No one is blinder, I suppose, than the paparazzi ... they will follow the Princess until she crashes-dead in a tunnel ... they'll chase young interns across oceans ... they'd follow Eleanor Roosevelt* dead into the Ladies Room, if they thought they could catch her with her bloomers down.
Hey, my Italian is pretty limited to the 100 year old doggerel written by the Philadelphia journalist, TA Daley, who memorialized the melodic language of the Italian and Irish ghettoes with no-longer-politically-correct poems like Mia Carlotta about an unnamed man who was afraid that Giusseppe da Barba who hadda da cash and da bigga black moustache would take away his Girl, Carlotta. But I can only imagine what the poet woulda done with the word for those of us who chase the outrageously rich and their erogenous zones that are hotter than anything we found in the Tropic of Cancer. Maybe Daley would written about La Pop-eros-see ... those like me who mock a nice old guy like that Ole Dawg ... The Donnie .... who is really doing his best -- at 70 -- to learn how to be and hit-the-ground-running being:
better at military strategy than all the Generals;
more learned than Chuck Tod and both Mika and Luke's Papas, Za-big Byrzinski
and just about everybody's Sunday Morning friend Tim Russert;
more perspicacious than Huntley and Brinkley and more so even than Kearns-Goodwin, Beschloss and the Brinkley who did make it to offer commentary on this election;**
better at economics than Little Bobby Reich or that serious Nobel Laureate from Princeton; all while being ...
less political than Robert Gates.
Take it from someone that age ... BELIEVE ME ... I KNOW ... BEFORE THIS I KEPT MY PLANS SECRET BUT NO MORE ... AND I HEARD IT FROM VERY HUGELY ENORMOUSLY IN-THE-KNOW and KNOWLEDGABLE OLD FARTS LIKE MYSELF ... that ...
"they say it ain't easy ... y'know it ain't easy" ***
to learn new tricks as an Olde Dawg. Hey, y'may never forget how to ride a bike or how to wield a chain-saw but, I suspect, the Bob Bondurant School of Racing wouldn't easily accept an application from me to learn how to negotiate hairpins in a Formula 1 car.
Some sympathy for Donnie, aye? Scary Clown, these days, looks more like Scared and Sleep-Deprived Clown every day. Once:
But now, more like:
or:
Time for a little rachmanus, a little mercy. Donnie's eyes, last night, had bags large enough to smuggle dope from Colorado into Nevada (Shame on Gov. Dean for the Cocaine Inuendo ... "Inna-you-Endo," I say, "Gov'nor"). Even his comb-over didn't seem to hold it together, especially not when compared to young Mike Pence's marine-cut, nevermind Pence's Presidential demeanor ... his side-toside no headshake was so-o-o-o Presidential! But back to Herr Junge Drumpf ... Imagine ... you've just spent a complete year+ running from venue-to-venue while keeping up with a young wife check out what happened to poor Emil Jannings when he tried to keep up with Marlene (not Melania, wise-guy) Dietrich ... from this:
to this:
So ... a letter ...
Dear Donnie ....
It's OK. You gave it your best shot. You took enormous risks accepting the words of anonymous doctors pretending to be Dr. Bornstein who advised you that your heart was strong enough to endure Presidential Politics, in addition to any other strains that might be present in your business or married life. Is it true that Dr. Bornstein got a haircut ... never ... mind! We who have watched you for 10,000 hours (OK, maybe less)have watched your skin tone go from tight-and-braced-for-an-Arctic-wind to just plane dough-ey. That can't be good. We've seen your neon techni-orange colors lose that neon glow. And even your Tweet-ing has lost some of its Tweet. Your schtick which we all loved has begun to lose some of its appeal, too. The Audience, you must know, eventually found that wondrously appealing Saga of Seinfeld and Nothingness ... the 20th C. spoof of Ecclesiastes ... eventually even that got old.
Look, here, Donnie. There's no particular need to demonstrate that you can keep on singing like Freddie Mercury, till just about the last day ... am Jungsten Tag in your ancestor's German. Talking about German ... I know we don't have that kind of relationship where I can recommend movies or songs. But let me end with one of each, while they're occupying space in my retracting memory banks.
So, here, it goes. Watch der Blaue Angele ... there's the German version with Jannings and Dietrich or the Kurt Jergens English remake in 1954. It's about what happens when even the wisest among us chases after young women. Now, Mike Pence? He's a dawg and still young enough to chase. Too bad he's got that religious thing. Ah, well .... Watch it and ponder. Do we have to leave the chase to the young?
Then, there's Freddie Mercury's song ... here are the lyrics ... I don't think singing it killed him ... AIDS was taking care of that ... but it's a sweet song and worth playing on that old turntable stored in the basement of the Towers. So, I'll add on those lyrics but first a wish for a future in which you can take a breath and put some eye-make-up on ... the eyes really look bad. If you, in spite of my sage advice, decide to go on ... lots of us will continue to listen ... to you ... and to hear about your Twitter Battles from the Pundtwits on the Tele.
Hope you like the movie and the lyrics ...
Concerned .... HHC
Empty spaces - what are we living for
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...
Another hero, another mindless crime
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore
The show must go on,
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on.
Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance
Another heartache, another failed romance
On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now
I'll soon be turning, round the corner now
Outside the dawn is breaking
But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free
The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
The show must go on
The show must go on
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On - with the show -
I'll top the bill, I'll overkill
I have to find the will to carry on
On with the -
On with the show -
The show must go on...****
* Eleanor Roosevelt was, in my estimation, the first FLOTUS to seriously pursue profound political issues during and after her tenure as First Lady ... the second such First Lady to do such was Hilary Rodham Clinton who, in many ways, went well-beyond Eleanor.
** No ... no ... not Christie the Model, smart-ass, but the Historian.
*** Who said/sang that? Damn, I forgot? M!
Where's ya hide the Ginkgo and how'd'ya spell it?
**** Rest in peace, Freddie!
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