extraordinarily good directing and film editing; both worthy of the Oscars they received. But another facet of the film should be mentioned – the music. You know that sometimes you don’t remember the music of a film at all, and sometimes you think of it as backing up the action in a positive sense. But in Battle, my reaction was different. The original music (it is combined with some golden oldies, which are all perfect for where they are used) was like another cast member. It was essential in setting the mood(s) of the film. I can’t begin to identify the genre. Is plink-plink a genre? It is so original and so well done.

What a shame Nuremberg couldn’t compete. Nuremberg is based on an historical record; apparently the trial sequences are from the trial transcripts, and much of what takes place outside of the trial is from memoirs of those who were present, but it doesn’t seem that way. It seems like relatively poorly thought-out dialogue in too many places.

And (hearkening back to Battle), I have to say, first, that I don’t remember any of the music in Nuremberg and, second, that I thought the casting was pretty awful.

Russell Crowe played one of the two leads in the film. He was Hitler’s number 2, Hermann Goering. (A mini-digression: he gained over 50 pounds for the role, and then had to lose them. Can’t be healthy for a 60 year old). He did look pretty much like Goering. Did he talk like him? Who knows? But I don’t criticize his being cast for this part.

But why did they cast Rami Malek to play the army psychiatrist, Douglas Kelly, the psychiatrist brought to Nuremberg to help the prosecution analyze the Nazis on trial? Malek, an American actor of Egyptian descent, looks a lot like Fareed Zakaria, and not at all like a Douglas Kelly. And they cast, as U.S. Supreme Court Justice Robert Jackson, the chief American prosecutor at the trial, Michael Shannon. Maybe I should know Shannon, but I don’t. He played a very unpleasant and stiff Justice Jackson. He doesn’t look anything like Jackson did; he is probably 6 inches taller, at least, for one thing, and much thinner. He just wasn’t believable, to me, in the role.

And the relationship between Goering and Kelly? I don’t know what really happened, but their relationship became very buddy/buddy. And Kelly was sure that he had played Goering sufficiently to help Jackson and the prosecution, but then it turned out that maybe it was Goering who was the better psychiatrist, and that it was Kelly who was played, and that this led to the case against Goering at trial suffering, until a sputtering Jackson was saved by the British representative.

It reminded me of the recent hearing for HHS Secretary, when nominee Mullin was asked by a Democrat whether he would obey an illegal order from Trump, and Mullin said “he would not give me an illegal order”. The British lawyer asked Goering if Hitler could have asked him to do anything that would have turned him against Hitler. Goering, more honest than Mullin, said “no”.

I said the film was “barely” worth watching. By that, I mean that it does show you a part of the history of the Nuremberg trials (the use of psychiatry) that I am not (and probably you are not) familiar with. Learning about this was worth seeing the film. But there is no other reason to select it among the many, many choices we all have.

I am thinking about my smart phone. I recently heard that 80% of baby boomers (all younger than I am) use their smart phones at least seven times a day. I also read a few days ago that, in addition to worrying about teenagers overusing their smart phones, there is now worry that older adults are overusing their smart phones, as grandchildren complain that their grandparents don’t talk to them when sharing a meal because they are continually checking their phones. As they used to say, “I resemble that remark”.

A digression. I grew up thinking that “I resemble that remark” was a clever line created by my Aunt Lee. But, lo and behold, my smart phone just told me that both Curly (of the Three Stooges) and the Marx Brothers used it long before. End of digression.

I admit to living much of my life on my phone. And, yes, I do get stuck now and then watching “reels” that show up on Face Book, but mainly I use my phone to check news, sports, occasionally weather, and to answer whatever questions pop into my mind as the day goes on. Last night, I asked Edie: How did I ever learn anything before I had a smart phone? I don’t know the answer to that question.

Take yesterday (you will have to bear with me on this, as I try to reconstruct yesterday). After having lunch with old friend Stephen Marcus at Paragon Thai, where we were the only eat-in lunch customers, I drove down to Dupont Circle to see the books outside at Second Story, something I had not done all winter. I found a copy of Vincent Sardi, Jr.’s book about his New York restaurant, which he had signed and inscribed to a customer, and put down my $4.

It’s basically a recipe book, and interesting (if it indeed has recipes used in the restaurant) because the recipes are (1) extraordinarily simple, and (2) often use canned ingredients, like canned beets and artichoke hearts. Sort of weird. I am sure that does not happen today.

When I got home, I went to my smart phone and looked up the history of Sardi’s, and it was interesting. Started by Vincent Sardi, Sr. and his wife in a basement location in a building that was torn down, it moved to its present location in 1927 and, after it moved, its business declined and Vincent, Sr. decided that he needed a gimmick. He hired an immigrant from Russia to make caricatures of celebrities to put on the restaurant’s walls (something he had seen in a restaurant in Paris). The artist’s name was Alex Gard, who drew the portraits for years in return for free food.

Alex Gard (my next smart phone look up), really Alexei Mikhailovich Kremkov, left Russia after the 1917 revolution, wound up in the United States (and in the U.S. military), and drew over 700 caricatures until he collapsed on Seventh Avenue and died at age 49.

His first caricature was of a man name Ted Healy (another smart phone look up). Ted Healy, a name totally unfamiliar to me, was not only a vaudeville performer in New York City, but was the highest paid vaudeville performer in the 1920s, earning for a time (so says Wikipedia) the equivalent of $150,000 a week. Among the things he did as a stage performer (and he was in several films), he created the Three Stooges (another smart phone look up), a trio that went through several changes before it settled on Moe, Curly and Larry.

Healy moved to Los Angeles, and at a party at the Trocadero, where he was celebrating the birth of his first (and, as it turned out, only) child, he got into a drunken fist fight with Albert Broccoli (future director) and actor Wallace Beery, staggered out, was found on the street, taken to a hospital and died at age 39, four days after the birth of his son. You can read a lot about this, as it is unclear whether the death was a result of the beating he took in the nightclub or underlying problems, including those relating to his apparent long time alcoholism.

The person that picked him up and took him to the hospital was a wrestler who went by the name of Man Mountain Dean. I, of course, had to look him up, and discovered that Man Mountain Dean weighed over 300 pounds, had a successful professional wrestling career (Dean was his wife’s maiden name; his was Leavitt), was a Miami policeman (until he was caught visiting Al Capone at his Florida house), and a U.S. Army Master Sergeant who was stationed at Ft. Richie Maryland (I wrote about Ft. Richie sometime last year – well worth reading about and visiting) and taught hand to hand combat. He then retired to a farm outside of Atlanta where he apparently lived a quiet life.

So there you have it: Vincent Sardi, Sr. and Jr., Alex Gard, Ted Healy, The Three Stooges, Albert Broccoli and Wallace Beery, and Man Mountain Dean. Without my smart phone, where would I be? What would I know?

And there was one more look up. I read that Ted Healy was once a guest on the radio show, It Pays to be Ignorant. We had never heard of that show, but it ran for years and years (and for a short time on television) and was a spoof of shows like Quiz Kids. Guests were asked questions like “Where did the Boston Massacre take place” and then gave “funny” answers. We found on my smart phone episode after episode that you can listen to, and chose one at random.

Don’t let anyone tell you that entertainment has gone downhill. This was one bad show (IMHO) filled with corny one liners. The question of the night was “What drink do we get from tea leaves?”. One panelist said he never drank anything stronger than pop. But, he said, Pop will drink anything. That’s the caliber of the show.

Okay, enough about my smart phone addiction. We also watched the new(ish) film Nuremberg last night. What a disappointing and  bad film! (Maybe I will review it tomorrow, because…….the topic is pretty important) And then I watched the first half of the basketball game between the St. Louis University Billikens (you want to know what a billiken is? Use your smart phone) and the University of Georgia in the first round of the NCAA tournament. Billikens won 102-77. Hope they keep it up. And hope future games start earlier than 10 p.m.

My writing style is simple and conversational, and it does serve its purpose. But it is far from professional writing. Every once in a while I come upon a paragraph (or a book) that tells me how puerile my writing style really is. I found an example yesterday, when I picked up Farewell Espana: the World of the Sephardim Remembered by Howard Sachar, a book published in 1994 and which I read (or read through) at about that time.

Here is the first paragraph of Howard’s book (by the way, I call him Howard because I met him once at dinner at a friend’s condominium, and that’s what I called him then; he died in 2018):

“Cordoba meanders somnolently along the banks of the Guadalquivir River. A town of perhaps a quarter-million inhabitants, it is sustained by mercury and bauxite mined in a pine-clad sierra of neighboring mountains, by fruit and vegetables cultivated in an ochred checkerboard of enveloping farmland. We are in Spain’s subtropical meridian, the apex of a triangle formed by Seville, ninety miles to the southwest, and Granada, a hundred miles to the southeast. Although each city in its time once served as the capital of Andalusia, it is Cordoba that best preserves the medieval legacy. Its Mezquita, or Great Mosque, defines that heritage. A Moorish phantasmagoria of striated marble pillars and garnet-and-ivory arches, the mighty edifice was begun by Caliph Abd al-Rachman I in the mid-700s and doubled in size by the Calif Abd al-Mansur I two centuries later. Even now, the Mezquita’s crenellated walls and sculptured arcades overshadow, all but devour, the garish cruciform Renaissance cathedral recklessly carved out of its viscera by later Christian conquerors.”

There is no way I could write like that. I would have simply said: “Cordova is on the Guadalquivir River, about 100 miles from both Granada and Seville. It once had Jews and Muslims and Christians living together. There is an old mosque there with red and white striped arches that is so big that the Christians put a church inside. Very unique.”

And that is why I will never be a writer.

I am sitting here this morning at about 10 a.m. watching the Dow lose several hundred more points. It is now hovering around 46,000, which means it has lost about 10% since Trump started his war with Iran. My phone tells me that the average price of gasoline in the United States is now $3.96, which is a rise of close to 30% of what gas cost before the start of the war. Pam Bondi said that we should be talking about how Trump raised the Dow average to 50,000, and Donald Trump said that the price of gasoline in some parts of the country was now $1.95 and that everyone would get there soon.

I did watch a portion of the hearing of future HHS Secretary Markwayne Mullin yesterday and, once again, wish members of Congress were better at asking questions. Of course, I don’t know if there are internal rules that limit what questions can be asked at these hearings, but have never heard of any limits.

For example, there was a question asked to Mullin: if the president gave you an order to do something that was illegal, what would you do? Mullin’s “answer” was: the president would never ask me to do that. The questioner, a Democrat, then just let that go. I can not imagine why.

I would have asked Mullin a few simple questions. For example, I’d ask “Do you consider yourself MAGA?” No matter what his answer would be, I’d then ask him to define MAGA. I would also have asked him if he could name any areas where he and president Trump have different positions. And after that, I’d ask whether he felt that Trump has yet made any mistakes as president, and to identify them.

Mullin did say that, once he takes over HHS, there would be no entries into homes without a warrant, unless the ICE was pursuing someone who ran into a house while being pursued. That was good, but did anyone ask him if ICE and related agency personnel would stop wearing masks, would have operating body cameras, and would have identification on their uniforms and reading to show someone who requests seeing identification? If so, I didn’t hear that, and didn’t see anything reported on that.

With that in mind, I admit to being a bit confused as to why all of HHS, with the exception of ICE, has not been funded. Everyone agrees that it should be. And everyone agrees that ICE has, through the BBB, already been given enough money to carry on its activities whether or not ICE is funded for this year. So, even if the Republicans don’t want to change the practices of ICE agents (although we know from Mullin’s testimony that they will change its policy regarding the need for judicial warrants), you would think they would agree to fund the remainder of the department, and leave the ICE question to further discussions. The Republicans don’t give anything up regarding ICE by doing this, and they keep the other important activities of HHS going and HHS personnel paid for their work.

I recently read Stuart Stevens’ book The Conspiracy to End America. Stevens is a former GOP political campaign advisor, a founder of the Lincoln Project (anti-Trump Republicans), and a frequent panelist on TV. His short book is very well organized and important. He talks about disinformation, party discipline, big money in politics, political lawyers, and political demonstrations. It was published in 2023 (before the second Trump election) and I recommend it highly. It is not at all outdated.

Stuart Stevens (if in fact he wrote the book himself) writes quite well. Better than I do. But he is no Howard Sachar.

We watched Venezuela beat the United States, 3-2, in the World Baseball Classic. The only scoring for the U.S. was on a Bryce Harper home run.

I must admit to rooting for Venezuela, considering how the United States has treated it over the past year. And I was not alone. The stadium in Miami, where the Marlins usually play to empty seats, was totally packed, and the Venezuelan fans were by far in the majority. What does that show you?

There were no politics on display, although the undercurrent must have been there. The Nationals were not represented on either team, although Geraldo Parra (last year Nats first base coach) was the Venezuela first base coach, and ex-Nats Harper and Kyle Schwarber (now both Phillies) were on the U.S. team.

And yesterday’s Cardinals-Nats spring training game was also televised, and was true to form. With excellent pitching, the Nats won, 1-0, but they only had four hits. Their spring training record is now 14-7. This puts them in second place in the 15 team Grapefruit League, two games behind Atlanta.

I think the new full time telecast duo of Dan Kolko and Kevin Frandson will do just fine, and the third member of the team, Alexa Datt, who will be interviewing players from the dugout, is a welcome addition. She is a local native, but has spent the last few years in St. Louis with the Cardinals, Blues, and Billikens. I just wish we knew how we are going to watch the season on FIOS.

Enough of baseball, you say. Get on with the real stuff.

It looks like no one is going to accept the invitation to Trump’s party, and he will have to figure out how to extricate us from Iran himself. The ingrates at NATO won’t help him, China and Russia are both smart enough not to help him (although everything he is doing seems to help them), and Israel won’t help him because their business in Iran is not yet complete.

Joe Kent, a right wing, white supremicist kook who was totally unqualified to direct our counterterrorism efforts has resigned with a stinging letter that says that Iran did not pose an imminent threat to the U.S. and maybe no threat at all, and that Trump was, in effect, duped by Netanyahu to start the war. He of course may be right. Or he may just be looking for a way to bash Israel. Or both.

Trump on the other hand says just what you would expect. First, that he really doesn’t know Joe Kent at all. And second, that he always thought he was bad, very bad, on terrorism. This, of course, provides the obvious reason to choose him for the job. Trump wanted a counterterrorism chief he could ignore, so he could rely on his own bones and guts. Fair enough.

So what is the Board of Peace doing? How are the Palestinians in Gaza faring? What are we doing to stop violence in the West Bank? Has Hamas given up their arms in Gaza? Has Hamas stopped its activities in the West Bank? What does the future hold for the one million displaced in Lebanon? Will Hezbollah be destroyed there? And in Iran, what will we or Israel do to keep Iran from rebuilding conventional weapons and working again on its nuclear program (whatever that really is)? And when Israel be ready to stop?

Other things to think about? Ukraine? Cuba? The entite global economy? The operation of the 2026 midterms?

Should we just go back to baseball?

The title is just for your reference. The post is about baseball.

It’s been a while since I have even mentioned baseball. So I will start this morning with some thoughts I have. Those of us in DC who follow the Nationals find it a little harder this year because the Washington Post (our former local newspaper) has stopped reporting on the Nats’ spring training. Not that they aren’t covering it as intensely as they used to. They aren’t covering the Nats at all. I don’t know what the case will be when the season starts on the 26th of the month (that is only 9 days away), but they don’t have one reporter in West Palm Beach and I don’t know that they have published one article on the team.

So let me give you a quick fill-in. There is a new manager and a new general manager, and new coaches, and no one knows anything about any of them. There are players from last year (some of whom no one remembers at all) and a bunch of new ones that no one knows at all. Any local newspaper worth its salt would keep local fans up to date. The Washington Post clearly is no longer a local paper, and we have no other. Of course, you can follow the Nats through many websites and I am sure some people use them, but these websites do not include the Post’s  website. If you go to sports today, you will find 10 articles on baseball and none of them are on the Nats. Weird?

It gets worse. Up until this year, the Nats games were on TV on a network owned by the Baltimore Orioles, called MASN. It has been said that all of the Nats games will be streamed on MLB-TV, which costs $100 for the season, but that they will also be on Cable TV on a station yet to be announced, 9 days before the season starts.

Of course, the Nats are not doing too well, and haven’t done well at all since their World Series season in 2019. With new folks in charge, and a very young team, it is expected that 2026 will still be a rebuild year (referred to by some as a rebuild of the failed rebuild). And I know you can’t go by what happens in spring training, but this spring training (to the extent I could follow it, and I didn’t try too hard) has been interesting.

First, of the 15 teams that hold their spring training in Florida (the Grapefruit League), the Nats are in 3rd place. Second, of the 15 teams that have their spring training in Florida, the Nats’ pitchers have the lowest Earned Run Average (that means that their pitchers have pitched better than any other of the teams). Third, of the 15 teams that have their spring training in Florida, the batting averages of the Nats’ hitters is in last place.

Now, all of that is weird enough, but it becomes more weird since, for the last few years, the Nats’ hitters have not done too badly, while their pitching has been, by and large, pitiful. Very hard to understand. Very hard.

And especially hard to understand since it is so hard to read anything beyond these mere statistics.

But wouldn’t you know it? Once I wrote these words, I saw that the Nats scored 12 runs yesterday in beating the Mets. The start of something big? The exception that proves the rule? None of the above?

I also see that Venezuela will be the United States opponent in the finals of the World Baseball Classic tonight. I must say that I don’t really care who wins. No, that’s not really true. I would like Venezuela to win. It’s like Trump says: I am so tired of winning.

I did notice something else of interest. Do you know that everyone on Venezuela’s team has an Hispanic name, and no one (that means no one) on the U.S. has an Hispanic name? That means all of the Hispanic MLB players involved in the WBC decided not to play for the U.S. Take that, Mr. Trump!And there is something else that I find interesting. The U.S. team not only has no Hispanics, it only has one Black player, Byron Buxton of the Twins. I know that African-American players are not over represented throughout the league, but, for example, the Nats have at least 8 Black players on their 40 man roster.

And speaking of statistics, Wordle will tell you that I have a winning streak of 18 days. Why they say this, I don’t know, because by my own statistics, I am about at 103 days. The Wordle app says that I missed a day a few weeks ago, but I think the app is wrong. But….in any event, I just discovered (because it is sort of hidden in the app) that you can go back and play puzzles that you missed (it’s called the Wordle Archive), and I have gone back and played four that they say I missed over the past 8 months. The app tells me that I missed about ten games in July (I guess it is possible) and I will go back and play them.

But even if you go back and play successfully the days that you skipped over, it does not affect your days-in-a-row statistics. But for the record, I would like everyone to know that the last time I actually did not get a Wordle correct was in October of 2024. Now, why I would like everyone to know that, I have no idea. A character fault on my part, I think.

Has the fear (or the real possibility) of living in a semi-totalitarian country finally got to me? Last night, while asleep…….

I tell Edie that I might have to disappear for a while. She should not worry.

There is a man who looks pretty much like John Kerry (remember him?), who has expressed an interest in running for president. This has immediately put his life in danger, as all of us members of the political underground know.

One day, as he walks down a city street, he is surrounded by four men, dressed in dark colors, wearing masks. They look like they work for ICE. They surround and capture the Kerry look-alike (let’s just call him JK for simplicity) and take him away. It is clear that the administration has exacted revenge on a man who has threatened the right wing political status quo.

But, no! The populace is wrong. ICE has not captured JK. He has been abducted by four members of the political underground (let’s just call it PU, although that might not be the best smelling anagram), who bundle him into an unmarked van, drive quickly up a back alley, change cars, and then escort him to the service entrance of a fancy hotel.

They take him up to a “safe suite”, where he is met by a make up artist, a hair stylist, a vocal coach, a theatrical director, and more, who remake his appearance, change his voice, and alter his posture.

This is where I come in. I am sitting in a shiny black SUV in front of the hotel. JK (the revamped JK) walks out of the hotel lobby, climbs into the van, and we are off. We obey all the rules of the road, cross the Potomac and head to an airport in Manassas, where a private jet is waiting. JK and I board the plane, and seven hours later, we land in Shannon, and are whisked away to a comfortable, but modest house in the nearby Irish countryside, where guarded by military officers, JK is to make his home until he is out of danger. He will run for president from afar.

That is what I dreamed last night.

We went to a friend’s 75th birthday party yesterday afternoon. We knew most of the people there. Some we see now and then, and some not as often. But I talked to a lot of folks. And do you know what the biggest topic was? It was “age”. And the room was divided between those who thought that to be 75 was to be very old, and those who only wished they could be 75 again. I recalled that, a week or two ago, I had lunch with an old friend who, next month, will be turning 70. He asked me for my advice. That was an easy one. I told him “Enjoy your youth”.

Then we came home, had left over Indian food from Saturday night’s dinner at Delhi Spice (very good, thank you). The food was salmon curry and saag paneer, or spinach and cheese. I thought that we needed something cold and sweet to go with it, and looked to see what I could put together. I fondly remember Waldorf salads from my youth – the apples and nuts and mayonnaise (and the bits of celery that I pushed aside). So I took an apple, some nuts, some raisins (substituted for the unwanted celery), and some mayonnaise, adding honey (just because), and this became the perfect side dish for Indian food.

A digression: Maybe you know this already (or, more likely, maybe you don’t care about this at all), but do you know (1) that a Waldorf salad was named at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City, where it was first served, (2) that the Astoria in the name Waldorf-Astoria is from the Astor family, whose founder, the original John Jacob Astor was a fur trader in the northwest, (3) the Waldorf name comes from the German village of Waldorf (Forest Village auf Deutsch), where John Jacob Astor was born, and (4) originally there were two hotels, the Waldorf and the Astoria, built in the late 19th century next to each other by two cousins who apparently did not like each other at all. Go figure.

OK. After dinner, we actually turned on the Oscars and watched them from 7 until 10:38, when they ended 8 minutes late. I must say this: this was really a bad show. The host was hardly there, and the show better when he wasn’t. No one had an acceptance speech that was worth listening to. There was no drama. No surprises. The best things were the ads. Go figure.

That’s it. Not a profound post, I know. I need to get ready for a Haberman Institute Board Meeting Tonight. And, oh, yes, we may have a tornado.

Let it be known that we have never gone into the Oscars so unprepared. Not that I care (after all, what has the Academy ever done for me?), but we have only seen one of the films that is up for Best Picture, and that one we had not seen until yesterday when we went to see The Secret Agent. Now, I know that that Nats are more likely to win the World Series than The Secret Agent win the Best Picture Award, and (since I don’t do much pre-viewing research), I expected to see a gritty and exciting spy thriller. Au contraire (as they say in Quebec).

One review that I read said that the film is not a film noir, but a film neo-noir. I looked up neo-noir. It refers to a dark, cynical film that is in color and has increased violence. I am not sure that I would call The Secret Agent dark or cynical (whatever that means in a film), so maybe it’s really, not neo-noir, but more like, say, post-neo-noir.

Wikipedia says that it has been nominated for 165 awards (at 40 different places) and won 77 of them (at 18). It received 4 awards at Cannes, 7 from the International Cinephile Society, and 6 from the Indiewire Critics Poll. And get this: it won 5 awards at the Havana Film Festival! Now, I didn’t even know there was a Havana Film Festival. I didn’t even know that Cubans were allowed to see movies! Or rather, I assumed that Cubans saw only old American movies. You know, the ones with American cars dated before 1959.

But it turns out that this is a rather prestigious festival that takes place every December and has been held every year since the Ayatollah took over Iran and daughter Michelle was born. It is exclusively for Latin American films, but there has been one American film that has one – 90 Miles in 2001.

Well, if anyone knows about noir, whether neo, post-neo, or just plain unadulterated noir, I guess it should be the Cubans.

Now, that’s all I am going to say about “noir” films. The other reference I saw said that the film contained “magic realism”. Okay, try to wrap your head around that one.

So, I looked it up. Magic realism is defined by Google AI as “a literary and artistic genre that weaves fantastical, supernatural, or mythical elements into an otherwise realistic, mundane setting without explanation”. If this is a good definition of magic realism, the Secret Agent is an example of MAGIC REALISM!!!

Why do I say this? It’s because it contains a shark that was found far from the coast (the film takes place in Recife, Brazil, BTW), with a hairy human leg inside it. The leg is extracted at the local university’s shark research lab and sent to the police morgue, where it stays most of the film,  except that at some point, two policemen (none in uniform in this film, and none really acting like policemen) enter the morgue, take the leg out of its resting place, put another leg in its place, and take the original leg and wrap it up and dump it into a river (where it floats but does not sink, like a woman sank with a weight tied to her near the start of the film; we do not know who she was).

A digression: you, who have not been to Recife (which is where the Jews who first settled New Amsterdam sailed from in 1654), may assume that this northern Brazilian city is on the Amazon. Well, I looked that up, too. Remember this in case it becomes important later on: Recife is on the confluence of the Capibaribe and Beberibe Rivers, which flow not into the Amazon, but into the Atlantic Ocean. Which of these rivers was privileged to get the leg, I don’t know, but those of you who have been to Recife probably would recognize the (very nice, not at all noir) bridge from which the leg was tossed.

Back to the main feature. The leg, I should say, does play an additional role in that it appears in a large park, which seems to be the haunt of gay (sexual) and gay (party loving) people, and does some dastardly deeds, but these deeds seem to have nothing to do with the overall plot any more than the leg itself does.

So, you say, this film seems to have everything, right? I will tell you one thing it does not have. It does not have a “secret agent”. Scouts honor. No secret agent. Where did they get the title? Only the leg knows for sure, and it ain’t talkin’ (or walkin’).

I am not sure what the film is really about. SPOILER ALERT! A guy named Armando tells everyone his name is Marcelo. He is a handsome young guy whose wife apparently died of pneumonia, and who has a son age 7 or 8 living with his in-laws in Recife. He himself can’t live with his son, but they are out to get him. Who are the “they” who are out to get him? The they seems to be a wealthy businessman in Sao Paulo who hires a father and step-son kill team who go to Recife and find a guy who knows a guy who for 4,000 cruzeiros will locate and kill Marcelo. He locates him, but does not kill him (not that he doesn’t try), but instead kills three policemen in front of the government office where Marcelo has been trying to locate the death certificate of his mother (whom he never met and who had him when she was 14), and then kills the step-son (one of the two men who hired him) in a barber shop not far away.

That’s about where the film ends (2 hours and 40 minutes after it started), although a short sequence at the end shows you that Marcelo/Armando’s son, Fernando, has grown up and become a doctor working in a blood bank in Recife, and doesn’t even really remember his father who was apparently killed sometime between the end of the penultimate scene of the film, and the final scene where the same actor who played the father is now playing his son, the doctor.

And, by the way, the last scene, at the clinic, is not at all noir. Not at all.

Okay, so we don’t know who the secret agent was, we don’t know why Armando was being targeted, we don’t really know if the police were honest, we have no idea about the leg found in the shark or the one substituted for it, or what the leg did in the park that night, or who the woman was who was thrown over the bridge early in the film.

What have I left out? Maybe the important part of the plot played by the film Jaws (it came out originally in 1975), or the important role of Dona Sebastiana, who seems to be an old hippie who hides out people running from other people (a dentist with her young daughter, and a couple from Angola, to name a few) where Marcelo hides out. And I left out the Jewish tailor, scarred during the Holocaust, who only speaks German, and wants to be left alone.

I may have missed something, because I admit that I fell asleep for a few minutes during the film. The film is (except when the killer goes on a spree) very slow moving and I knew I could close my eyes for a while and not miss a thing, which turned out to be true.

77 awards. 165 nominations, including Best Picture tonight. How is that possible?

Maybe the Nats will win the World Series after all.

I took it seriously, I guess, when the word was: we are too much in our own silos, and need to break out. Read what the other side is saying and you will be better able to communicate with them and reach middle ground.

In order to do that, I trained my Face Book account to send me posts put up by right wing people and by right wing bots. I thought that way I would see what the other side sees and, who knows, that I may even changed some of my views.

Didn’t happen. Made me even more despondent that we will easily get out of the mess we find ourselves in. Today’s blog post required little thinking or creativity on my part. Here are the headlines, without editing, of some of the Face Book posts I have seen over the last two days:

“The Biden Administration was Monitoring Republicans instead of Terror Cells”

“You might hate me for it. But Joe Biden ruined America.”

“Christ is King” is “I hate the Jews”….Ted Cruz

“Yes, Trump says that Marco Rubio is the best performing Secretary of State in United States History. Do you agree?”

“Huge win! Tom Homan is officially investigating Ilhan Omar for marrying her brother to receive United States citizenship.”

“Women: You don’t need college. You need faith, a bible and a good cook book”

“Being a Democrat Changes a Man” (with a picture of a trans woman)

“If Thomas Massie does not want to be 100% loyal to President Trump, then he should resign immediately”.

“Democrats refuse to fund homeland security while their Muslim terrorist wing attacks Jews”

“Raise your hands if Democrats are the biggest threat to America!”

“Iran has sleeper cells on US soil. They are called the Democrat Party”

“President Trump has spoken: his ultimate goal is to go down in history as a truly great president”

“There is absolutely nothing under the sun that President Trump could do to lose my support. I’ll always back him 110%. Greatest President of my lifetime and it’s not close.”

“Iran may be losing allies around the world but there’s one that they can definitely count on: the Democrat Party”.

“Epstein’s accountant testifies under oath that Trump had zero involvement with Epstein”.

“Trump Claims the World respects the U.S. more than ever because of him”

“Jesus lived a sin free life and Muhammad banged a 9 year old”

“Raise your hand if you knew climate change was a political hoax from day one”

“I rather my tax money buy steak and lobster for our troops than house, feed, or pay for insurance for illegals”

“If the U.S. gets hit with a terror attack, its 100% the Dems fault for blocking DHS funding”

“Mike Johnson predicts big GOP midterm win”

“Olympian thanks Trump for protecting biological women while giving him her medal”

“California is $8 a gallon not because of Trump or Iran. It is because Gavin Newsom is a failure.”

“Did Obama intentionally divide America?”

“Should Trump be added to Mt. Rushmore?”

“I’m past the point of wanting to deport the illegals. I want to deport the people who want them here, too”

“Congress announces bill to ban all illegals from receiving any form of welfare. Do you agree?”

“Should AOC be removed from Congress for spreading anti-American hate?”

“Muslims hate pork, beer, dogs, bikinis, Jesus and Freedom of Speech. So I’m wondering why they come to America’

“If only the left cared as much about homeless veterans as they do about illegal aliens”

‘They say America wasn’t founded on Christianity…So why did the Supreme Court say “this is a Christian nation?”

“The first college in America (Harvard) was actually Christian and trained up ministers”

“If Democrats rise to power again, America will not survive….”

“Jesus is my savior. Trump is my president”

“He started believing things I knew weren’t true. At first, I thought it was Alzheimers…..then I realized he was watching CNN”

“Poll: is Islamaphobia a rational fear of an evil ideology?”

Obviously, I could go on and on. I tried to get my Face Book feed to send me this sort of material by opening and giving comments on right win links. Do you get this material even if you don’t do that??

The more things change, the more they don’t.

I started the morning, with my Thursday breakfast group, listening to a presentation about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, from The Republic. The gist of the story, by analogy, is that people, no matter where they live, live in a cave, and that the confines of that cave limit the ability of its residents to see truths, to get the full picture. All you know is what is in the cave, and shadows projected on the walls of the cave.

I ended the day at the Capital Jewish Museum, at a program co-sponsored by the Museum and by the Haberman Institute, on Clay Risen’s book, Red Scare, with a presentation by the author, moderated by Judge David Tatel. It was being presented in conjunction with the Museum’s current temporary exhibit, titled “Blacklisted: an American Story”. Both the program and the exhibit deal with the campaign against Communists, alleged Communists, and perceived Communists in America during the 1940s and 1950s, the heydays of the HUAC and the McCarthy Era.

Plato wrote The Republic almost 2500 years ago. Yet still today we live in a cave, seeing only what we see. In fact, with everyone addicted to their computers and smart phones, and through the miracle of modern algorithms, it may be we are living deeper in that cave than ever before. Not the cave that is always there, a resultcof one living in a community. That cave  can not be avoided. But our cave has other facets,  additional limitations that have been purposely created to prey upon and increase the polarity of our vary polarized society.

Similarly, the Red Scare and the consequent blacklisting (ensuring that people who were alleged to be Communists could not be employed on the basis of “national security’) of the 1940s and 1950s may be over, but this is just one result of people fearing those who they believe to be “other”, and to ascribing to them not only evil intentions but potentially uncontrollable power. Today, we may not be worried about Communists in America, but various of us are worried about Muslims, Jews, Fascists, Leftists, what have you. It was cancel culture then. It is cancel culture now.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  And you can quote me on that.

Clay Risen has undoubtedly written an important book on HUAC and the McCarthy Era. His conversation last night touched not only on those topics, but on the roles played (good or bad) by Presidents Roosevelt, Truman and Eisenhower, the execution of the Rosenbergs, and the place that antisemitism did or did not play. The Blacklisted exhibit concentrates on the Hollywood Ten, and others in the film industry. It is a good exhibit, although the signage is a little wordy and somewhat redundant.

I was reminded of two things. One of the victims of the blacklisting was actor Morris Carnovsky, a name you may not even know, butcyouvcan Google him. Morris Carnovsky’s son Steven was a classmate and friend of mine during my Harvard undergraduate years. I have not seen him since our 40th college reunion (and that was 20 years ago).

Morris Carnovsky was born in 1897 (in St. Louis, but that is irrelevant for this story). He went to Washington University, and then moved to New York where he went firstcinto the Yiddish Theater, and then moved to the American stage and film, where his career started off quite well. He was, I guess, a member of the Communist Party at one time, and was one of those listed as Communists by Elia Kazan during his Congressional testimony where he famously named names. He was blacklisted, and the entire family was turned upside down and made very bitter. Although some years later, Carnovsky did get somewhatbresurrect his career, it is clear that his his life was terribly affected. And it certainly created bitter feelings throughout his family.

Digression: Tony Hiss, Alger’s son, was also at Harvard when I was there. He was also an extraordinary bitter (and clearly very bright) fellow, who spent much energy proclaiming and proving his father’s 100% innocence as a spy for the Soviets. We later (and I am surevTony) discovered that he was wrong, that Alger Hiss was a spy. I was surprised. I am sure Tony was shocked.

Moving on…

There has been a lot of news about Dubai recently in light of some Iranian drone strikes there. I had never been to Dubai until last night when I dreamed I was there. The city and its high rises were visible in the distance, but I was staying at a nice b and b in the country, and decided to take a walk along the highway leading to the city. There were no sidewalks, unsurprisingly, but the land was flat and easy to walk on, and pleasant enough, and the traffic only moderate. I never got to the city (that would have taken more time than my dream had) but did get to a spot where I could get on the Metro to go into the city. The Metro was spacious and attractive (all in shades of tan and beige) and very clean. I asked someone how much it cost (I knew nothing about Dubai’s money) and he told me that if I used American dollars (he said you could use American money anywhere in Dubai), all Metro rides were $22 each, whether the ride was long or short. I told him I thought that was a lot of money for a Metro ride and he told me: “This is Dubai; we can afford anything.”

That’s all I remember about Dubai. But I also remember last night being in a group home (sort of) with a bunch of my real life friends. We were happy that one of them was there because we hadn’t known where he was for a long time, but he seemed happy and fine. Then, he disappeared. Just vanished. We called his three kids, thinking he would have said something to them, but he hadn’t. They were surprised, too. He had no money.

Finally, last night, I seem to have been enamored by the charismatic young governor of Tennessee, who was running for reelection. I told him that I wanted to go to Tennessee to help him with his reelection. He told me that I shouldn’t do that because I was a journalist and couldn’t get involved in political activity. But I attended a big meeting with his supporters. One of the people there was a lawyer that I used to work with, now in his late 80s, who I know has slowed down a lot mentally. He raised his hand and said that he wanted to go campaign in Israel. He said he had been to Israel once before and thought there were a lot of voters there. I told him that there was a war going on and this was not the time to go to campaign there for the governor of Tennessee. He was adamant. He was not, by the way, Jewish. But he was determined.

That’s about when I woke up.

A week or two ago, I went to get into my faithful 2019 Prius on a parking lot, and noticed that it had a puncture wound on the passenger side in front of the front tire.  It appears that, although the wound itself is relatively small, the entire front bumper piece will need to be replaced, and – as of now – although small, it is pretty unsightly. I have been the only driver of that car for months, and I know that I was not in an accident, and that I don’t remember running into a sharp item at a curb, or anything else that could have been the cause. My initial reaction was that someone had run into the car when it was parked. It didn’t happen when I discovered the problem, because at that time there were no cars near me. And I didn’t remember any time parking so near another car that this type of a wound seemed really possible.

I told Edie about it when I got home, and she thought she had seen it before, and that it did not happen the day that I spotted it. I guess that is possible, since it is on the passenger side, but it seemed at the time unlikely that I hadn’t noticed it.

But let’s assume that it is possible that I just did not see the tear, that I just hadn’t looked down at that exact spot. Let’s just assume that for a minute.

Last night, being in the middle of a very nice dream about an exhibit in a small art museum and talking to someone (in the dream) about all of the small art museums that I could think of, I woke up abruptly for unknown reasons. I looked at the clock, expecting it to say something like 5:30 a.m., and was surprised to see it was only 2:57. That surprise woke me up completely, and just lay there wondering if I would ever get back to sleep again, thinking about first one thing, than another. One of those things that I thought about was the damage to my car. How could it have happened?

I then had an “aha” moment. Unlikely perhaps, but “aha”, nevertheless. Is it possible that this injury to my car has been here since January 27? It was on January 27 that we had someone come to dig us out of the ice and snow storm that caused Washington to slow down for two weeks. You may remember the story (or may not, more likely). We had about 7 inches of hard, hard snow and a friend gave us a name of someone to call, which we did. It was a landscape company that also would do snow removal (for a hefty price).

Two men came, we told them we needed to get the walkway to the street, the walkway to the driveway, the driveway, and the sidewalks both on Davenport and on 32nd Street done. Whether I mentioned in particular the two cars parked in the driveway, I don’t remember, but my assumption was that if you clear the snow from the driveway, you also clear the snow off the cars. Otherwise, why clear the driveway? Right?

The two men, who seemed very nice, started to work. I was impressed, looking out the front windows, with their energy and hard work. I assumed that, when they were finished, they would knock on the door again, tell us they were done and ask us if everything looked okay, and probably ask for their money. I didn’t look out of the window again, but after a few hours, wondered why we hadn’t heard from them. I saw that their truck was gone – perhaps they went to lunch?

They didn’t return and about 3:30, I went outside to make sure that everything had been done. All of the walkways and the driveway had been done perfectly. But the cars were untouched, and I spent an hour or so myself freeing my car, and a few days later, freeing Edie’s. When we got an invoice from the landscape company, I told them what had happened, and suggested a price that knocked about 1/3 off their price. I did not know what the reaction of the company would be, and was surprised when their reaction was “okay, but don’t ever call us again”. Jeez, I thought.

This was, as you might know or recall, a very unusual snow storm, or perhaps it was a very unusual ice storm. The 7 or so inches of snow was packed so hard that you could walk on top of it, without sinking in at all. So shoveling it was not a normal job where you could push some or all of aside without a lot of heavy lifting. Nothing could be pushed, and nothing could be shoveled without first breaking apart the ice. It was very hard work. Not for the fainthearted, as they say. For obvious reasons.

What if????

What if, when breaking up the ice to clear the driveway, our shovelers had used something hard (they undoubtedly did) which, when they were working so diligently near the car, had actually hit, and torn, the car? Perhaps, they didn’t even notice what they did until they finished the driveway? Then, when the saw the car damaged, they decided two things: first, they were not going to knock on the door and ask us to look at their work, and second, they were not going to stick around and do the cars themselves for fear that, at some point, we might come out to see how they were doing. They simply decided: let’s get out of here as quick as we can!

Likely? I don’t know. Possible? I think so. Another alternative? I can’t think of one.

This will cause us the deductible on our auto insurance policy (I think that is $250) and some aggravation. I don’t think it will affect our premiums, based on the insurer’s accident forgiveness policy (if this is even considered an accident). And I hope we don’t have to leave our car (fully able to be driven, obviously), but can bring it in when the part is ready to replace the old part. We shall see.

I also thought that maybe we should just get a new car and trade our old friend in, so he can be rejuvenated or put to pasture. I remember years ago hearing an ad on the radio which started with, “If you have a flat tire, you don’t go out and get a new car, do you?” As if the answer to that question was obvious.

Can you even imagine another country dropping a bomb on an elementary school in the United States, killing 175 young girls, and the president of that country saying that he thinks the Americans did it themselves? I’m sorry, but I just can not wrap my head around that.

Clearly, President Trump doesn’t give a damn (at least, doesn’t give a public damn) about those girls. Nor does the Secretary of War. And, yes, we should call him the Secretary of War, who has been put in charge of the Department of Defense. A mismatch.

Did anyone else hear Hegseth’s press conference yesterday? Much of it was devoted to the recitation of a biblical psalm, and to thanking his God for leading him in every step he is taking and protecting him. Do I remember an Ingmar Bergman fim from 60 years or so ago where both warring armies were accompanied by almost identical religious leaders assuring both sides, in almost identical words, that God was on their side, and would see them to victory? I probably don’t remember that, but I can see it clearly enough as if I did. And, it appears that, in 2026, I can choose my own historical truths.

I am writing quickly this morning. No Wikipedia research. But did you follow the results of the election last night in the 14th District of Georgia? My numbers won’t be fully accurate  but they will be close. The mail in votes were counted first (about 30% of the total vote), and the Democrat had about 44% of the vote. When the final tally was made, the Democrat had about 37% of the vote. In this Republican district, it won’t make much difference. But in swing districts, you can see why Trump wants to abolish mail in votes.

Okay, let’s change subjects. I am still reading Rez Life, and enjoying it. And I had a revalation. Growing up, I learned the name of many Indian tribes. But I never heard of Ojibwe until I was  well grown. But David Treuer said that the Ojibwe Nation was the largest in the US and Canada. How could I have not heard of them growing up? It’s because the Ojibwe are the Chippewa. Did everyone else know that?

It has been a busy morning. I am sitting for a casual lunch at a Filipino restaurant. That brings up two questions. First, why isn’t it Philippino?

Second, how do you decide between an adobo, lechon kawali, dinuguan, tapstlog, pancit bihon, bangus or lumpia? Maybe I will just have some crispy pata. Or a longanista sandwich.

And take note of the handwriting on the wall? “Huwag pong itapon ang mga kutsara, tinidor at bilao sa basurahan.” You want to see the remnant of 333 years of Spanish control of the Philippines? It’sho “Basurahan”.

When we first got married, we lived on the corner of Military Road and Chevy Chase Parkway in Northwest DC. Our first next door neighbors were the Treuers. They were an interesting family.

Bob Treuer was considerably older than me. Had he lived longer, he would have turned 100 in January. He was born in Vienna, left Austria with his family in 1938, wound up the the U.S. with degrees from Antioch and Bemidji State University. I don’t know his full work background, but he lived in Bemidji before moving to DC, where he worked with HEW (now HHS). He left HEW in 1979, and shortly after that, they moved back to Minnesota. Bob then became a tree farmer and a writer. I read his book, Tree Farm, years ago.

His wife, Margaret, was much younger, 17 years younger in fact. She was also almost a year younger than me.

Margaret was an Ojibwe Indian from Minnesota. She was a lawyer, and later she became a judge, the first female Native American judge in the U.S. Bob was Jewish. It was an unusual mix. They had two elementary school sons, Tony and David. They also had two younger children, twins, whom I don’t remember. Perhaps they were born later in Bemidji. Bob and Margaret have both passed away. Bob first, in 2016 at 89, and Margaret   in 2020.

The four Treuer children are now in their 50s, and it looks like all have had successful careers. One of the twins is an emergency room physician, the other followed her mother’s career path and became a judge. Tony, now apparently known as Anton, has become an expert on dying Native American languages and has taught at Bemidji State for over 25 years. The other interesting thing about Anton, the 8 year old (or so) that I remember, is that he now has 9 children. The four Teuers together have 25.

David Treuer is also an academic,  teaching since 2010 at the University of Southern California. He has now published seven books, one of which I started to read last night. Published in 2012 by Grove Press, it is called Rez Life, a “blend of memoir and history”, and reads very well.

Anton and David are members of the Ojibwe nation. Whether they also identify aa Jewish or not, I don’t know. But I did see a brief excerpt of a talk by one of them (don’t remember which) discussing his feelings towards Austrians and Germans in light of his father’s experiences.

Two anecdotes. I don’t remember exactly what Bob did at HEW. I think he directed an office and I remember that he thought the function of his office was no longer necessary. So he lobbied to have it closed down. And hecwas successful

As to Margaret I remember something at their house with a number of neighbors present. The two Treuer boys, and a few other kids, were playing and having a good time. One of the neighbors said, “Boy, are they a bunch of wild Indians!” You can imagine that that was just the wrong thing to say in Margaret Treuer’s house. I later wondered if that is when they decided to move back to Minnesota.

I remember my seven years in New England, when March was still winter, April still cold and disappointing, and May heavenly. Not the case in DC, where warmer weather comes sooner. In fact, as you see the daffodils begin to pop up out of the ground, and the occasional crocus already in bloom, you tend to think that spring begins in March. In fact, it does, of course, around March 21.

But, no, March in DC is like April in Boston, more disappointing than hope filled. Today is the 9th of March. Looking at my phone, here are the high temperatures coming our way for the next ten days: 66, 70, 75, 59, 50, 66, 71, 50, 35, 37. So little consistency.

But, I guess it is much better than it has been the last several months, when DC had such a cold and snowy winter. As I got older, I learned that my tolerance of weather variations became much constricted. I decided that I was only happy with the weather if it was between 65 and 75; other than that, I was too cold or too warm. But yesterday, when it was about 73 and I stepped outside, I thought it was too hot.

This worried me, for obvious reasons. I think maybe the only temperature at which I am comfortable is the temperature I set on the thermostat indoors. That can’t be a good way to live………

In case you haven’t noticed, when I sat down at my computer this morning, I had no idea what to write in today’s blog post. I still don’t. Like the character we saw on stage yesterday who was waiting for Godot, I am sitting here waiting for the plumber. He is supposed to be here between 8 and 10, and it is now 9:07. I have had breakfast, gone through the print edition of the New York Times, and have been watching Morning Joe. I see that, nine minutes after opening, the DOW is already down almost 600 points, oil is over $100 per barrel, Tehran is today a very dangerous place to be if you have to breathe, the most dangerous urban area in the world is the southern part of Beirut (will there be a building left standing?), Mayor Mamdani was safer in Astoria than in Gracie Mansion (who was Gracie, anyway?), three synagogues in Toronto were shot at within a few hours, and Darryl Hannah is upset at the portrayal of a woman named Darryl Hannah in the new TV series about John F. Kennedy, Jr. (as she should be). It’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that Darryl Hannah is already 65 (and her husband Neil Young 80), when, say, Bo Derek (whom you would assume would be 110 by now) is only 69. Wouldn’t you assume they were of very different generations, rather than both Boomers? I would. And, of course, Bo Derek’s husband, John, if alive, would be celebrating his 100th birthday this August. That would seem to mean that there was a 31 year age gap between male Derek and female Derek. That would also mean, if I had married someone with a similar age gap to me, and if I had married (as I did) when I was 34, I would have married a 3 year old.

Speaking of Bo Derek, as I was, you can picture her, right? Very attractive lady, who couldn’t really act? Guess how tall she is. If you would say, 5’9″, you would be wrong. She is only 5’3″. Hard to believe for me. Darryl Hannah, on the other hand, is 5’10”. Neil Young is 6′, so it’s all okay. John Derek? He was 6’1″, so he would have been okay with Darryl Hannah as well, except that she would be 35 years younger than he, and there are limits.

Speaking of height, as you know, Robert Reich is only 4’11”, but his wife is 5 inches taller. And Danny DeVito is only 5′ even, and Wikipedia says that his wife, Rhea Perlman is also 5″. I do find that hard to believe, because every photo of the two of them together shows Perlman to be several inches taller than her husband. Maybe you know why this is.

I want to end this with everybody knowing that I did see the Country Joe McDonald has passed away at 84. He was 84, but born the same year I was. Can you even imagine how that could be possible?

Now, I have one more thing to admit. I don’t think I knew Country Joe McDonald, although good friend and current house guest Simon Aronin can’t believe that.

So I will assume you knew him and his protest songs. I will leave you with one thought about him. Do you know his mother was Florence Plotnick, who was a Communist and Berkeley CA politician, who was arrested 24 times before she was 18?

I don’t know how tall she was.

El Presidente Trump, while planning the collapse and takeover of the Cuban government, continues his war against Iran. He, based on his feelings supported by no facts, has concluded that it wasn’t a United States bomb that killed over 150 school age girls, but it was the Iranians who bombed their own daughters. This is how history is made. If the president of the United States in 1945 had been Franklin Delano Trump, we would undoubtedly have learned that the Japanese dropped atomic bombs on themselves.

This was a two event weekend, and the second event explains why this post is being written so late in the day (it is now almost 5 p.m.).

Last night, we attended the first performance by the Washington National Opera of Scott Joplin’s Treemonisha. It was also the first performance of the 70th season of the WNO, and the first of three American operas being presented this spring in celebration of the 250th birthday of the country. It was also special in that it was the first performance by the NSO since it elected to leave its long time headquarters at the XXXXX-Kennedy Center. Treemonisha is being performed at the Lisner Auditorium of the George Washington University, a 2000+ seat venue that is going to see a lot more usage by the community in general over the coming years, as the XXXXX-Kennedy Center undergoes its “rehabilitation”.

You probably don’t know Treemonisha and are surprised that ragtime composer Scott Joplin wrote an opera. In fact, he wrote two, the first of which was lost when a fire burned what were apparently the only scores. Joplin, born to musical, if quite poor, parents in or near Texarkana, Texas. His father had been a slave; his mother a free Black. He was born in 1868, and died at the age of 48 in 1917. He was an ambitious composer, to be sure, and his biography, although short and often (rather, mostly) quite sad, would be interesting to read. There have been at least two published; I have not read either.

You wouldn’t call Treemonisha grand opera. Perhaps it is more of an operetta. But it is a professionally composed piece, to be sure, with appealing music of various genres, and (as with much opera) lyrics that could have been a bit better. It’s the story of a young girl found as a baby and raised by a couple who made sure she would learn to read and write, something no one else in her plantation community could do. There was a “conjurer” who brought superstition to the community and kidnapped Treemonisha (that was her name) because they were afraid that she would draw the people away from superstition into more progressive thinking. She is rescued by her future husband, the conjurers decided to be good, not evil, from then on and everyone lives happily ever after.

I don’t know exactly for whom Joplin wrote Treemonisha. Was it for white audiences, or for Blacks? I would like to know what was in his mind.

How did a poor Black boy from a small town in mid-America become such a talented musician. Not only someone who could play an instrument (many could do that, of course), but someone who knew various types of music, who could compose, who knew music theory and who could say, and defend his saying, that ragtime was just a form of classical music?

The trick was that when he was 11 he came to the attention of a Jewish music teacher from Germany, Julius Weiss, who taught Joplin and was a mentor to him for five or more years, and with whom he stayed in contact long after. But read the Wikipedia entry on Joplin to get more of his interesting, and much too short, life story.

Today, we went to the Shakespeare Theatre to see a one-man show, called On Beckett, performed by actor Bill Irwin. I wasn’t familiar with Irwin, a 75 year old actor and choreographer, and graduate not only of Oberlin College, but the Ringling Brothers Clown School, but he is clearly a very talented (and very limber) fellow. He has played in many of Beckett’s plays, is apparently enamored of his use of language, and put together this one act, 80+ minute show, which is a combination of readings (really, more than readings – what is the word? it isn’t “actings”) of excerpts from Beckett’s prose and plays, interspersed with commentary about them, and with comic/clown routines, and ending with a long take on Waiting for Godot. I must say that, except that I found out that Irwin was a very talented man, the recitations from Becket, to the extent that they made any sense to me whatsoever, left me pretty cold. Some of his clown routines were very clever, although I never laughed out loud – he is a physical actor. But I couldn’t quite get the purpose of the show – it did not increase my appreciation of Beckett (if that was the purpose), and it contained a bit too much of “Look at all the clever things I can do!!” for me.

And, by the way, I did go back to the Bethesda-Chevy Chase used book sale this morning. It was “bag day”, so I knew I wouldn’t spend more than $15. And I didn’t expect to find much. But I did find 6 books. One was by an old neighbor – no value to that one, but for nostalgic. But I found a book signed by Angela Merkel (former Chancellor of Germany) (Freedom), and one signed by former British Prime Minister, David Cameron (For the Record). Not bad for $15.