1. What with the Government shutdown and the latest Russia revelations, nobody speaks much anymore about Stormy Daniels, but I have intended to make this observation since before Christmas and I must be allowed:
CNN got into the habit of calling Stormy Daniels a "porn star" while they called Karen McDougall a "Playmate". They are always very precise about the fine differentiation. Unfair.
There that's it.
2. Trump was talking about the vaporous mystery atop his fat, bumpy head. (Always a bad idea to draw attention to it.) He defended it, saying that it was his "own hair." Sophistry!
I thought about this and eventually decided he said it –– on the recommendation of his lawyers and after a subsequent, intimate and lengthy bull session with Alan Dershowitz at Mar-a-Lago –– so that he could not technically be caught perjuring himself. It is in fact his own hair –– but it is hair that actually sprung from the back of his head, that abundant and considerable source, his mullet hair, which was cut off and then grafted to the top of his head. So do you see, when he says it is his own hair, he is not actually lying. It just happens that it was moved from one place to another and reapplied.
Like the House of the Seven Gables in Salem, Mass.
Or London Bridge.
3. A couple of times now, at the height of a spirited rant in the car for the unfortunate audience of my wife, I have looked down mid-rant and seen with unfeigned disgust that I am actually making the trademark circles between my thumbs and forefingers, popularized by none other than the leader of the Western World. I looked on in candid horror –– recoiled in shame now –– tried to throw my hands away from me like alien and remote objectoids.
I then calmed down and returned to my indefatigable habit of fucking analysing everything that comes along. I said to my wife, "Imagine, if I'm doing that, making Trump shapes with my fingers, how many others of Trump's worst habits have been subconsciously absorbed and assimilated by all the world. We watch this guy every day, in the morning and again at night, and take it all in hypnotically. His vocabulary, his psychology, what he has in lieu of a moral philosophy. Word begets Trump, and Trump is virus."
4. They always say that the only person Trump doesn't criticise is Putin. It's a banality, a saw. Then inevitably it is asked, "What's he got on Trump?" What they don't say, but should, is that there is another person Trump doesn't ever criticise –– and it's incredible –– it is Kushner. Now what's he got on Trump? What awful things has Ivanka told him I wonder?
5. Roger Stone was on Chris Cuomo last night, fresh from a night in the Tombs. Chris couldn't stop marveling that he had this guest. "He's nuts to be here, dunno why his lawyers okayed it, in fact I dunno why his lawyers haven't got him sedated in a cabin off Lake Tahoe, handcuffed to a metal bedframe, but WTF it's all gravy. Let's go."
There was now an image of Roger Stone in a box in the top left of the screen. For a moment it seemed like it was a still photograph, but then it blinked. Creepy. Like the old portrait in the haunted house in every episode of Scooby Doo ever. The eyes moved. It blinked repeatedly, rapidly. Then it moved its head slightly to one side. It was in fact a live feed of Roger Stone in the green room, radiating intense anxiety, blinking quite incessantly. Maybe he was signaling his Nazi handlers like Trump with the hand gestures and the blowjob mouth shapes. Maybe he was just nervous because he had made a real fucking rookie error of judgment as the sun was setting on this late twilit stage of the last act of his political career.
His eyebrows seemed to be a smudge of colour celebrating their fierce independence from the peroxide-and-nictoine hair on the thin wedge of his head. I saw that documentary about him last week and have painstakingly charted the peculiar career of his hairline. He now has a sort of Stan Lee plastic surgery festival that suggests he has vibrant bangs from the very front of his pate that he is forced to slick back with nuclear strength Brylcreem every morning. The dream of the bald man. "Too much hair at the front. It gets in my eyes." As a result of this skin-grafting melee he presently looks like one of the fabled "Aztec Children" that P.T. Barnum used to exhibit –– those sad victims of microcephaly. His eyebrows meanwhile seemed to be a tribute to David Ferrie, Lee Harvey Oswald's former scoutmaster and also his own personal Angela Lansbury (from Manchurian Candidate, not Murder She Wrote). David Ferrie was completely hairless and enjoyed gluing scrapes of fake fur to his face roughly in the places where clumps of hair usually occur on the human cranium and physiognomy.
6. The "in" thing to do now is to disdain the talking-in-tongues Trump sometimes does at the White House lectern. He doesn't quite fall on the ground and writhe on his back with a rattlesnake in each fist (yet), but he does everything else. He says anything and everything that occurs to him in the transcendental moment. They are calling it his "word salad." This seems to me inaccurate. Unkind to salads. It is hardly a salad, lacking the complexity and heterogeneity of a salad, unless you mean by salad a sliver of iceberg lettuce and a dried up slice of carrot. It is more a club sandwich –– or in fact a "hamberder".
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