Editorial License

Rob Hammerton, music educator etc.

Pious Public Pronouncements

[Excerpted from a Facebook post from today.]

Well, let me pause for a moment. I would like to link to one of my favorite vituperative left-leaning bloggers, who writes more fragrantly than I do, as a little “got-yer-back” to a thought I’ve been having. <http://driftglass.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-real-complaining-party-at-bar-in.html&gt;

Here’s what’s bugging me: Currently there are a bunch of people getting lots of credit online (cable TV, Twitter, etc. etc.) for expressing their horror as they seem to suddenly realize: “HE’S HORRIBLE. And his party has Suddenly Become Horrible.”

Rick Wilson, with a best-seller book called “Everything Trump Touches Dies”. Well, duh. Steve Schmidt with a sweet MSNBC contributor gig. Bill Kristol and David Frum, speechwriters and neoconservative think-tank jockeys whose every foreign policy stance has been proven wrong for at least a decade and a half. Nicolle Wallace, with a sweet MSNBC show-hosting gig now.

All of them Never-Trump people… and all of them just waiting for this all to blow over, after which they’ll then go right back to trying to make liberals cry, or forming the Second Tea Party.

Whatever happened to that tale about the scorpion who stung his rescuer and then shrugged because it was in his nature…?

Rick Wilson was a political-advertising guru who gave us George W. Bush’s sliming of John McCain during the 2000 primaries.

Steve Schmidt helped give us Sarah Palin. Enough said.

Bill Kristol and David Frum helped sell us the Iraq War.

Nicolle Wallace was George W. Bush’s White House Communications Director, then was communications director of the 2004 Bush-Cheney campaign, and then was a senior advisor to the 2008 McCain-Palin campaign. She didn’t stumble into these gigs. She signed up.

These, and pundits like them, are not people who were on the fence about backing Republican people and policies who were incompetent, craven, and/or cruel. They had experience in this long before the Toddler-in-Chief became a thing.

So in my book, even though they’re taking great pleasure in saying things that will make us liberal types thrill to their seeming conversions … they have one hell of a long way to go before I can happily listen to them as confirmed Lefties.

Because we who were paying attention for the last three years know full well that HE’S HORRIBLE. And we who were paying attention for the last 25 to 40 years know full well that his party has been espousing horrible policies and acting horribly.

I don’t like to hold grudges. I like to be welcoming. But I also like to bear-hug tight to that aphorism about people who forget history, and also to the aphorism (there must be one) about people who try to get other people to forget history. Because not only can that bear-hug inform my assessment of Pious Public Pronouncements … but it reinforces one idea:

We were right all along, thank you kindly.

So … anyway …

74 days to the midterms. VOTE, and then, should we prevail in wresting Congress from the clutches of the current majority … be prepared to tell all those corporately-funded “moderates” and “converted Republicans” to go pound sand. ‘Cause we’re wise to them.

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August 24, 2018 Posted by | current events, media, news, politics | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

See You Next Summer

I figured it out.

It took a little while… most of four weeks… but I got it.

I’ll back up.

My image of summer camp – the stereotypical summer camp of low-budget movies – was not my idea of a good time, not least because it usually involved enforced swimming, and my experience of swimming involved the letters P, T, S, and D.

Swimming and crafts and singed marshmallows around campfires and anything overnight… yeah, kinda no.

My parents found the sixth-grade me a summer day camp.

Oh yay.

I spent the first two weeks of the four-week camp session being very side-eye about it all. At least it was a day camp. You didn’t have to take swimming. I could write for the camp newspaper. Good, I suppose. But I was pretty sure I could have enjoyed my summer just as much, riding my bike and playing catch.

I spent the last nearly two weeks of the session begrudgingly coming around to the idea of this particular camp being kinda okay after all. I connected with a couple of really friendly counselors, made a couple… no, a squadron of pretty good friends… and got mixed up in shadow drama, whaaat?, and fencing (swords, with masks and protective jackets and advance-retreat-ho-hah-dodge-parry-thrust-PRANGG). Not bad, as it turned out.

And at the end of the four weeks, there was a big ol’ camp musical. I wasn’t in it, but some of my new friendlies were, so I went to closing night.

It was tons of fun… catchy songs… good story… great performances… the thing was a full-scale musical, but it was so entertaining that it just flew by. And just like that, it was over.

I made my way over to where the pit should have been breaking their equipment down, but instead was cranking out a celebratory blues jam. I caught the eye of the counselor on the drums. “Thanks for a great summer, Bob!” He smiled, not missing a beat (ever!), and nodded once, almost ceremonially. And I peered around the edge of the upright piano, and caught the eye of the counselor banging out chords upon it. He grinned – “Robbie!” – and I called out to him, over the blues changes.

See you next summer, Jackie!”

Yeah, I said it.

I guess summer day camp was acceptable, after all.

The musical production, by the way, was called “Monopoly”.

The performance, after which I had stumbled upon the truth, that the Charles River Creative Arts Program had passed the audition … was forty years ago tonight.

It had been there all along. And there would be many next summers.

I finally figured it out.

August 19, 2018 Posted by | arts, CRCAP | , , , | Leave a comment