The Media vesus Donald Trump

There are some astonishing stories coming out of America these days, aren’t there? Most involve their President and many are contradictory. So much so that a new phrase, alternative facts, has been coined.

But what—and who—are we in New Zealand to believe? And do we care? Well, to answer the second question first: yes, we care or should do. Whatever is going on in America at the moment will have global ramifications—at the very least economically and quite possibly and disastrously militarily. American “issues” have always impacted on the rest of the world. What is different now is that those issues seem to be out of control and so, seemingly, is the President. That is deeply disturbing and dangerous. Yes, we should care.

And who are we in New Zealand to believe? Sean Spicer? Fox News? Mike Pence? None of those, anyway. I honestly don’t think they believe in what they are saying—certainly Mike Pence doesn’t, and he has been openly contradicted by his President/boss. Some of the proclamations (are they anything else?) emanating from Fox News under the guise of “news” are at best opinions and at worst propaganda. Don’t even start me on Spicer—the antithesis of C.J. Craig (you had to be there). So, that is basically the Trump camp with little credibility.

But, what of the other side? The media. Can we believe them? They certainly seem determined to find, extract and exploit every weakness, lie, damage, insanity, misstep (choose your own word) from the Trump presidency. Maybe there is some truth in Trump’s statement yesterday that he is the victim of a witch hunt and that no previous politician has ever faced such a level of scrutiny.

However, that doesn’t mean what the media are saying—are reporting—is untrue. And that is the key, I believe. That is the difference. On the Trump side, we are offered more often than not denials, contradictions and hyperbole—and often offered them, if body language is any indication, with unctuous reluctance. On the media side, we are given facts, provable facts, often based on the utterances of Trump officials and mostly attributable. Yes, the media may be a little intense –even shrill—at times, but this shouldn’t obviate the innate truth of what they are saying.

That said, I don’t believe the media will drive Trump out of office, as they did to Nixon. They are up against too formidable and staunch an opponent, Trump’s ego, to do that. Nor do I think there is a smoking gun—an impeachable offence—of sufficient magnitude to do that. What I think will drive him from office, or at least restrain him from seeking reelection, is boredom. His own. I don’t think he wanted the presidency in the first place. I think he saw his campaign as something of a reality show driven in part by ego. In my opinion, I don’t think he was  prepared to go the distance; I think it was his intent to pull out of the race after fueling his ego on the big stage. But then momentum took over and he stayed the distance. He won, and now he’s saddled with a job that will tie him down for four years.

If I am right in that contention, President Donald Trump, forced into the job that he is, would likely not run full-term. I think he would like to get out of the job before that. And he and his advisors could easily come up with an excuse to do so.

But, here is the dichotomy: the media won’t let him.  I think Donald Trump is sitting there in the Oval Office (or, more often, Mar-a-Lago) backed into a corner (not that there are any in the Oval Office) because his ego won’t allow him to be hounded from office by the “criminal” media. In many ways, it is that media, and his ego, that are feeding an ill-advised determination to stay.

It could be said, and I never thought I would say it,  it might be best for Donald Trump, for the world and for us, if we just left him alone for a while.

Let’s pick on Wogistan instead.

I don't have a problem with homosexuals.

I don't have a problem with homosexuals.

I am not saying some of my best friends are gay. Fact is, I don't know. I don't ask, and I don't care.

What I do care about, however, is homosexual pimping of our language.

In earlier days, gay had a simple and joyous meaning. Gay, when used by F. Scott Fitzgerald, was immediately recognisable for what it was. Fitzgerald needed no further words, let alone explanation. And I do feel for those who are named Gay. "I am Gay," probably does require explanation. In spoken word, the capital G is not apparent.

I also have an issue with the cumbersome initialism LGBTIQ—Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex, Queer—which in length seems to be growing like a vociferous plaque. Even in its earliest evocation, it was the wholly unnecessary and duplicative LGB. If it grows much further and embraces zebras it will use nearly every letter in the alphabet.

But, the one high jacked word I most have a problem with is Rainbow. It is personal. A few years ago, just over ten years ago, I wrote a book called Ridin' the Rainbow. It isn't a gay book. Quite the reverse, so to speak—though I often say that some I interviewed for the book might have thought I was gay. Coming from Auckland and being a writer leads to that assumption.

No, it isn't a gay book. It is a great book, and you can currently buy it by searching on TradeMe.

The reason I am bringing up Ridin' the Rainbow (copy and paste for your TradeMe search) now is that I have been asked to write a sequel, which I am very much looking forward to.

Why?

Simple. It is the people. I met so many interesting people the first time around, and I look forward to meeting more this time. The history of the industry I wrote about—trailer manufacturing— is replete with wonderful characters. Here, by way of explanation and example, is an extract from the original book. It is about a guy called Dave Domett:

"Dave Domett was a generous host who liked to entertain. Friday nights at The Empire (Feilding) were Domett staff nights, and Dave was simply one of the boys. If a customer was visiting Feilding, the venue shifted to the Denbigh Hotel, which offered accommodation, home-cooked meals, a house bar which stayed open long after the 6 o'clock closing, and Dave Domett as the consummate and entertaining host.

"Dave is remembered as being able to hold his liquor with the best of them, though he was never a big or competitive drinker. What he preferred was to show his acumen in another area—trials of strength.

"In researching this book, I heard of—and had described to me by three sources—the Domett Door Feat. Physical prowess (and a high stud) is needed to accomplish it.

"It begins with an open door. Stand with your back to the edge of the door, and reach backwards over your head to grasp the top of the door with both hands; then, using arm strength (and possibly a little practiced technique) try to lift your body from the floor. Then in one fluid motion similar to a backward somersault lever your body up and over to end the feat sitting astride the top of the door.

"It needs to be remembered that Dave Domett was immensely strong. Whether the feat helped him directly with trailer building is questionable; that it was impressive, memorable and a colourful addition to the legendary status of Dave Domett is not."

I never met Dave. That feat and more I heard from others. But, I wish I had met him. I wish I were at The Empire or at The Denbigh. They must have been gay times, when gay simply meant great.

Hair Today

I have been corresponding with George Clooney lately. It has been a one-sided conversation, which I guess is not a conversation at all. George seems curiously reticent to respond to even the simplest question I have asked of him—that is, how does he keep his hair in great shape. It is important that I know. It is one the world’s great, yet largely unheralded, mysteries. Why? Well, think about it: when you and I get a haircut, it is plainly obvious. We have that recently shorn look, and there is nothing that even the best hairdresser can do to avoid that—and I have one of the best. Yet George Clooney doesn’t seem to have that problem. His hair always looks impeccable and, more important, exactly the same each and every day. How? Does he get his hair cut every day or every week? Does he have his own barber—sorry, hairdresser—on staff travelling with him? I imagine he could afford that. In George’s business looking well-groomed is of course important, unless you are Brad Pitt. In my business, it is not. My business is writing. And, as of today, it is a full-time business. Nobody much cares what a writer looks like. In fact, the dishevelled shambolic look is a popular conception of writers. It is, however, a misconception. Today’s writer—whether working in the commercial or creative sectors—must adopt and maintain a professional demeanour and approach to his or her work. Gone are the days when the popular conception, and expectation, of writers was a solitary soul starving in a garret.  That eroded the day Ernest Hemingway shot himself and ended with the advent of GST. All the best advice on writing, and that usually comes from, of all people Stephen King, is that writers must be highly disciplined and treat their “craft” as a job—a profession. If that means turning up to work at the same time every day and even wearing a tie—so be it. Gone too are the days of writing just for the sake of it without expectation of a productive outcome. A prime example being writing to George Clooney. The one resilient foible a writer will allow him or herself—other than the right and faculty to use the word foible—is that in the creative arena they can create worlds and escape into them at will. Though again, taking a pragmatic and professional approach, that facility should be enjoyed only sparingly, and only when wearing a tie as a reminder that there is also a real world. However, in all other respects writers are no different from anybody else. No different from carpenters, accountants, truck drivers or televangelists. They are different from politicians, but so is everybody else. In fact, if one was to look at it in that light your Fryday correspondent is virtually indistinguishable from Mr Clooney—apart from the hair of course.