Listening to a Spotify “Acoustic Chill” playlist while decluttering files and reliving the past is not a great combo. Word of the day . . . melancholy. . . a deep, quiet, and lasting feeling of sadness or thoughtful sorrow. It often comes without a single clear cause and can be mixed with a sense of nostalgia, longing, or calm reflection.
Then add this into the mix.
Nothing some hip-hop and touching grass can’t fix.
Any self-respecting writer must eventually come to grips with today’s political reality. Eventually, intelligent readers deserve more than paddle boarding and dance vid posts.
So, what to make of today’s lead article in the “paper of record”? “As Iran Truce Expires and Options Shrivel, Trump Lashes Out”.
The first three sentences:
“As a crumbling truce with Iran officially collapsed on Monday, President Trump signaled his frustration at his inability to resolve a war that he started but cannot seem to end.
In an interview with Fox News, the president lashed out at an American ally, Oman, that has been trying to mediate negotiations with Iran.
‘If Oman gets in the way, we’ll bomb the shit out of them,’ Mr. Trump said in a phone interview, according to Fox News’s Trey Yingst.”
Until this war “that he started”, Trump has excelled at bending reality to his patently false and often delusional will by using the bully pulpit and his legion of cowardly acolytes to repeat lies over and over until all of the Fox News anchors and half of the voting public believes them.
But lying as a means towards self-serving ends doesn’t work in the context of geopolitics. There are too many actors and too much complexity for his bullshit to work on the global stage. Remember when he said the Russian War against Ukraine would be over within 24 hours of his being elected? More specifically, Iran’s leaders are immune from his bullshit. As is the price of crude oil and all the related agricultural and consumer products. Saying we control the Strait of Hormuz and we have ample military resources for this conflict and others does not make it so.
Trump is learning he can’t bend Iranians or inflation to his will like he has the Republican Cult Party. And he can’t investigate or fire anyone abroad. He’s trapped by his own inattention to detail and his team’s incompetence, so of course he’s lashing out. At Oman. At South Korea. At the families whose sons and daughters are showing more selflessness on the USS Lincoln than he ever has. Or will.
This will not end well for the Middle East, for the (dis)United States, or for the global economy. But if his name is just put back on the Kennedy Center, Trump won’t sweat it.
You hopped out of bed and got on it. Just the way you’re wired. Stretched, ate, walked, meditated, sipped green tea, logged onto PressingPause.
Me, not so much. Skimmed this NYT article in bed then went down a Madonna rabbit hole for the ages. I forgot how well she moves. 68 years young today.
Alternative title, “Felony Allegations to Ponder”.
From ESPN:
“Cornerback Terrion Arnold, who was released by the Detroit Lions earlier this summer after being charged with multiple felonies, plans to sign with the Seahawks, sources told ESPN’s Adam Schefter and NFL Network’s Ian Rapoport on Thursday.
The deal will be for one year, sources told Rapoport.
Arnold, 23, is facing eight felony charges stemming from a kidnapping and robbery in Tampa, Florida, in February. He was arrested in Hillsborough County in June after turning himself in and was released the following week by the Lions, who drafted him in the first round in 2024.
. . . Arnold is accused of orchestrating the kidnapping and beating of three men who prosecutors believe he wrongly suspected of stealing $100,000 in cash from him, along with luxury watches and bags.
Arnold has pleaded not guilty, and, through his representatives, he has denied the allegations. He is facing four counts of kidnapping and four counts of armed robbery, which carry a potential sentence of life in prison.”
Paddleboarded today for the first time. Perfectly stable until I wasn’t. Crash landed in a cold, beautiful, tree and mountain-lined Colorado lake.
I have since dried off so the only long-term damage is to my ego.
Eventually, I suppose, even that will heal. Thank you for your concern.
First in a series. Possibly. Depending. Upon your response. A series where I introduce you to the most loyal PressingPausers. The peeps who read regularly and respond sporadically, in Z’s case almost always behind the scenes using something known as electronic mail. Or actually, snail mail half the time.
Z was a mentor, friend, lunch bball brother back in the day when I taught at Guilford College in Greensboro, NC. Is still a dear friend, despite living on the wrong side of the country. A now retired psychology professor whose wheelhouse was really social psychology, and even more specifically, the power elite. He was the rare small liberal arts college professor who managed to maintain a large university-like research agenda, pumping out articles and books on men and women he followed over decades from their admission to the “A Better Chance” program into the uppermost levels of business, government, law, and other professions. Lucid, imminently interesting, substantive stuff.
And he’s also The Commissioner. The guy who holds the M-W-F noon basketball game together, now I think half a century old, through court closures, pandemics, and Father Time. He published a great book on that part of his life too. When angry and much larger Joe Groves didn’t like my defense and/or my committee’s general education curriculum revision proposal, Z would reign Joe in with a look or quick comment in the locker room. Everyone always respected The Commissioner. Even angry Joe Groves.
Today, by chance, this was on the doorstep. Sent by Z.
I can’t believe how lucky I am to have a friend who still thinks about me almost twenty five years since I padded his assist totals with my silky J.
Z or I sent the other a winning t-shirt every April depending on how the NCAA tournament played out, I took a handful of west coast teams, he took an equivalent number of east coast ones, but conference craziness fecked all of that up, so now it’s the occasional book. Like with too many of my friends, I need to pick up the slack. Note to self. Find a book, send it.
Z, like me, really dug his students. He also loves his border collies and L, a wonderful pottery artist.
Ironically, I just bought something in his parts, Wilmington, NC more specifically, that I can’t tell Z anything about. Interesting things about Wilmington, NC, it’s where Michael Jordan grew up and where I competed in my first triathlon. Threw my back out the day before, didn’t know if I could go, but got through the intracoastal waterway swim feeling okayish. Then the out-n-back 40k flat/windy bike. I could swear it was a side wind! At the turn around I learned it had been a full-on tail wind, so that last 20k into the wind was when I realized I’d seriously overcooked myself. Let’s just celebrate that there’s no internet archive where you can find my 10k split and leave it at that. But I digress.
Why can’t I tell Z about my Wilmington, NC purchase? Because it was everything he’s not. It was spendy, frivolous, flat out silly. Z likes to remind me that the mountain bike that he rides all the time he picked up at a garage sale, back in the day, for $50. When we were hangin’ he drove a worn in Toyota Corolla wagon with more miles than he had lunch ball points. His computer was ancient. I remember a landline in the crib. Prob still there. Because why not, it works, he’d correctly say. Z is a reminder that you never have to recycle, reuse, or reduce if you don’t ever replace.
So, no, he’ll never know what is on a 3,042 mile journey from his NC to my WA. Like my 10k run split, a national secret of the highest order. Better that way. He’d be disappointed. And Z, the best guy in the world, is that last person I’d want to disappoint.
My older sister, who lives in NW Indiana loves the Cubs largely because she says they’re the “cutest” team in baseball. She also loves politics; her husband and family; and if my brother-in-law is to be believed, most of all, buying new shoes. She’s the best, better than the rest.
So I texted her Tuesnight, “Team El-Sayed or Team Stevens?” Reply. “Stevens has better numbers now against the R.” Pause, bubbles, then, “Stevens is too pro-Israel for me.”
We know now Michigan voters agreed, but that’s not the real story. The real story is the continuing underrepresentation of redheads in Congress and a bubbling up of previous “Red Scare” rhetoric about communism which is obviously a cover for normalizing ginger-hate.
My reply to my sissy, “I never recovered from McMarrow’s exit. Redheads severely underrepresented in Congress.”
We cannot restore our democracy without having Congress grow a pair and we can’t expect that to happen without a Red Hair Wave in November. Bring the fire! Michigan swung and missed. Don’t let your state do the same.
My brothers, not as lovely as my sister. They taunted me throughout my childhood with, “I’d rather be dead than red on the head.” I think they speak for the vast majority of people with inferior colored hair, for example, blondes, brunettes, people with black hair.
To blunt the probable protests, “You don’t have any hair, how can you identify as a redhead?!” Put this picture in your pipe and smoke it.
Yes, you’re absolutely right, whoever gave me that haircut is a bigger threat to the common good than any nefarious political administration or movement. Can a lawyer please weigh in on whether there is a statue of limitations for suing for Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress? DM your contact info if you’re willing to take my case.
Scott Galloway was two years behind me at UCLA. Never met him which is no surprise given the size of the student body and the fact that he was in a fraternity and I was in Powell Library.
I listen to most of his podcasts and would like to know him. He’s super funny, profane, whip smart, a dedicated father, and leans into his emotions in ways one rarely sees in the male species. Also, he describes his 18 year old self as “unremarkable” and still has tremendous gratitude for the Regents of the University of California taking a gamble on him. That sentiment always hits hard with your humble blogger. I see you and raise you SG. I was probably more “unremarkable” than you. I don’t know what prompted the Regents of the UC to gamble on me, but I too will be forever grateful. But unlike you, I doubt Gavin Newsom will ever appoint me to be a Regent.
Despite all the love I have for SG, he sporadically expresses some views, about gender especially, that make me shudder.
Turns out, I’m not alone. Today, he’s featured on the front page of the New York Times via Ross Douthat’s podcast. The title is, “Scott Galloway: America Abandoned It’s “Unremarkable’ Young Men.”
Dig the top two “Readers Comments”.
Double mic drops. To his credit, SG unplugs for August. Completely. When he resurfaces in September on his pods, I expect him to address these most thoughtful and recommended comments and others like them. Why? Because he’s a Bruin and that’s the way we roll.
Clay Routledge dropping wisdom in “Stop Pathologizing Ordinary Life”.
Routledge starts with one of the more vexing conundrums of our times—Americans are focused on mental health more than ever before, and yet, our mental health appears to be getting worse.
His thesis:
“This broadening of what we think counts as a disorder — known as concept creep — encourages us to pathologize ordinary life and see ourselves as mentally unhealthy.
Then there’s our perception of how widespread mental illness is. By broadening what counts as a disorder, we begin to see it everywhere, including in ourselves.”
Of course our pocket computers don’t help:
“. . . research suggests that people who rely on social media for information about mental illnesses tend to have less accurate knowledge about them.
But the problem isn’t just that many people give themselves incorrect diagnoses. It’s also that these misperceptions can put people on the path to developing poor mental health — a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.”
An example:
“. . . consider anxiety. A certain amount is useful; it helps keep us alert and motivated to reach our goals. But start viewing anxiety as a disorder and you can become hypervigilant about avoiding anxiety-provoking situations — which, in turn, can increase the risk of developing an actual anxiety disorder.”
Routledge wraps by suggesting specific fixes and then summarizes more generally:
“. . . we should . . . try to spend less time stuck in our heads and more time out in the world, pursuing the kinds of activities that support mental health without making us so obsessed with it.”
During and after the ‘rona, I began addressing my students’ mental health directly, in an effort to support them given their obvious struggles. I’d begin with the maxim, “It’s okay, to not be okay.” But I’d always add, fairly quickly, that “It’s also okay, to be okay.” Routledge would heartily endorse that message.
It’s not redecorating the White House, demolishing the East Wing, turning the Washington Memorial pool American flag blue, or even building the Arch de Trump if that someday materializes. All of those deserve serious consideration though.
It’s shooting 70 in the Club Championship at Bedminister at age 80. For the uninitiated, very few golfers every shoot their age, maybe 1-2%. Let’s say you’re a 75 year old “stick” and catch fire on the greens at an easy and short local muni course and you shoot two over, 74. When I do that it will be free drinks for everyone.
To shoot 10 shots under your age is a staggering athletic accomplishment that in my book makes Trump the greatest President of all time, except for maybe Lincoln.
The most remarkable thing about his Championship winning performance is I’m sure he didn’t take any mulligans, never improved his lie, and putted everything out. How do I know? What has he ever lied about before?
The only logical move at this point is to resign the Presidency, join the Senior Tour, and whoop ass on the 50+ crowd. PLEASE.
Pressing Pause 