NOTE: It is still Ash Wednesday on the West Coast.  And because, at 70 years of age, I may completely forget everything I want to say in this post by the time Yom Kippur rolls around, I ask forgiveness of my Catholic readers for usurping their observance to address my sinful obsession with comics and comedy. 

This evening ended as they almost always do in our household.  I suffer from tinnitus and find it easier to fall asleep by donning earbuds and listening to either music or one of my favorite comedy albums.  My taste in music is stuck in a time warp where the imaginary disc jockey in my head only plays folkies, remnants of the British rock invasion or soundtracks from old movies or Broadway musicals.  In the age of Trump, my preference when it comes to humor tilts toward the politically acerbic ranging from Mort Sahl to George Carlin to Sarah Silverman to Lewis Black to Ron Wood, Jr.

But tonight, for some serendipitous reason, “I dug deep down into the old pack of cigarettes” (a phrase coined by John Denver referring to one of his early hit songs) and chose David Steinberg’s 1974 album “Booga!  Booga!” I was on the cusp of slumber when I reached Track #8 titled, “Prejudice.”  And was reminded why so many of my recent blogs begin with an excerpt from a stand-up performance.  The following is the entire three minute, 43 second routine recorded at the Cellar Door in Washington, DC.

The country doesn’t belong to us.  People who signed the Declaration of Independence, they got the country early and the still hold it.  It belongs to the blond haired John Deans, the short haired Bob Haldemans and the no-haired John Mitchells.  And the cottage cheese and ketchup Richard Nixon.

I want them to loosen their grasp, but I’m no one to look at how terrible they are or corrupt because I recognize my own capacity for evil.  I just put it in a different perspective.  What they did is based on a philosophy and  a theory developed by Plato or Socrates.  It’s called, “Save your ass.”

You know why Nixon and his boys can’t believe what happened to them.  Not because of the reenactment of democratic principles.  I don’t believe so. The reason they can’t believe what happened to them is because they got caught by a black man.  A black who, in their minds, they put in his place years ago.  A night watchman at the Watergate complex.  A night watchman with his lantern, just walking, checking out those rooms.  Meanwhile, they’re in California winning the gubernatorial race, beating Helen Gahagan Douglas and the Washington Post.  And he’s just walking, checking out those rooms, waiting for that mystical moment when the door is left open just a crack.  But it’s enough to see the torn underwear under America’s tuxedo.  And when he closes his hand tight on them, he brings a little bit of America back and gets it out of their grasp.  And I find that exciting.

I want to believe John Mitchell was telling the truth, but then his nose starts to grow.  John Connolly is one of those rare instances of a rat swimming toward a sinking ship.  Nixon has the kind of career that every six years self destructs.

Having read numerous books about the Watergate era, none captures the essence of the times better than Steinberg’s less than four minute recitation.  If only someone could do the same when it comes to the Trump years.  Where is David Steinberg when we sorely need him?  And then I realized this 1974 routine was a template for the future, a political version of Mad Libs.  All I had to do was fill in the blanks.

In 2020, the country belongs to the blond haired Ivanka Trumps, the short-haired Steven Millers and the no-haired Wilbur Rosses.  And the KFC and Diet Coke Donald Trump.

Their disregard for the Constitution and the rule of law is based on the philosophy of Atwater and Ailes, “Protect your power at all costs.”

And why are they so angry.  Because briefly a black man (substitute Barack Obama for Watergate security guard Frank Wills) created a mystical moment, cracking open the door behind which they thought they would always be protected.  A black man they thought they had put in his place years ago.  A too short eight year period which took America out of their grasp.  But brought on another glimpse at the torn underwear under America’s tuxedo.

I want to believe Kellyanne Conway is telling the truth but her nose keeps growing.  And Bill Barr is that rare instance of a rat swimming toward a sinking ship.  And like Nixon, every few years, Trump’s career in business, television or politics does implode.

So let me introduce you to the freshest, new comedian on the American scene William Shakespeare.  Tickets to his 30-city comedy tour “The Past Is Prologue” are now available on Ticketmaster.

For what it’s worth.
Dr. ESP

SPOILER ALERT:  If you have not seen the Academy Award winning best picture Parasite, the following post contains references to specific scenes although I have made every attempt not to reveal the ending or major twists in the story.

When my wife and I went to see Parasite on a Valentine’s Day date, we knew the film centered on the disparity between rich and poor in modern day South Korea.  How could we not?  The flood of media attention has positioned the film as “Upstairs/Downstairs or Downton Abbey with subtitles,” exploring the relationship between two families from the polar opposites of society.

Most reviews (a 98 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes) heaped praise on director and screenwriter Bong Joon-ho’s depiction of life at both ends of the income scale.  And it is well deserved.  The script is intelligent.  The actors melt into their roles without becoming caricatures.  The visual contrast between the Kim family’s “semi-basement” apartment (literally downstairs) and the Park family’s architectural showplace (the upstairs) reeks of economic injustice.  Introduction to these previously unknown trappings of wealth take the Kims on a fantasy tour of a better life even while they continue to serve the Parks.

As well as Bong presents his vision of Seoul’s dual society, I walked out of the theater unsatisfied.  This morning, as often is the case, my search for a counter-intuitive interpretation kicked in.  What if the narrative was not just an indictment of wealth disparity and the hopelessness of those on the lowest rungs of humanity’s ladder?  What if it was about the manner in which people respond to opportunity?

I was immediately reminded of a discussion we had during my imagination class at Miami University.  I had asked each student to think of something he or she thought was impossible.  One student, concerned he never had enough time to do everything he needed or wanted to do, suggested his problem would be solved if only he had a 25-hour day.  After exploring how one might creatively do that, I asked him, “And what would you do with that extra hour?”  His reply?  “Probably, nothing different,” proving the issue was not the amount of time but how you manage it.

The situation in which the Kim family has a chance to experience life on the other side of the tracks occurs when the Parks go on a weekend camping trip.  Left alone to partake of the accouterments of affluence and leisure, do they use this opportunity to listen to music or read books and newspapers?  Do they wander the house as if it is a museum observing the many paintings and statues the Parks have amassed?

No. Despite the availability of all this space, they huddle together around one couch and coffee table.  And they over-indulge in their employer’s liquor supply, trash the house and fight among themselves.  They might as well have been back in their semi-basement abode.  Like my student, the Kims do not use their 48 hours free of need or want to examine how they would carry on their lives if the situation was reversed, if Mr. Kim was “Lord Crawley” and the Parks were the butler and servants.

Which brings me to the other “fairy tale” which was nominated for best picture this year, “Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood.”  Re-imagine the above scene.  The Kims, sitting around that coffee table, reflect on how they felt watching Mr. Kim shower his family with presents while people like themselves live in squalor and lack necessities.  “If only we had their money, we would not waste it on more decadent possessions for outselves.  We would create a world where there would be no need for parasites, like us.”

But just as we know there was no handsome stuntman who ensures Sharon Tate and her unborn child live happily ever after, we know it is more than likely the Kims would become more like the Parks than the other way around.  I doubt that is the morale of the story Bong wished to convey.  But intentional or not, Bong’s cinematic triumph is a tale of two tragedies.  The first being economic injustice. The second being the disconnect between aspirations and actions.  Both lessons are powerful and go hand-in-hand.

For what it’s worth.
Dr. ESP

It started with a Donald J. Trump Tweet on January 4.

….targeted 52 Iranian sites (representing the 52 American hostages taken by Iran many years ago), some at a very high level & important to Iran & the Iranian culture, and those targets, and Iran itself, WILL BE HIT VERY FAST AND VERY HARD. The USA wants no more threats!

There is a lot to consider about his orangeness’ latest knee-jerk reaction.  My first question being, “What if the 53rd target is the one that puts the most Americans in danger?”  Certainly, one of “his generals” told him a military strategy should be based on a desired outcome like eliminating any threat of American casualties or to U.S. assets, not because it is symmetrical to a 40 year old grievance.

The media, however, focused on the potential violation of international rules of engagement which prohibit the targeting of cultural assets.  Even Trump’s own Secretary of State and Defense Department reminded him of this inconvenient truth. Still, the ignorer-in-chief doubled down, telling reporters aboard Air Force One returning from his holiday stay at Mar-a-Lago:

They’re allowed to use roadside bombs and blow up our people and we’re not allowed to touch their cultural sites? It doesn’t work that way.

Never mind this threat and the killing of General Soleimani signaled an admission the use of economic sanctions had failed to bring the Iranians to their knees.   In an effort to up the ante, Trump, in effect, was saying I’ll do something no one else has every been willing to do to achieve my objectives.

But Donny Boy, as much as you wish you were a pioneer in the field of cultural expunging, you are far behind the learning curve.  All you have to do is travel or watch television to see the gradual transformation of cultural assets from icons of history or the arts to commercial props.  During my recent trip to Milan, I did a double take upon spotting a Calvin Klein advertisement, at least 20 feet high, on the scaffolding surrounding the Duomo.  (Maybe CK is considering a new fragrance by that name.) Or the location of a Starbucks Roastery Reserve in a historic building which had served as the city’s main post office for over a century.  (What is it about post offices?  Did Starbucks get the idea from Trump’s conversion of the old D.C. post office into a hotel and watering hole for Rudy, Lev and Igor?)

And how about the appropriation of music to promote products?  It started with the California Raisins and “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.”  How much is lost when we associate Donovan’s “Catch the Wind” with GE rather than the summer of love or the first date with a future spouse?  Or what is so enchanting about shopping at Kohl’s just because their holiday commercial included The Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Do You Believe in Magic” in the background?

So Donald, maybe you should think twice about targeting Iran’s most celebrated antiquities.  If, for example, you demolish the mausoleum of Imam Reza, among the most frequented tourist attraction in Iran, that would foreclose the possibility of eventually converting it into the Trump Tower Mashhad.  So, please think twice before launching drone strikes on Iranian cultural sites.  It’s not in your own self-interests.

For what it’s worth.
Dr. ESP