Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Sometimes The Good Die Old

Gene Wilder Dead At 83

Headlines like these seem to happen with far too much regularity these days.  I guess it's because, like me, my silver screen heroes are aging too.

Some hit harder than others.  This one?  Well, it stings.

He was part of some seriously formative years.

Yes, Gene will forever shine brighter than Depp as Willy Wonka.  In fact, I refused to even entertain the idea of seeing Depp's turn as the chocolate maker.  Some movies simply do not need dicked with.  And Gene's turn as Wonka was iconic.  I was 5 years old when it was released.  It was magical.  HE was magical.  And handsome.  And crazy.  And amazing.

I was a tiny tot, but an instant fan.  Through the years I gorged on his movies the way Augustus gorged on his chocolate.  Blazing Saddles never fails to make me laugh.  Young Frankenstein is a black and white marvel.  Silver Streak paired him with Richard Pryor and the chemistry was explosive.  The movies piled up as did the laughs. 

He braved loss in his life, disappearing to absorb the pain of Gilda's passing, then bravely re-emerging to lift the corners of our mouths yet again.  He seemed to innately understand and channel that Willy Wonka line, "A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men."  

83.  In terms of years lived, that is a good run.  Using those years to bring pleasure to others makes it a memorable run.

His nephew released this statement regarding his passing:  “We understand for all the emotional and physical challenges this situation presented we have been among the lucky ones — this illness-pirate, unlike in so many cases, never stole his ability to recognize those that were closest to him, nor took command of his central-gentle-life affirming core personality. The decision to wait until this time to disclose his condition wasn’t vanity, but more so that the countless young children that would smile or call out to him “there’s Willy Wonka,” would not have to be then exposed to an adult referencing illness or trouble and causing delight to travel to worry, disappointment or confusion. He simply couldn’t bear the idea of one less smile in the world."

He simply couldn’t bear the idea of one less smile in the world.

83 years.  Billy Joel is wrong.  Sometimes the good die old.  And we are so grateful for their years.

Now, excuse me, but I must go, "So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you. "

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you, Gene, for helping to create my smile lines.  Now go - Gilda's waiting...

 

Swimming Up Shit Creek

We have all lied.

ALL of us.  From priest to prophet to the most podunk and pedestrian among us - we all lie.

White lies to keep a surprise hidden.  Lies of omission because we feel guilty or know that uttering truths would hurt someone and achieve nothing.  Lies to make us seem more - you know, "the fish was THIS big" lies.  And flat out, we-stepped-in-it-cover-our-asses lies.

We're human.  It's what we do.  

That's not to say that we also don't put a premium on telling the truth.  We absolutely do.  And raised with enough positive reinforcement, consequences that teach lessons not fear, and the daily reminder that we are our word - well, we do pretty good as adults.

Personally, we have raised our kids to understand that whatever truth they tell us may not make us happy, but our reaction will be far more severe if we find out they have lied.

Ryan Lochte apparently missed that lesson along the way.

It has been one week since he and his swimming cohorts on the USA Olympic team went out in Rio, got raucously drunk, behaved abysmally, and then dove into a campaign of CYA - Cover Your Ass.

Lochte led the liars brigade - lamenting to his mommy how they had been pulled over by fake police, robbed at gunpoint, hell, that gun had been pressed to his head.  But they managed to get safely back to the Olympic digs and were unharmed.

Pressed to his head.  As Steve Martin said in Leap of Faith:

 

His mother took to social media.  And news media picked it up and ran with it.  After all, it had everything:  handsome medalists, intrigue, life-or-death threats, and a happy ending.  Perfectly packaged to sell to a global audience already tuned in daily for the world's greatest sporting events.

And that is where it all began to take on the scent of the shorts worn by a French race walker

See, had this happened to you or me or any other John or Jane Doe, it would have stayed a small entry on our FB walls, a tale to tell at Starbucks over a latte, an unprovable story from our travels abroad.  Sure to titillate the cul-de-sac set who would have no way of vetting our tale.

But Ryan Lochte isn't us.  He is not just an anonymous traveler.  He is an arrogant, well known, Olympic medalist.  His nightlife cronies, while not quite the same in name recognition (James Feigen, Gunnar Bentz, and Jack Conger - who?), are medalists who were also representing their country at the Games.  So their story, its import, its obvious implications for the reputation of the host city and country got swift attention from authorities.

As video emerged from a gas station, then accounts from those who worked there, as well as the driver who had ferried the drunken tadpoles that night - the story began to take on a distinctly Swiss Cheesian look.  There were holes everywhere.

As authorities, concerned over how this incident reflected on their city, kept digging, it became quickly apparent that the story being reported, the story now being actively bandied about on TV by Lochte, was nothing but the lies of some drunken, embarrassed, CYAers.

They did not have victims on their hands, they had the fabled Ugly Americans personified.

Two of the men were pulled from their flight home and taken to the police station, their passports temporarily confiscated.  Feigen was also still in Rio and had his passport taken - he has since agreed to pay $11,000 to charity as way of apology.  Lochte had already run home to the States and was lighting up the TVs telling his tale of heroism and balls - he refused to get on the ground, backtalked the robber who was pressing the gun to his head.  

Oh, so Dirty Harry, Ryan.

Well, faced with very real consequences, Feigen, Bentz, and Conger began backstroking backpedaling and quickly gave up the silver haired ghost - coming clean to authorities, and implicating Lochte as the anchor in the 4x400 Liars Relay.  But let's be real here, in the face of videos showing them actively vandalizing the gas station restroom, pissing on a wall, and being belligerent - the truth was pretty much their only fallback. 

Lochte, safely ensconced here at home, took a deep breath and dove in deeper, defending his story to Matt Lauer, although subtly altering some details.  Suddenly they had not been pulled over, there was the addition of the gas station, and the gun - held by a security guard to dissuade them from escaping until police could arrive - had only been pointed his direction, not pressed to his head.  It was all so "confusing" and "scary."

Fast forward a few more days, and a lot more truth telling and fall out and Lochte was beginning to drown in his own pool of lies.  (I hazard he also saw any potential endorsements circling the toilet bowl - integrity being somewhat important to sponsors.)

He released a statement via his Twitter account.  Still not admitting he lied, just acknowledging he had not been as "candid" as he could have been.

Well, with everyone from Joe on the Twitter street corner to TV's beloved and typically benign Al Roker calling bullshit hard and fast, Lochte sat down with Matt Lauer (who had softballed the initial interview) again.  Last night he owned up to having "over exaggerated" the story.   He felt badly about abandoning his teammates to face the music that had quickly been turned up to 11 in Rio.

Over exaggerated.

OK, Ryan, let me help you out here.

The words you are looking for are I LIED.  

That's it.  That's all.  We all know it.  Hell, the world knows it.  Even your mom must surely now know it.  

YOU LIED.  And then LIED SOME MORE.  And then, even when faced with the cold hard video truth, LIED HARDER.

And here is why it's a problem, Ryan (and all Lochte apologists).  You are not a child, you are a 32 year old man.  OK, ok, man-child.  Indulged, ass kissed, privileged, and blatantly in love with your own image.  You were in these Olympics to represent your country - not just in the water, Ryan.  You were a high profile guest in another country.  You were supposed to be setting an example.

To whom much is given, much is expected, Ryan.

Yes, yes, yes, we all know you have had the angst and frustration of having to swim in the monstrous wake of Michael Phelps all these years.  That couldn't have been easy for one whose ego is as big as is yours.  The spotlight has its appeal - we get it.

But lying and making yourself a hero while running down an entire country is not the path to glory.  Or endorsement money.  Pride and copious lying goeth before a belly flop, dear Ryan.  And the flop you are now experiencing?  Well, it's going to hurt when you hit because you actively drained the pool yourself.

Telling the truth isn't glamorous.  Hell, the truth is often pretty damned boring,  It can also be pretty damned damning if you have been up to no good, as is the conjecture about the night preceding your story telling.  But the truth will also fade a story much quicker than the lies bandied to cover it.

You have ruined your name, ruined your brand, have lost any perception as a role model, Wheaties won't touch you (hell, Fiber One won't touch you and they're in the literal business of producing crap) and shown the world exactly who you are - a 32 year old privileged athlete who still continues to choose swimming up the shit creek of his own lies instead of just diving headfirst into the truth.

But take heart, two things have come of this - if there were a podium for liars and another for cautionary tales parents tell their children about the value of the truth, you would currently be standing on top of both being decorated in gold.

#GOLDMEDALINGUILT #BIGGESTLOSER #LOCHTEMESSMONSTER #ROKERCALLEDIT

Factose Intolerant

In the movie Stripes, Bill Murray lays down a now iconic line when asked if he and his platoon completed their training in the absence of their Sargeant (the equally iconic Hulka): 

That's a fact, Jack.

The Urban Dictionary even includes this scene as the reference for the phrase, defining it as: A statement that is true in the absolute sense, and will not even tolerate a discussion.

Facts.  They are what they are.  We may not like them.  They may not support ideas we previously held.  They may rub up against our inner narratives, causing unease via cognitive dissonance.

But facts do not care.

They do not care which side of an argument they support.  They do not care if you embrace them.  They do not care if they cause you to run screaming into the hills.  They simply exist.  Cold, hard bits of irrefutable data.

I have long said that there is no discussion after a FACT.

Sure, there may be anger, disgruntlement, disbelief - but there is nothing left to discuss.  You cannot debate a FACT into changing.  You cannot threaten it into bending to your will.  You cannot Simone Biles them with mental gymnastics and think you will stick the landing.  Facts will laugh as you fall on your ass.  And you cannot outrun a FACT no matter how much Usain Bolt you channel.

Watching this election season - from primaries to the here and now, one thing has become glaringly sad and obvious - the residents of Bullshit Mountain - that lovely bubble enclosed Mecca identified by Jon Stewart - are all suffering from FACTose Intolerance.

Yes, like its cousin lactose intolerance, those who are factose intolerant suffer similar symptoms, only higher up in their physiology.  When exposed to data that does not support their desired view of the world around them, they experience brain crampage, mental bloating, and explosive verbal diarrhea.

And while this phenomenon has been exhibited during election seasons in the past, and has been a chronic ailment during the entire Obama administration as GOPers and Teabaggers desperately twist themselves into knots to embrace the latest Breitbart-Limbaugh-O'Reilly sewage, their factose intolerance has hit an all time high (low?) with the advent of their latest Great White Hope (literally) - Donald Trump.

Donald is the absolute embodiment of the ailment - eschewing accuracy and facts for his own worldview, scare tactics, and hyperbole.  Not a single speech has contained legitimate data - just whatever drops from his cerebellum to his tongue - like an airplane in flight discharging toilet waste.  The byproduct is foul, stinks, and permeates everything it touches.

His mouthpieces are no different, going on TV, making shit up full speed ahead, and seldom being challenged by the on air personalities (notice I do not call them reporters or journalists, as most networks jumped that shark a long time ago, coveting ratings and creating drama over, you know, actual integrity and fact finding).  The latest spokesperson to visit CNN from Bullshit Mountain was Trump advisor Michael Cohen.  In an interview yesterday he was asked by anchor Brianna Keilar to speak to the campaign being in obvious crisis mode as more players are moved, replaced, and characters like outed FOX exec and alleged ass grabber, Roger Ailes and Breitbart braintrust, Steve Bannon are brought on board.  The exchange was a thing of beauty, and a pure example of textbook factose intolerance:

BK: You say it’s not a shakeup, but you guys are down.

MC: Says who?

BK: Polls. Most of them. All of them.

MC: Says who?

BK: Polls. I just told you. I answered your question.

MC: OK. Which polls?

BK: All of them.

Says who?  Seriously?  That is your come back to the FACTS of every national poll showing Trump sinking faster than the Titanic?  Sorry, ace, but you cannot embrace the polls when they show your guy up, wearing them like some sash in a beauty contest, and then disparage and attempt to delegitimize them when they don't support your team.

Yet the Trump acolytes lap it all up.  They embrace the lies.  They cling to, and repeat, the fictions.  They like being frightened.

That last part is especially sad to me.  I get it - we are all different.  Our brains function differently.  Some of us are brave, some of us are not.  Some of us lead, far more follow.  But to want to be scared?  To enjoy having bogeymen constantly created and waved at you?  It's sick.  It's some sort of victim porn, like a fetish gone awry.  These people like having their skin crawl, they enjoy imagining ISIS is going to invade their cul-de-sac.  They get off on having their prejudices and low intellect fellated by the orange man at the podium.

And because of this addiction, this constant need to have their ignorance and hate validated, they completely turn from anything that may disrupt the mental masturbation.  FACTS are suddenly conspiracies.  Data is elite.  And accurate information has zero value.  

Factose intolerance takes hold.  

That is how a self aggrandizing, egomaniacal, thintelligent, bloviating, middle school maturity Tweeter ascends to the place we now see him.  Trump has trumped all common sense, all appreciation for accuracy, and decency, tact, and diplomacy.

The factose intolerant prop him up and he must constantly ratchet up his rhetoric.  What was once just simple, missionary, maybe a blow job level podium porn, and enough to titillate his audiences, is now boring.  They can't get off on just "build a wall" and "Mexicans are rapists".  Noooooo.  Now they require incendiary, murder laden taunts against the opponent.  They need dais dirties that are on a bestiality-ball gag-whips-and-chains-two-girls-and-a-cup level in order to stay erect and engaged.

Again, I get it.  Facts can sometimes be inconvenient.  Hell, facts can often times be boring.  And having to face a FACT and replace what you thought you knew with accuracy can even be embarrassing.  But it is also necessary.

This country will not move forward with a huge swath of the electorate committed to staying stupid.   The United States cannot continue to have a presence in this world that is respected if we demonstrate to the world that we just don't give a f**k.  And as for the bullshit slogan "Make America Great Again"?  Well, for one, the USA is actually pretty decent already., but just how do you halfwits propose to make it great by living in a fantasy bubble that completely obscures the necessities of education, literacy, and actual knowledge?  Sticking your fingers in your ears like a toddler and chanting lalalalalalalalal-I-can't-hear-you is not very effective policy, or adulting for that matter.

November is going to come just as it did the past two general elections - with GOPers swearing they are going to win in a landslide.  And they are going to lose in a landslide AGAIN.

All the while staring down from the heights of Bullshit Mountain, open mouthed and factose intolerant, wondering what went wrong.

And that's a fact, Jack.