Presidential Candidates parade. Charles Blow on Jebetude. Speaker ineptitude. Peggy Noonan says Kevin McCarthy may have the ambition, but not the brains for the job. Journalistic nepotism. Byline in NYTimes about Hurricane Joaquin. Tatiana Schlossberg and Noah Remnick. Hockey. Baseball. Football. Seasons collude. Mets clinch. Yankees squeeze in. World Series slides into November. Pumpkin fest. Again. It’s not Halloween. Yet. Bon weekend.
Shooter. School. Death count. Injured rate. Motive? Who cares? Guns. Votive Candles. Teddy Bears. Balloons. Funerals. Obama says it has become routine. We’ve become numb to this. Guns.
Until America loves its children more than its guns… Nothing Will Change.
Great NY Times Magazine piece on El Trumpo. Mark Leibovich accompanied Donald on his private jet to various campaign venues. He confirms that between gigs Donald watches himself on every channel and tweets after dark like a frenzied teen. Nevertheless, he entertains crowds and disrupts old political ways.
Meanwhile, Russia’s Vlad swaggers through his gold-gilded doors with similar narcissism and bombast. He will fight ISIS in Syria. So, let him. As Donald says, why not? Do we want to send our kids there to fight? Let Putin do it.
Yogi Berra. Junipero Serra. Yankees. Mets. Putin. Trump. Mickey. Terry. So. When you come to a fork in the road take it.
Final Papal thought. He met with sex abuse victims. Ray. Bunchy. Unless you speak Spanish, you missed most of what Pope Francis really said. Idioms, off-script quips, dropped by abysmal and sanitized translations. Duplicated voiceovers. His passionate literary Argentine soul was totally lost. Che.
Okay. I’ve been resurrected from my Pope Francis stupor. Reality has set in. Yes. There were lots of men in dresses with purple sashes. And nuns serving as sister wives. I get it. It’s an anachronistic patriarchal cult. Anchor-pundits tried to narrate about what they had no clue, then were more swept away day by day. Even as a long lapsed Catholic, I still love the guy.
Then. Central Park Festival dovetails with Papal message. Bey. Ond. Say. First Lady Michelle. Bono. Malala. Back to Seattle’s Pearl Jam. Whoa. Tomorrow season finale of Ray Donovan. Best show.
Don’t remember smiling as much as in the past couple of days. Papa Francesco. President Obama giddy in his presence. John Boehner stepped down in emotional tears of relief. In one day, U.S. Government turned on its head. Standing O and Mo Rocca at MSG Mass. Harlem school kids taking selfies as they chanted and sang. Multi-religious cultural core of Pope’s message.
Teacher, too. I’d never heard of Dorothy Day nor Thomas Merton. Until he included them with American icons Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. Now I’ve learned who they are. Evoked the gaucho epic poem Martín Fierro at the U.N. Hadn’t read that since Spanish major in college. The quintessential forefather of Pampas Pastor Bergoglio. Inspirational interlude. Grazie Papa.
Francisco is the coolest most authentic person. A joyful warrior for mercy. Siempre adelante! Kinda like Kasich. Evangelicals deride the Pope’s stands on climate change and income inequality. Their hate for Muslims and illegal immigrants Trumps their love for Jesus. Interesting times.
What happens when you fly West to escape oncoming Pope cluster in Manhattan? You run into Chinese President Xi at your Seattle hotel.