“We come now to the conspiracy element of…delusion, and it is not particularly original. You’ve heard this before: There is a cabal of rich and powerful men (in some versions they are Jews, or Masons, or Illuminati, or Satanists, or pedophiles, or etc.), and this cabal is secretly conducting some kind of wicked business—planning a massive genocide, or creating a sadomasochistic pleasure palace in the basement of a pizza parlor, or rigging democratic elections, or hoarding stockpiles of the world’s remaining resources in secret bunkers—and their evil web of influence extends to the highest levels of government, to the CEOs of major companies and billionaire entrepreneurs and wealthy investment bankers and all the royal families of Europe and the Middle East. It’s one of those urban legends that a lot of otherwise ordinary folks believe to be true…”
Chaon, Dan. Sleepwalk (p. 93). Henry Holt and Co..
COMPASSION IS THE ONLY MORAL USE OF POWER.
TODAY FROM AMERICA:
“[O]ur memories are no less real than whatever moment in which we happen to be living.”
Osman, Richard. The Last Devil to Die (A Thursday Murder Club Mystery) (p. 320). Penguin Publishing Group.
A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES: November bringing in the grey skies, grey snow, and grey emotions in the winters of our lives.
“It’s dangerous to make a cult of your own unhappiness. Hard to get out, once you’ve been in there too long. You forget how.”
Galbraith, Robert. The Running Grave (A Cormoran Strike Novel) (p. 936). Little, Brown and Company.
Thankfully, I don’t dwell on my unhappiness all that much. Generally, I think I am a pretty happy guy. Instead, I have some personal quirks that I’m rather fond of, such as being a bit of a hypochondriac, relishing naps, and experiencing bouts of ennui from time to time.
November came splashing in with a surprise plumbing disaster on the very first day of the month, which seemed oddly fitting. Back when I was a kid, growing up in the urban areas in and around NYC, I used to think of November as the start of what I called the “Great Grey Wet.” It was all about the grey skies, grey snow, and grey emotions—winter’s onset in full swing.
The toilet mishap flooded not only our bathroom but also seeped into the downstairs closet and even reached the outside wall. Fortunately, I managed to turn off the water supply and set up an appointment with a plumber.
The next day, Thursday, we eagerly awaited the plumber’s arrival. As I waited I watched MSNBC’s report on the latest fantasies of the ex-president, it struck me that my perception of plumbers might be a bit on the paranoid side, akin to the way some folks on the far-right view reality. I couldn’t help but worry that they’d insist on replacing the entire plumbing system instead of just fixing a worn-out seal.
Sure enough, when the plumber finally arrived, he confirmed my fears: he said the entire toilet needed replacement, and on top of that, it would cost an extra $400 for him to do the installation. After he left, we made a trip to Home Depot, where we bought a new toilet. Luckily, they agreed to ship it and handle the installation, saving us a good $200-300. That turned my day around, and I can’t help but feel pretty content with how things have gone so far—excitement in its own way!
Later in the evening, after dinner, we decided to watch the movie adaptation of the novel “All The Light We Cannot See” on Netflix. It strayed quite a bit from the book and didn’t receive the best reviews, but personally, I enjoyed it. I’m a fan of movies that bring a bit of excitement and wrap things up with a touch of schmaltz. Thursday is also the day we put our the garbage for the next morning pickup. We have three garbage cans of different sizes and each requiring a different mix of garbage according to Sacramento’s refuse department regulations. I suppose it is like that pretty near everywhere now. I have neither the understanding nor the patience to carry out these rules, so Naida trundles around the house emptying out our various wastebaskets into the three cans while I busy myself with other things like watching television or writing this.
Friday was lunch day with Hayden. I drove into the Golden Hills, and it was clear that autumn had arrived in this part of the Great Valley. The leaves on the trees had transformed into their yellow and red autumn colors, even though the weather remained warm and sunny, with temperatures well into the 70s. While I usually enjoy the drive, this time I found it exhausting. Perhaps my days of driving are slowly coming to an end.
During lunch, Hayden told me that Little Jake had formed a band and he even played one of their songs for me on his phone. It wasn’t bad at all.
When I returned home, I discovered that I hadn’t properly shut off the water in the toilet, resulting in a flood. I fixed it, and I hope properly. Naida asked me when it was they were coming to install the new toilet, but I didn’t know. So, I drove back to Home Depot and found out it had been scheduled for next Friday. I hope my temporary fix holds up until then. When I returned home, all the driving and fixing had left me exhausted, so I took a nap.
On Saturday morning, I slept in and missed Saturday Morning Coffee once again. For most of the day, I felt fatigued, had headaches, and was lethargic. It all was reminiscent of my condition back in August.
In the early afternoon, Naida and I visited the Rivers Edge Assisted Living site, which is nearby. Perhaps due to how I was feeling, I thought it was time to explore changing our living arrangements. While I had hoped we would continue to live here in the Enchanted Forest for a few more years, Naida believes she needs assistance, and I…well I sleep a lot.
Rivers Edge is a relatively pleasant facility located at the American river’s edge near the Enchanted Forest. They also accept aging dogs. We haven’t made a decision yet, but we need to do so before the end of the month. I wonder if all of this was brought on by the toilet crisis. Actually, it may have more to do with Naida’s ongoing conflict with the man living next door to us, who insists on dumping his garbage into our organic recycling bin.
After we returned home and Naida walked the dog, we watched “Moonstruck,” a movie I’ve seen more times than any other movie, except perhaps “The Princess Bride,” and I enjoy it more each time I watch it. Today was no exception. Three quotes:
Ronny Cammareri:
Yeah. Everything seems like nothing to me now against I want you in my bed. I don’t care if I burn in hell. I don’t care if you burn in hell. The Past and the Future is a joke to me now. I see that they’re nothin’. I see they ain’t here. The only thing that’s here is you – and me…Come. upstairs. I don’t care why you come. No, that’s not what I mean. Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn’t know this either, but love don’t make things nice – it ruins. everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren’t here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!
(I consider this one of the greatest seduction speeches in all of literature.)
Loretta Castorini:
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two months since my last confession.
Twice I took the name of the Lord in vain, once I slept with the brother of my fiancee, and once I bounced a check at the liquor store, but that was really an accident.
(Every good Catholic understands the benefit of hiding real sins (well, not real bad sins but sexual ones) among the chaff in the hopes their confessor misses it. Why we were so embarrassed to mention our sexual adventures I couldn’t understand. Because he was celibate and we were afraid to shock him? Because we were so embarrassed we wouldn’t even tell our parents? Who knows? Who Cares?)
Ronny:
I love you.
Loretta:
[slaps him twice] Snap out of it!
(Note: This ranked #96 in the American Film Institute’s list of the top 100 movie quotations in American cinema. I thought it deserved to rank in the top 20 right behind “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father. Prepare to die.”)
I had great difficulty sleeping that night. The following morning, Naida showed me the thick layer of pollen that had covered the garden table. Perhaps my physical and emotional problems of the last few days, like those in August, are nothing more than side effects of allergies. It’s funny how physical discomfort can wreak havoc on your emotions. On the other hand, at my age, dealing with emotional turmoil and nostalgia are among the few pleasures that remain to us.
Later in the day, as I stared at the clock and wondered if I should head upstairs for a nap, my mind drifted off to contemplate the accomplishments of the former President, who had been indicted in multiple cases. Throughout his presidency, he accumulated numerous records and distinctions, most of which were not positive. He oversaw the longest government shutdown, which occurred while his own party controlled both Chambers of Congress. He presided over the largest increase in the national debt within a single term, faced multiple indictments of administration members, had the worst debt-to-GDP ratio in history, and became the first President in history to serve a full term while increasing the deficit every year he was in office. He also became the first President since Hoover to lose jobs and the first major-party candidate in half a century to lose the popular vote twice. Furthermore, he was impeached on multiple occasions.
Trump was impeached twice by the House of Representatives, first in 2019 for abuse of power and obstruction of Congress, and then again in 2021 for incitement of insurrection related to the events at the U.S. Capitol. He holds the distinction of being the only president ever to have members of his own party vote to convict him after impeachment proceedings. Additionally, he garnered attention for making statements that many considered misleading and for incurring significant expenses related to golf outings. He also faced criticism for his role in fomenting an insurrection.
It’s worth noting that this list does not include the extensive list of claimed criminal activities for which he has been indicted and is currently awaiting trial.
(After writing this, I went upstairs to take a nap.)
Monday, it was a typical day for us. We got up late, walked the dog, watched TV, and enjoyed conversation and laughter. Naida’s daughter dropped by to discuss dogs, housekeepers, and flowers. After her visit, we tuned into MSNBC to catch shows hosted by Jen Psaki, Rachel Maddow, and Lawrence O’Donnell before heading to bed. For some reason, I had trouble falling asleep.
Tuesday seemed like a good day also, although I can’t quite recall why. I do remember that the Democrats performed well in the midterm elections. My niece participated in the NY Marathon on behalf of the Crohn and Colitis Foundation, and my cousin Gugleilmo Lalicata and his Canicatti marathon team traveled from Sicily to compete as well.
Wednesday was errand day. I got a haircut, and we purchased a plant for Naida’s son-in-law, Mark, whose father had recently passed away. We delivered it to Mark’s wife, Sarah. We enjoyed a great lunch at Piatti, as usual, and then went grocery shopping. In the evening, Naida watched the Republican debate while I had dinner.
It is now Saturday, and I will attempt to reconstruct some of my memories from the past few days, solely to test the extent of the deterioration of my mind. On second thought, perhaps I should not, as nothing comes to mind. Wait, something did. One noteworthy event was when Naida’s daughter, Jennifer, dropped by to offer her organizational recommendations to help us manage mental and physical effects of our aging. They seemed like good ideas at the time, but by the next day, our attempts to execute her advice quickly unraveled. Additionally, I recalled attending a presentation at River’s Edge by a woman who claimed she could handle everything required for our move, including working with us to identify the items to be moved, designing the new apartment, packing, installation, selling what remains, and selling the house, among other things. So that’s it for those days.
This morning, both Naida and I were not feeling well, so we drove to the Saturday Morning Coffee event. It was the same old routine. After the coffee, I met with the librarian who managed our opposition to a development proposed in the subdivision I mentioned several posts ago. Unfortunately, we lost before the planning department this week and plan to appeal and then take it to court. We discussed this, and then we talked about our psychiatrists. Following that, Naida and I attempted to sign up for pickle-ball, but we couldn’t find anyone to partner with. Consequently, we returned home, where we sat and watched MSNBC before going to bed. We slept until dark, and upon waking up, I couldn’t help but think that old age wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so exhausting.
Later that evening Naida recited a poem from her childhood in Idaho. It went something like this:
Dark and dreary was the night.
A storm was raging high.
In vivid streaks the lightning flashed
Across the leaden sky.
But see, look yon distant wood
There stands a vengeful man,
Blood-stained club firmly grasped
Within his strong right hand.
The club is raised and then it falls
Oh, with a sickening thud.
And there upon the cold, damp ground
Lies murdered ——
—— A potato bug.
We also watched several episodes of a fascinating new British mystery series called “Bodies.” The series revolves around the discovery of a man found naked and murdered in four different years: 1890, 1941, 2023, and 2050. Unfortunately, despite being set in Britain (specifically London) and featuring English actors speaking in their native tongue, it was mostly incomprehensible to those of us accustomed to American English
On Sunday, the Niners won, and I spent most of the day sleeping. In the evening, we watched two more episodes of “Bodies.” I enjoyed them, but Naida didn’t share the same enthusiasm. She said, “I prefer shows where I can understand what they are saying.” On the other hand, I tend to prefer movies that leave me wondering, “What did I just see?” We have two more episodes to go. Tomorrow, the toilet installer returns, which is something to look forward to. I also have lunch scheduled with Hayden, and I’m excited about that. I try not to think too far ahead because, at my age, it usually means more medical appointments. Before heading to bed, Naida began playing on the piano folk songs and spirituals from an old songbook she has, and we sang along to most of them.
Today was a great day. Firstly, the new toilet was finally installed. At our age, a broken toilet is a significant inconvenience, even if there’s another one available in the house. While waiting for the plumber to complete the installation, Naida and I sat in the studio and discussed her ancestors, specifically the Fraser family from Pennsylvania. The Frasers arrived on the Mayflower and eventually settled on Martha’s Vineyard.
In the mid-1700s, John Fraser emigrated from Scotland and settled in western Pennsylvania (now Venango County), becoming the first white person to do so. Eventually, he became George Washington’s guide and translator during the French and Indian War. He also established the historic Fraser’s Tavern in Bedford, PA. While going through a collection of Fraser’s documents, I came across an amazing report written by Fraser’s wife, telling a remarkable story.
Jane Dunlop Fraser married John Fraser when she was 19 years old and went to live with him on his farm by the Cumberland River. Just one year later, she was captured by a band of Miami Native Americans while she was several months pregnant and was transported almost 200 miles to the Indians’ village, where she was kept for 18 months with the chief’s family. During her time there, she described everyone as extremely nice and kind, and they told her they expected her children to become great chiefs. Sadly, her son was born but died after three months. Jane described the touching funeral the natives held for him. After 18 months, she managed to escape with two Dutch captives. About halfway back home, she separated from the other two captives and made her way home by herself. Just before arriving home, she came upon a settlement that allowed her to stay overnight, fed her, and provided her with clothes. The next morning, the entire town, all dressed for a festival, accompanied her to her husband’s settlement. To her surprise, her husband had remarried, and when he saw her, he admitted that he guessed he was not married to his second wife. The second wife took it well and stayed for the celebration of Jane’s return before returning to her father’s home.
Naida, who has already written three well-received novels about settlers and Native Americans in 19th-century California, thought this would make a great novel. I made a copy of Jane’s report.
After that, I went to lunch with Hayden in the Golden Hills. During our time together, we discussed his plans. He mentioned that after his upcoming trip to Thailand, Japan, and Hawaii next month, he intends to begin his studies. Then he hesitated and said that what he would really like to do is something like what he did in third grade—a program of crazy humor that would make people happy. He added, “But maybe I’ll have to wait until I’m older. I may not know what some people might find objectionable, and I don’t want to offend anyone. I just want to make people happy.” I responded, “Don’t worry, that’s how you can open each episode—by saying just that.”
In the third grade, Hayden had a program on the internet called “The Haystack Show,” which he produced in a studio he built himself. The program gained some local notoriety, but he eventually stopped when he realized he didn’t have the knowledge and experience to reach a larger audience.
After I returned home and took a nap, Naida and I watched the last two episodes of “Bodies” on Netflix. It’s a good show, entertaining with some flaws, and I would recommend it. Afterward, we watched Lawrence O’Donnell and “Antiques Roadshow” before going to bed. All in all, it was one of the great days of my decrepitude.
B. MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES: POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN EL DORADO HILLS (November 14, 2013)
I spent Halloween in a remote subdivision in Cameron Park, a town located a bit further into the foothills than El Dorado Hills. There, I observed greedy children and some adolescents rushing from house to house, begging for candy without a care for anything else. The residents of the subdivision took Halloween seriously, sitting in their driveways in costume beside large bonfires and tables laden with candies for the children and drinks for the adults. Enormous automatons, such as a twelve-foot-tall animated figure of the Headless Horseman, and sculptures emerging from the mist created by fog machines, stood blinking and moving awkwardly on the lawns.
Fall has finally arrived in the foothills. Yellow-leaved trees have emerged among the red ones, and the lawns and streets are covered with fallen brown leaves. As I walk along, the breeze twists leaves from the branches, and they drift onto the lawns and streets like slow-motion snow. The colors of autumn—yellow, orange, red, and brown—paint a vivid picture. I could describe the scientific process by which the leaves change color or the metaphors they represent, but I leave that to the reader. To me, fall signifies not an ending but a fulfillment. Perhaps the drunken poet was wrong, and we should not go softly into that dark night. Nah, what’s the purpose of that? Might as well scream. It might be your last chance.
Mornings are quite chilly, but in the afternoons, it warms up enough for me to sit on the porch in the sun and drift off to sleep.
These days, I spend my time somewhat like a part-time messenger, picking up or dropping off things for Dick or Hayden. I find it quite enjoyable, traveling here and there, spending a few moments on the directed business, and then moving on. Hermes, the messenger of the gods, had a pretty good gig.
A few days ago, I learned that Triple H has completely succumbed to the dark side. After conning me out of a few dollars on bets he couldn’t lose, I overheard him on the phone trying to persuade SWAC to give him more money to buy LEGO kits and SKYLANDER characters. Following his phone call, he turned to me and said, “I’m a money ninja. I don’t give up until they agree just to be rid of me.” I thought it was time for some parental guidance on the subject, but I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to say.
My doctor recently advised me to spend less time alone and socialize more. In the meantime, he increased my dosage of happy pills.
PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:
Let’s Talk About What Polling A Year Before A Presidential Election Means.
Recently, there has been extensive media coverage of recent polling highlighting President Biden’s relatively poor performance among potential voters. The political pundit community has been buzzing with concern about what this might mean for the President in the upcoming election, which is about a year away. Despite the latest Democrat success in the recent mid-term elections the press, even the so called “liberal press” like MSNBC, CNN and the like seem disposed to highlight equally the Democratic success and the Presidents failure in the polls. But does it really indicate his fate? Let’s delve into the history of polling in presidential elections spanning the past 50 years.
The Dynamics of Polling and Incumbent Presidents’ Second Term Elections
In U.S. presidential elections, polling can play a pivotal role in assessing public sentiment and predicting outcomes, particularly for incumbent presidents seeking re-election. I have examined some information regarding the performance over the past five decades of these presidents in an attempt to gage how reliable polling one year before predicts the election results. However, It needs to be acknowledged that the validity of modern political polling may be seriously flawed as described in an excellent post in Daily Kos by Mercy Ormont. (https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2023/11/8/2188972/-WHY-Polling-is-Dead-Dead-Dead pm_campaign=front_page&pm_source=trending&pm_medium=web) Ormonts post shows the many ways pollsters can manipulate the results. Since polls may be manipulated in ways described in Ormont’s post all polls should be examined closely to determine if intentionally or unintentionally bias or misdirection has occurred.
Assuming the polls themselves have not been manipulated or ineptly conducted, then:
1. Polling One Year Prior to the Election: The Early Indicators
Polling conducted one year before a presidential election serves as an initial gauge of an incumbent president’s standing with the electorate. Here’s what I found:
Incumbent presidents often encounter approval rating challenges during their first term, typically averaging around 50%.
Early polling one year before the election tends to exhibit fluctuations influenced by factors like economic performance, foreign policy, and domestic matters.
In some instances, incumbent presidents might see their approval ratings dip initially due to controversial policy decisions or external events.
2. Polling Three Months from the Election: The Home Stretch
As the election draws nearer, polling conducted three months before the election becomes increasingly significant in assessing the incumbent president’s chances of securing a second term. Here’s what happens in this phase:
Incumbent presidents often ramp up their campaign efforts during this period, which can sway polling outcomes.
These polls may reflect the impact of presidential debates, party conventions, and campaign events.
Incumbent presidents may witness a boost in their approval ratings if their campaign resonates with key demographics or if the economy shows signs of improvement.
3. The Election Results: The Final Verdict
The ultimate test of an incumbent president’s performance occurs on Election Day. This is when the electorate casts their votes, and the polling data is put to the final test. Here’s what we’ve observed:
Election results often mirror the trends seen in polling conducted three months before the election.
Incumbent presidents who have effectively communicated their accomplishments and addressed voter concerns tend to fare better in the election.
In some cases, incumbent presidents may experience a turnaround in their fortunes, while others may see their polling trends persist into the election results.
Now, let’s examine a few historical examples to illustrate these dynamics.
1: Ronald Reagan’s Re-Election in 1984
Polling One Year Prior to the Election (1983):
At the start of 1983, Ronald Reagan’s approval ratings were relatively modest, around 40%. The economy was recovering from a recession, and Reagan faced criticism for his handling of domestic issues, including unemployment and budget deficits. However, his approval ratings steadily improved throughout the year as the economy gained traction, and he implemented tax cuts that were popular with his conservative base.
Polling Three Months from the Election (July 1984):
By July 1984, three months before the election, Reagan’s approval ratings had surged to around 55%. His leadership during the economic recovery and his optimistic messaging resonated with voters. Additionally, his strong performance in the presidential debates solidified his image as a competent and charismatic leader.
Election Results (November 1984):
In the 1984 election, Ronald Reagan won in a landslide, securing 58.8% of the popular vote and 525 electoral votes, carrying 49 out of 50 states. This remarkable electoral performance reflected the substantial improvement in his standing from earlier polling, underscoring the impact of his successful campaign strategies and economic achievements.
2: George H.W. Bush’s Re-Election Bid in 1992
In contrast, the re-election bid of George H.W. Bush in 1992 serves as an example where an incumbent president’s polling trends did not translate into electoral success.
Polling One Year Prior to the Election (1991):
At the beginning of 1991, George H.W. Bush’s approval ratings were relatively high, largely due to his leadership during the Gulf War. His approval ratings reached as high as 89% in March 1991, showing strong public support for his handling of the conflict.
Polling Three Months from the Election (July 1992):
By July 1992, three months before the election, Bush’s approval ratings had fallen to around 37%. The economy was in recession, and his opponent, Bill Clinton, successfully portrayed himself as a candidate who could address domestic issues and economic challenges. Bush’s campaign struggled to pivot from his foreign policy successes to effectively addressing the economic concerns of voters.
Election Results (November 1992):
In the 1992 election, George H.W. Bush was defeated by Bill Clinton. He secured only 37.4% of the popular vote and 168 electoral votes. Clinton’s campaign, focused on “It’s the economy, stupid,” resonated with voters who were grappling with economic difficulties. Bush’s failure to effectively address these concerns in the election reflected the disconnect between his earlier polling numbers and the election results, highlighting the impact of changing political landscapes.
3: Bill Clinton’s Re-Election in 1996
Bill Clinton’s re-election campaign in 1996 demonstrates an incumbent president successfully navigating polling trends to secure a second term.
Polling One Year Prior to the Election (1995):
In 1995, one year before the election, Bill Clinton’s approval ratings were relatively stable, hovering around 50%. His presidency had been marked by a period of economic growth and relative stability.
Polling Three Months from the Election (July 1996):
By July 1996, three months before the election, Clinton’s approval ratings had improved to approximately 54%. His campaign emphasized positive economic conditions and his ability to work across the aisle. Additionally, Clinton’s personal charisma and effective communication contributed to his popularity among voters.
Election Results (November 1996):
In the 1996 election, Bill Clinton secured a decisive victory, winning 49.2% of the popular vote and 379 electoral votes. He successfully maintained and even improved upon his earlier polling numbers.
4: George W. Bush’s Re-Election in 2004
George W. Bush’s re-election campaign in 2004 shows an incumbent president’s performance varying from early polling to the final election results.
Polling One Year Prior to the Election (2003):
In 2003, one year before the election, George W. Bush’s approval ratings experienced fluctuations, largely influenced by events such as the Iraq War. His approval ratings ranged from around 50% to 60%.
Polling Three Months from the Election (July 2004):
By July 2004, three months before the election, Bush’s approval ratings remained in a similar range, approximately 49%. His campaign emphasized national security and his resolve in the face of terrorism.
Election Results (November 2004):
In the 2004 election, George W. Bush won re-election with only 50.7% of the popular vote and 286 electoral votes. His ability to maintain approval ratings within a relatively stable range from earlier polling allowed him to secure a second term.
5: Barack Obama’s Re-Election in 2012
Barack Obama’s re-election campaign in 2012 illustrates an incumbent president overcoming challenges to secure another term in office.
Polling One Year Prior to the Election (2011):
In 2011, one year before the election, Barack Obama’s approval ratings fluctuated around 45%. The U.S. was grappling with economic challenges and high unemployment rates, which posed significant hurdles for the incumbent president.
Polling Three Months from the Election (July 2012):
By July 2012, three months before the election, Obama’s approval ratings had improved to approximately 49%. His campaign focused on the economic recovery, healthcare reform, and mobilizing key demographics, including young and minority voters.
Election Results (November 2012):
In the 2012 election, Barack Obama secured re-election with 51.1% of the popular vote and 332 electoral votes. Despite the earlier challenges reflected in the polling data, Obama effectively communicated his vision for the future, which resonated with many voters. His campaign’s ground game and voter outreach efforts played a crucial role in securing his second term.
6: Donald Trump’s Re-Election Bid in 2020
Donald Trump’s re-election campaign in 2020 provides a recent example of an incumbent president facing polling dynamics and election results.
Polling One Year Prior to the Election (2019):
In 2019, one year before the election, Donald Trump’s approval ratings were polarized, often hovering around 40-45%. His presidency had been marked by controversies and a deeply divided electorate.
Polling Three Months from the Election (July 2020):
By July 2020, three months before the election, Trump’s approval ratings remained polarized at approximately 42%. His campaign focused on issues such as the economy, immigration, and law and order, while the COVID-19 pandemic posed a significant challenge.
Election Results (November 2020):
In the 2020 election, Donald Trump was defeated by Joe Biden, receiving 46.8% of the popular vote and 232 electoral votes.
Conclusion: The Ever-Changing Landscape of Incumbent Presidents
While early polling can provide insights into an incumbent’s standing, the ability to navigate changing political landscapes, effectively address key issues, and connect with voters in the final stretch leading up to the election can ultimately determine whether an incumbent president’s performance improves or stagnates from the initial polling data. These examples serve as reminders that the electoral process is a multifaceted journey, and the outcome is not solely determined by early polling but by a complex interplay of factors that unfold over the course of a presidential campaign.
I will leave it to the readers to draw from this whatever conclusions they wish from this post, however, for me early polling a year before a presidential election signifies little about the election other than an indication of voters concerns at the time the poll was taken. World and national events and the incumbent presidents response to them during the three months or so prior to the election along with campaign strategy and get out the vote efforts means far more than poll results one year prior to the election. I believe Biden and his re-election team understands this also.
PEPE’S POTPOURRI:
A. Jane Fraser on Top: Kidnapping and Escape.
The Jane Fraser kidnapping narrative: Part I.
Jane Fraser was taken to Miami country, but eventually escaped and returned home, only to find her husband, the frontier gunsmith John Fraser, had remarried. Her captivity story was sent to Cumberland by a descendant, Mrs. Cora H. Frey, of Logansport, Indiana, for verification. The document ended up in the possession of James W. Thomas, who included it in the 1923 book “History of Allegany County”. Jane’s narrative states:
My name is Jane Frazier, I was born in the year 1735 and raised near Winchester, Va. When nineteen years of age I was married to John Frazier, a young highland Scotchman. Soon after our marriage we removed to the State of Maryland and settled on a tributary of the Potomac called Tribbitts Creek, a few miles from the town of Cumberland. Soon after we settled my husband, a gunsmith by trade, determined to build a shop and set up his business. As a consequence he invited our neighbors (who at that time were few and far between) to come and assist in the building of his shop. Accordingly a few came and the erection of the building was commenced.
After I had prepared the dinner and they had eaten, I requested my husband to let our hired man, Bradley by name, take our horses and go with me to Cumberland to procure some necessities at the store.
He got the horses, saddled them, we mounted and started. Our road passed down the ridge from the house, crossed the creek and ascended the hill on the other side. As we passed the creek Bradley related to me a dream which he had had the night before which related to Indians. To this I replied that I did not like his dream and suggested that we turn back, but he laughed and said he had no faith in dreams and we went on. While conversing in this manner we ascended the hill and while yet in sight of our own home we were fired upon by the Indians. My horse fell and I fainted. When I recovered I was surrounded by Indians and the chief said to me “You no die; you pretty squaw; we no hurt you.” Bradley was shot dead. My horse had only been creased-a ball through a little below the top of the mane, immediately in front of the withers-an animal shot in that way may fall prostrate but will soon recover. The chief inquired what so many men were doing at the house and I told him they were building another house. He inquired if they were well armed and I told him that they were armed (meaning arms of flesh) for they were poorly supplied with arms, and had the Indians known this they would have massacred the whole company. My captors immediately placed me on my horse, the chief walking by my side supporting me on my saddle while one of his warriors led my horse. Their course was westwardly to their homes in the wilderness.
No mortal can describe my feelings at this time. Thus in a moment, without warning, to be torn from husband and home, from all I had held near and dear on earth, and held as a prisoner by the savages-subject to all their savage notions, then it came to my mind that I was to be carried into a western wilderness, uncertain as to when, if ever, I should return. Added to this, I was not in a condition to endure such hardship and fatigue, and you may in a measure appreciate the awfulness of my situation.
The chief who had me in charge was very kind and assisted me all he could. He would not suffer the other Indians to offer me any harm. In this manner we traveled on till night when we camped on a low ravine near a stream. We lay without a fire as the Indians were fearful of pursuit. My captors spread a blanket on the ground and compelled me to lie down, then they spread another blanket over me and an Indian lay down at either end so as to prevent my raising without awakening them. In the morning our breakfast was made from provisions stolen from the settlers, after which we resumed our journey in a northerly direction.
My captors belonged to the Miami tribe and their big town was situated on the great Miami River.
We had a long journey before us and a tedious troublesome time passing many dangerous places and crossing streams of water. Wild animals and birds were numerous. During the entire journey I was allowed to ride my own horse, and each night was guarded as before. I suffered many privations and finally our provisions ran out and we had to endure hunger. Sometimes it was 25 or 30 hours at a time that I went without eating.
We passed through several tribes of Indians, but none of them were allowed to harm me. After traveling in this manner for three weeks, being worn out with exhaustion and discouraged, we arrived at a town on the Miami. When we came a sensation was created and the entire town was in motion. Warriors, squaws and children were all running to see the white squaw and welcome back their chief and his band, but my captors would not permit them to interfere with me. A council was soon called and the chief related the principal incident of his expedition, showing how they had waylaid us on the road, killed my companion and took me prisoner. The scalp of my man Bradley he had brought with him as a trophy and hung it up in his wigwam. I was adopted into one of the principal families of the tribe, and informed that I must consider myself an Indian squaw, for they intended I should live with them. It was with many misgivings and forebodings that I took up my abode with them, but there was no way for me to avoid it. Our family consisted of six people, an old grayhaired warrior, a middle-aged warrior and his wife, who was a robust squaw, and two children and myself. With this family I lived about one month, when my first child was born. The Indians were very kind to me, and took all the care of me they possibly could, in their wild way. They did all in their power to make me happy and contented. Some of them went to the nearest settlement and stole some clothing for my child, and said they wanted me to take good care of it until it grew to be a warrior, and a great chief, but the poor little thing died when it was three months old. Then my cup was full to overflowing.
Thus to be torn away from home and friends and all that was dear to me, and consigned to live like a brute among savages, and then to lose my only comfort, my first born, and have it buried in this wilderness, was more than my frail nature could bear, and I was nearly crazy for a time. Still the Indians were kind to me, and when they saw my child was dead, they cut a hickory tree, peeled off the bark and made a coffin, and wrapping it in some of the clothes they had stolen, they placed it in the coffin they had made and buried it near our town in their own burying ground. I remained with these Indians 13 months, in the summer time helping the squaws in their corn and vegetable patches and in the winter time assisting them in their cooking operations. While I was with this tribe they determined on another raid into Pennsylvania, consequently they performed their powwows and war dances, in order to give them good luck in their expedition, then left for their long trip. They took all their best warriors, leaving a few old men and some boys to hunt game and food for the squaws and papooses. The chief and warriors were gone about seven weeks. They returned bringing with them two Dutchmen from Pennsylvania, whom they adopted into the tribe. One of them was a tanner by trade, and they employed them to tan their skins for them. He worked a little ways from the town where there was a large spring and the other man was allowed to help him. These men were very restless in their confinement. A little later the Indians determined on another raid, and in a few days departed.
(to be continued)
Note: 1) The distance from Cumberland Pennsylvania to the Miami Native American settlements in Ohio was at least 200 Miles. It would mean travelling at least about 10 miles per day to complete Jane Fraser’s trip.
2) Some reports list Jane Fraser’s confinement at the Miami Native American town to have been as long as 18 months.
B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:
Parents see the best in their children, they are required to do so, otherwise living with the little sociopaths would drive them mad.
C. Tito Tazio’s Tales: From JOEY’S MYSTERY NOVEL — “ENTER THE DRAGON.” (Chapters 18, 19 and 20 ) “Joe Vu and Martin Vih.”
Dragon’s Breath:
Vivian: So you’re a private detective. I didn’t know they existed, except in books, or else they were greasy little men snooping around hotel corridors. My, you’re a mess, aren’t you?
Philip Marlowe: I’m not very tall either. Next time I’ll come on stilts wear a white tie and carry a tennis racket.
Vivian: I doubt if even that will help.
Chapter: 18
I was awakened by the screeching doorbell. I had hoped it was Mavis bringing me café latte, donuts and some after dinner sweets. It was not. It was Joe Vu.
“Hiya Boss. You’re gonna be late. You look like hell. Nice place you got here,” he added as he walked by me into the loft.
“Did you bring the coffee and donuts? I can do without the sweets.”
“Huh”
“Never mind.”
Joe puttered around the house while I showered and dressed. We left and got into the car. It was a big black Lincoln.
“We’re downscale today,” I commented.
“Martin is using the Lexus.”
“How many cars does he have?”
“Lots, he collects them.” “I saw the movie,” he added as we drove away from the curb.
“Movie?”
“Yeah, The Big Sleep, with Bogart and Bacall that you told me to watch. I don’t know about that Bacall, skinny bitch, no tits or ass.”
“They liked them like that then. Skinny ment rich and elegant. Today we still do skinny, but we add the tits and the butts, often fake ones, like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Zaftig is out in the modern world.”
“I couldn’t figure anything out. Who killed the chauffeur and Rogan? And why was everything so dark? I liked the car though.
” Yeah, it was a sweet Plymouth. Nobody knows who killed the chauffeur or Rogan, not the guy that wrote the story, not the director of the movie and certainly not the actors. Life is like that and so is the private investigation business. Sometimes, hell most times, you simply do not know what happened and never will. And, just like in the movie, it probably doesn’t matter.
As for the dark and the shadows, in films and books that’s called noir. It’s French for dark. Dark shadows, dark thoughts and dark deeds. It’s not like real life at all. Everyone likes light in their life. If it gets too dark they go to sleep. Even bad things are usually done in the light, behind closed doors and in secret perhaps, but the lights are usually on.”
“So, I guess it was like the last one you had me watch, there’s nothing in the movie to learn about bring a private eye?”
“No, in this one there is a lot to learn and remember. For example, you’re never hired by people who have to choose between food and you. It’s always someone who has a some spare cash around. They can spend it on you or a new piece of matched luggage. It’s all the same to them. So make sure you get paid. Up front if you can.
The movie also tells you, don’t work at night. Its dangerous. Sometimes you have to work at night. Like when you’re sitting in your car with your camera watching, hoping to catch client’s husband disappearing into the motel. Still, in the world of private detecting or in life itself, nooners are safer or right after work. Late night trysts interfere with your sleep and should be avoided. Always try to charge more for night work.
Also, if your client has a good-looking daughter, sleeping with her makes the job more interesting. And if he has two, and you have to choose, choose the skinny one.
And finally never, ever have dealings with someone named Eddie Mars.”
“You’re very sick, boss. Why the skinny one?”
“I don’t know. It is one of life’s mysteries.”
We arrived at the IHOP at Fisherman’s Wharf where I was to meet Martin Vihn. We spent a good 15 minutes or so looking for a parking space. We found one half way to North Beach. We walked down the boring part of Columbus to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was chilly as it normally is in the mornings near the water. The swimmers from the Dolphin Club, their little shower caps peeking above the frigid waters near Hyde Pier had already completed most of their laps. The tourists, still drowsy, were beginning to arrive hoping to be amazed. The tee-shirt shops and souvenir stands were open and ready. As we turned toward the IHOP, a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge lit up by the morning sunlight gleamed over my left shoulder. There may often be fog in San Francisco, and like everywhere else people die here in mysterious circumstances, but to me noir was only something the City wore to a masquerade.
Dragon’s Breath:
Philip Marlowe: Oh, Eddie, you don’t have anybody watching me, do you? Tailing me in a gray Plymouth coupe, maybe?
Eddie Mars: No, why should I?
Philip Marlowe: Well, I can’t imagine, unless you’re worried about where I am all the time.
Eddie Mars: I don’t like you that well.
Chapter: 19
We arrived at IHOP about 10 minutes late. Martin Vihn had not yet arrived. I took a seat at a booth against the back wall and sat down facing the entrance. Joe slipped into the seat opposite me. A window was on my left through which I watched a man assemble a sidewalk stand. The waitress brought the menus. Joe got right down to studying it. I watched the man struggle with some pipes that held up an awning over his stand while I thought about my upcoming meeting with Vihn. My usual bouts with fear and uncertainty slithered through my mind like minks in heat. The worst part was wondering about what people, like Mavis or Fat Al would say if I was wrong and died. I imagined something like, “What on earth possessed him to take such a risk.” Last night I thought I had good and compelling reasons, but now I realized they were mere rationalizations for whatever was so deeply imbedded in my psyche that impelled me to act as I did.
Nothing new in that, I have become convinced most of the reasons we tell ourselves that we need to do something have little to do with why we do whatever it is we end up doing. They are merely a handy thing, whenever we are successful, to tell ourselves and others. You know, “I knew what I was doing all along.”
Joe brought me out of my musings. “I’m having the Belgian waffles. What about you?”
“I’ll probably have the blueberry short stack and fried eggs. For some reason I always get the same thing when I come here.”
Martin Vihn entered the restaurant followed by two of the young men I had seen before. One was dressed like Joe in tee-shirt and windbreaker. The other had on a dark hoodie. Martin had on a dark blue jacket over a white button down shirt and jeans. He came over to our table.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic and parking”
Joe slid out from his seat. Said, “I’ll sit with Vinnie and Chang.” He walked over to the table where the other two young men who accompanied Vihn sat. Vu’s arrival prompted a lot of laughing and fist bumping. Martin nodded to him and sat in the seat Joe vacated. The waitress arrived and we ordered. She then went over to the table where Joe and the others sat.
“Any word from the police on the cause of Clarence’s death?”, he asked.
“The autopsy scheduled for later this morning. The cops are being close-mouthed.”
“How do you think he died?”
“I’m not paid to guess.”
Martin rarely raises his voice but his anger blazed out of his eyes like campfire embers poked with a stick. “I’m paying you and if it is your opinion I want than then it is your opinion I’ll get.”
“He could have been walking along the shore reciting poetry tripped and fallen into the bay and drowned. I doubt whether it makes much or a difference to anyone how he died, even to the murderer, if he was murdered.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I can’t see you shipping drugs or anything else illegal this way. By reputation, you’ve been able to bring thing like that into the States with no problems in the past. There’s too many better ways. Dropping packages into the water offshore at night, trans-shipping through Alaska. Even if you were to do something like this, certainly not through the Port of Oakland. There are other less watched small ports like Eureka and Redwood City. So, I can’t figure you for something like a dope deal in this case. So, I ask myself, although he is such a prick I am sure a lot of people would like him dead, why would anyone involved in this case kill Clarence? Then there is the hiring of me. It can’t be all that important to hire a second rate shamus like me.” I stopped there and stared at him.
Martin’s silence lasted a long time as he stared at me. Our orders arrived before he answered and we began eating. After swallowing his first bite, Martin sat back and said:
“Look, whatever you think I may also be mixed up in, I am also a legitimate business man. I invested in a business to import into America furniture made in south east asia. Now the man who talked me into the investment and was supposed to manage the business is gone along with he merchandise.”
“But even so, two containers of furniture could not have been valuable enough for all your interest, not to mention knocking off Reilly if in fact he was killed.”
“You figured it out already. You’re cheap. I only spent $1000 dollars so far.”
“What about Joe?”
Vihn looked down at the table for a while. “He’s my brother’s son. I care about him. He refuses to go to college and is too interested in the wrong part of the family business. I thought following you around a while would help to get him interested in something else. That was a spur of the moment thing, I’m afraid.
“So you hired me as a babysitter?”
“A thousand dollars a month is pretty cheap for baby sitting these days,”he said with a smile.
We ate our breakfasts in silence. Over coffee I assured him, I will try to find out how Reilly died and what happened to the furniture.
I then asked, “What’s Lilly’s role in this?”
“She’s my lawyer.”
“Nothing else.”
“It’s none of your business.”
I smiled, got up, collected Joe and left Vihn to pay the check.
On the way back to the car, I called Mavis. Told her that I would come by that afternoon and that we were going to attend Reilly’s wake.
For some reason the thought of Mavis, death and my current role got me ruminating about God and humor, God’s humor to be precise.
Humans are a fascinating species. I am convinced God created us because he or she (I refuse to take sides on the issue of God’s gender — although the Good Humor Man of my youth was always male) found presiding over the rest of the universe dreadfully dull and craved some amusement. While growing up I always thought that God was the Good Humor man. Every afternoon the Good Humor man rang his bells in front of my house. The sound of those bells filled me with hope. Would your God do as much for you?
I was pulled from my reveries by Joe shouting “Boss, boss!’
I stared at him as the world around me came into focus.
“Is there something wrong? You were talking on the phone and then you just stopped staring off at nothing. Are you OK? You thinking about the case? ”
“Yeah. I’m OK. Rule whatever number… in private investigations there are no cases only assignments. And your current assignment is to find us some ice cream and drive me to Crissy Field.”
Dragon’s Breath:
Vivian: What will your first step be?
Philip Marlowe: The usual one.
Vivian: I didn’t know there was a usual one.
Philip Marlowe: Well sure there is, it comes complete with diagrams on page 47 of how to be a detective in 10 easy lessons correspondent school textbook and uh, your father offered me a drink.
Vivian: You must’ve read another one on how to be a comedian.
Chapter: 20.
We drove to Crissy Field in silence, parked and bought some ice cream at the small restaurant and souvenir shop in one of the converted military buildings. We walked across the restored marsh on the little wooden bridge. In front of us was the Golden Gate, the bridge soaring over the strait to our right. Massive tankers and container ships lumber through flotillas of pleasure craft while wind and kite surfers dart among them seeking the strongest breezes streaming between the headlands.
It was a sunny summer day, breezy and cool. I leaned over the fence looking at the restored marsh, my back to the Bay. Joe faced the other way watching the joggers and walkers pass by on the path in front of him.
Joe broke the silence. “So boss, what do we do next? Why are we here?”
I asked, “When you look at this wetland here, what do you see?”
He turned around, looked at the restored marsh for a moment then said, “OK,… I see some water, a lot of mud, a few ugly ass birds and a bunch of sick looking weeds. Do I pass?”
“It’s not a test. Wetlands like this are very fertile, a lot of things come here to eat, breed and grow, even humans used to hang around here, indians. I agree with you its pretty ugly for something that is a nursery of life; the water is pretty stagnant, barely covering the land underneath and it smells. There’s mud everywhere and the “weeds” as you call them crowd the shore pressing against one another, until like bankers they greedily seek more nourishment then the environment can supply and they die and eventually their husks will fill the marsh and it will disappear. The whole place reeks of death, and yet it is one of nature’s wellsprings of life. Nature made a mistake. No clear running water, crashing waves, or handsome trees. But here is where it, life, begins and flourishes hand in hand with death.”
“That’s sort of interesting boss. Weird too. What does this have to do about anything. You know private detecting or the case– er, the assignment.”
“This is a fake marsh. It was built by some rich people to memorialize what was here before. Sort of like a statue of a general on a horse representing some dead guy. In this case it looks like the real thing and acts a lot alike the real thing. But everything else that was there, that was a part of it is gone, even the indians. We have something else here, a new reality as well as a memorial”
“Are you stoned? it sounds like you’re stoned Boss. Did Martin freak you out? I remember at the temple monks talking like that, a lot of shit that makes no sense. Are you buddhist?”
I chuckled, pushed myself away from the fence and began to walk back to the car. Joe followed.
“Did you notice in the movies I told you to watch everything took place over a couple of days, yet the movie only took 90 minutes or so. What do you think they were doing during all the other time. Living that’s what, eating, sleeping, jerking off, shitting and going back to their offices earning a living. That’s what they were doing.”
“So, what, were going back to the office? You don’t have one.”
“You’re right, sort of. I do not have any other assignments as well as no office. On this assignment there is nothing to do until this evening. In the meantime we eat ice cream and stare at a bunch of mud. If I were buddhist I’d meditate to pass the time.”
“Does this mean you’ve figured it all out, solved it?”
“There is nothing very much to solve here. Nothing much has happened. Sometimes, most times, on most assignments nothing happens. People just imagine things.”
“Is that another rule Boss?”
I ignored him and continued on. We had passed around the edge of the restored marsh.
Joe said, “I don’t understand. You say nothing happened. The Reilly guy is dead that’s something and Martin’s furniture is missing that’s something too. And what about the two fat guys. That sounds like a lot of something.”
I responded, “As far as Reilly is concerned, he could have had an accident and fallen into the bay, or if he killed himself it could have been for a reason that had nothing to do with our investigation. And if he was in fact murdered, Reilly was an asshole, a lot of people could have off’d him and I’m sure many have reasons to do so. We have nothing that indicates the failed business deal we are investigating has anything to do with it, except they sort of happened near to one another in time; the failure of the deal and his death. Interesting, curious perhaps but indicative of nothing. We, you, me and the others happened on the scene. Our ego’s want to make it all related. That makes good mystery novels but bad investigations.”
“Does this mean you are going to have me watch another prehistoric black and white movie?”
“No, it means we are going to visit a real private detective one with an office, a badge and who even carries a gun.”
TODAY’S QUOTES:
A. The Secret of Our Success:
“Our intelligence on an individual level is quite limited. We find it very hard to think except in terms of narratives: those narratives usually taking the form of cause and effect, of journeys forward through space, and of sin and retribution, nemesis and hubris. Thoughts that do not fall into those patterns are very hard for us to have, and very very hard for us to communicate to others.”
“Thus we should not expect our anthology intelligence to get things right. It can get things right in an awesome and mindbending way. But large groups of people can also get things very very wrong and persist in error to a remarkable degree.”
Joseph Henrich (2016): The Secret of Our Success: How Culture Is Driving Human Evolution, Domesticating Our Species, and Making Us Smarter (Princeton: Princeton University Press)
B. Zoey Is Too Drunk for This Dystopia:
“Just, do you realize how weird it is that the person who owns the land basically controls everything? Or that a person can own land at all? Then when other people build stuff on and around that land, when other humans do work that makes it livable, the owner of the land gets infinitely rich off it even though they didn’t do anything!
Owning property is an infinite-money cheat code and nobody sees it as a problem! I have no idea what I’m doing and I just keep getting richer! And no, the enemy isn’t a few corrupt billionaires. Below us, all of the CEOs and corporate landlords collude with each other all the time, they fix prices, they keep wages low, you name it.
Below them, the executives and middle managers run a system designed entirely to protect their salaries. That’s why they won’t blow the whistle on the monsters, because they’ll lose their stock options and their kids won’t get to attend one of the expensive private schools that exist only to choke off the pipeline for anybody outside their class of elites.
It’s all rigged to keep the money flowing upward, but the second the workers try to organize and gain bargaining power on their end, these rich vipers send thugs to break up picket lines with microwave beams that cook people alive.
Do you understand what I’m saying? Harmonia, you don’t need to make stuff up. Hell, I’ll join you, give me some butterflies.”
Pargin, Jason. Zoey Is Too Drunk for This Dystopia (Zoey Ashe) (p. 23). St. Martin’s Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPH:
This and that from re Thai r ment. 