I love that one of the other prospective jurors corrects the judge.
Author Archives: oinsketta
Reich is right
Robert Reich, hitting the nail on the head, again.


The political is also gruellingly personal
It is not novel to observe that the personal and the political are closely related. In my case, the present political situation is also a grim, constant magnification of my personal experience. For those of us who are personally susceptible, who find constant hideous echoes of our personal experience in the political landscape, following the news produces a form of PTSD.
Gabor Maté made an interesting point about PTSD. Apparently of 100 soldiers sent into a hellish war zone, like house to house fighting in cities in Iraq where it is impossible to even know who the enemy is, only a certain percentage will emerge with PTSD (I think it was something like 15%). Every one of the soldiers who wind up with PTSD have childhood trauma that makes them susceptible to it. Not to say that the other soldiers are happy about the hell they’ve been sent to, or don’t have the occasional nightmare about it, but the exact re-experiencing of the original pain and terror happens only to a select few. So it is with the news.
The personal is political: there is a progressive personality type and a repressive personality type, an authoritarian personality type (that can go either way politically) and a type that embraces differences. There are inquisitive, talkative, collaborative types and close-minded, taciturn, competitive types. It’s easy enough to observe that some types are prone, by personality and life experience, to be liberal, others lean conservative. Some believe in harsh punishment, support the death penalty and others abhor the thought of a possibly innocent, usually poor, person being executed (as happens frequently) and embrace policies like restorative justice initiatives.
We have seen a deliberate, massively well-funded project (to be fair, engineered by the far right, guys like Charles Koch, Rupert Murdoch, and their highly effective network of morbidly wealthy fellow traveler influencers) to divide these types into uncompromising partisan camps that must fight the other side’s evil to the death. Who does this simplistic, eternal, total war benefit? The people who already enjoy every benefit. It comes at the expense of everyone else.
On a grand scale we see the triumph of selfishness, greed, heartlessness, corruption and flagrant lawlessness among the powerful and the hypocritical application of harsh law, even spontaneous death sentences for powerless citizens suspected of minor crimes. It can all be explained in an anodyne, New York Times style way that makes the status quo look less grotesque.
For example, economists of capitalism have a neutral term for the human cost to making vast profits — like babies born deformed and clusters of cancer near runoff from a chemical plant — externalities. You have to pay these poor people a certain amount in legal settlements, so your profit is slightly offset by the expense, but in the name of raising stock value to shareholders, externalities are an acceptable and unavoidable part of doing business, if the profit is otherwise high enough. Some would say that decision makers who factor such “externalities” into the cost of doing business belong out of business and in prison, but that’s a political view, incompatible with the “freedom” we all enjoy here in the free market.
When millions marched, during a pandemic, to protest the intolerable injustice of ongoing police killing of unarmed civilians for minor offenses — or none — they were met with teargas, tanks, helicopters, horseback charges by police, batons, handcuffs. The protesters were treated like an insurgent army, a force the right-wing administration claimed were a deadly, terroristic threat to national security that had to be neutralized with superior force. What’s up with that?
“If you are angry about something you claim gives you the right to be angry, then FUCK YOU! You want to protest so-called state violence? We’ll give you some violence you can take back home with you, when you get out of jail, asshole.”
This is the predictable reaction of a narcissistic psychopath. They will unleash the full force of whatever they’ve got to defeat anyone who has a problem with how they need to do things.
I learned, only very recently, at 66 years-old, that I’ve been shaped by and fighting narcissists my entire life. A few months ago I described the gruesome parade of many of my closest longtime friends as highly intelligent, darkly funny, prone to anger/angrily denying anger, deeply damaged, unable to compromise, determined to win no matter what the cost, etc. I did not yet know that this constellation of traits also describes the narcissist. I guess what made me finally understand what I was actually up against was suddenly being confronted by a series of outright lies, desperately, brazenly spat into my face in an attempt to make me submit.
Narcissism can be very subtle, as I also learned. The fact that my narcissistic father never needed to outright lie to “win” our arguments early on hid the cardinal trait of all narcissists from me: falseness. Without that lying piece I could see my father as disturbed, a jerk, an asshole, a tragic man, etc. but his overarching personality type, narcissist, was until very recently hidden from me.
Now it is all I can see, when I doom-scroll the news, hear George Santos angrily rebut the true charges that he’s a lying sack of shit, the passionate calls to impeach Biden, (details of charges to follow), a strutting donkey of less than average donkey intelligence calling for a national divorce, a spineless political worm’s defense of the “transparent” move of handing all January 6th security footage to a propagandist for autocracy and on down the list.
Narcissists rule, yo, as they were born to do. They always have the same answer to every concern you might raise “FUCK YOU.” They may say this harshly, or politely as can be, but the answer will always be a close variation on that staunch proposition. “You want to know why I have nothing but contempt for you, asshole? How about FUCK YOU, that fix the boo-boo?”
“And have a very nice day.”
One nice irony of a long life
My father died almost eighteen years ago. Not long after he died, I was finally able to disentangle myself from a long, unhappy friendship with a smart, tormented guy who’d stood in as a sparring partner for my difficult father since we were teenagers. You can get all the details about this interesting, perplexing fellow at Book of Friedman.
When I finally admitted defeat and declared our friendship beyond saving — I’d finally reduced the eternally cavilling MF to petulant silence, in a Florida coffee shop, during a biblical deluge that turned the parking lot into a raging river — I called his mother, to explain. To my surprise, she was not in the least bit surprised.
She immediately relieved me of the burden of explaining, beyond a few basics of the last straw, and thanked me for hanging in there far longer than anyone ever had with her relentless demanding, endlessly negotiating son. She understood and asked only one thing: leave the door open, if he comes to make peace with you. I told her I would. She also asked what I thought she could do for him. My only idea was a serious course of therapy, something I reminded her he was very unlikely ever to do, since he believed no unhappiness in his life had anything to do with his highly idiosyncratic personality or his demands on others.
There were some frustrating email exchanges every couple of years, when he’d reach out a pseudopod in an email. His endless paragraphs filled screen after screen, very similar to the tiny, crabbed hand-written letters I used to get from him, many pages long, inscribed margin to margin, with no breaks in the block of words, endlessly expounding, at tortuous length, amid a million caveats and troubled asides. His brother Neal, I learned after his death, used to delete these emails as soon as he got them. I would answer each one, because I’d promised his mother and because, until very recently, I never liked silence to be my final answer. I always hated the old silent treatment and so almost never did it to anyone else.
One year on my birthday I got an audio CD in the mail. The CD case was decorated with strings, at the end of each string was a tiny card, taped meticulously to the string, a plea for mercy, for common sense, for an open heart. I don’t have the odd package in front of me now to quote them, in fact, I’m a bit tormented not to be able to lay my hand on it at the moment, have been searching the heaps around this dusty apartment I need to clean. It was in the same place since I got it maybe 15 years back, I’d seen it countless times, close to my broken down copy of my most precious book, the Collected Stories of Isaac Babel, Walter Morrison translation (long out of print, its paperback spine long ago disintegrated). Mark loved that book as well and one of his notes was a reference to it. Among its peppy, oddly dangling notes “don’t be a cossack!,” an exhortation to relax my so-called principles.
Everything always had to happen on his terms, one of the most annoying things about him, this insistence that things be done his way, which was often a perverse way. This musical offering struck me as one more outlandish illustration of this intolerable tic. My promise to his mother be damned, I wasn’t going to listen to the musical masterpiece he’d composed to magically solve all the issues in everyone’s life.
I never listened to the CD. At the same time, I didn’t toss it in the trash.
I saw it dozens of times over the years, including in the days after I heard of his death of a broken heart a few years back. I thought briefly about taking the CD out of its case and giving it a spin, but never did. The last time I saw it, I moved it someplace, with the intention of finally listening to it. Now it is nowhere to be seen.
“Good,” says Sekhnet. “Now you have to clean.”
Or, dear Sekhnet, I can sit down and write this instead. Now that it’s written, I’m going to go digging for it again, though I suspect I may have taken it to the farm… yes, that’s most likely where it is.
Talent without creativity
Here’s a mystifying thing, having a talent without any desire to be creative.
I had a friend who had an amazing ability to remember a melody that he had heard once and sing it back perfectly. I don’t have this ability, and often have to struggle to learn even parts of a melody that I love, singing and playing the phrase over and over until it’s in there. This guy could hear it once, a tune he’d never heard, and sing it back. Plus he has a good voice.
I mentioned this ability to a professional singer I met, and he said “oh yeah, I can do that.”
Which led me to think, if I could do that, I would be a much, much better guitar player, a better piano player, a better ukulele player. I’d be a better singer too.
But this guy had no desire to do anything special or creative with his talent. Which is mystifying to me, since creativity is one of the great joys of life.
This man’s wife had a beautiful singing voice too, and a good sense of pitch. But she was very self-effacing the one time I pointed this out to her. She would never dream of picking up an instrument, singing a song as she accompanied herself. Neither would her husband. Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.
Cucker Tarlson
Heather Cox Richardson puts Kevin McCarthy’s craven, nasty, dangerous deal with the MAGA fringe into grim perspective.
Carlson has repeatedly challenged the official accounts of the riot, blaming the federal government for launching the attack and claiming that FBI agents were behind it. Carlson is also one of the key conspirators in the Fox News Channel promotion of the Big Lie that Trump won the 2020 election, even though they dismissed that notion privately. The expectation is that Carlson will hack whatever videos he can into a version of the Republican narrative.
But there is more: McCarthy is fundraising off his release of the videos to Carlson, claiming he is delivering “truth and transparency over partisan games” and asking “patriots” to “chip…in” to help House Republicans.
Eat the rich
Two excellent ones from Robert Reich




Facts are dry and don’t go down easy
Facts, no matter how persuasive and well marshaled, do not convince most people of anything. Only compelling stories do that, and even the most artfully told story has an uphill climb against deeply held beliefs.
A lie is a compelling, if crude, story that ignores what is actually happening to implant a false counter narrative. It will always be good enough if it supports what you already want to believe. A lie famously makes its way around the world before the truth has a chance to put its pants on. The way of the world. Lies have led to every war, every slaughter, every atrocity, every oppression of everyone ever oppressed. Still, the lie serves the liar far better than the dry, unsexy so-called facts of the matter ever will.
Nowadays we call the successful tellers of self-serving lies “transactional” — everything is a business deal, a negotiation to extract maximum advantage and profit from. Every fact may be countered by an alternative fact. Truth, in our culture, is now as malleable as “morality” when it comes to winning and losing.
When I arrived at the Florida hospital where my father was dying, an ugly liquid draining from his body into a bag attached to the side of his deathbed, I asked him if he was in pain. “Only psychic pain,” he said.
Psychic pain will kick your ass, I’ve noticed. As I wait to see a surgeon in a few weeks, about replacing my painful, worn out left knee, my right knee has started wavering in its step, giving me more pain. I have to postpone an appointment for the following day with the urologist who is pressing me to have an operation that will almost certainly cause my remaining sexual pleasure to be minimized, if not extinguished. He urges me to have this procedure ASAP, doesn’t seem to know why the likelihood of diminished sexual function would cause me any hesitation.
Those two unrelated medical matters are a source of psychic pain, as is my need to postpone the appointment with the eager urologist, hindered by my inability to call his office. Add the return call from the Medicare resolution unit to straighten out a $510 overpayment I was strong-armed into making, scheduled for any day between 1 pm and 7 pm, that arrived this morning at 8:30 a.m. The message invited me to call back if my issue hadn’t been resolved. Here we go loop de loo. Meanwhile, other psychic aches add their kvetching voices to the chorus that stirs the acid in my stomach.
A symposium: do the facts actually matter?
Did I do everything possible to save a doomed longtime friendship? I can describe everything I did, the many examples of friendship and forgiveness I continued to extend to old, once dear friends who got furious that I needed to speak of things they refused to talk about.
No, they will tell anyone I know (and they have), that’s not true. Your longtime friend has always been a weird misfit, angry at the world, thinking he is too talented to have to compete for recognition, he refuses to do what we all must do and demands an absurd and unquestioning respect for his poor life choices. He is lying, he’s gone off the deep end, he’s insane and possibly demented, not us. We extended constant friendship to him. We were eternally patient, waiting for him to stop making his antagonistic demand “to be heard”, pressing his ruthless emotional blackmail, trying to blame us for his rage at the world.
The panel discusses. Yes, there appear to be facts. So what? What is your fucking point?
Ladies and gentle worms of the panel, it’s like jazz. If you got to ask, daddy-O, you ain’t never gonna know.
My father’s psychic pain was related to agonizing regrets, things he was now powerless to address, absent a miracle of some kind. The minor miracle was that the son he felt suddenly guilty for having abused for decades was ready to hear his regrets, apparently without judgment, without anger. To his relief the son kept telling him to forgive himself, that he’d done the best he could. “No point whipping yourself about it now, dad. If you could have done better, you would have” the son told him, whenever he lifted the whip over himself.
That psychic pain could have been relieved years before if he’d put in the work his kid had finally done with a therapist. He’d have been able to acknowledge, before the last night of his life, the many attempts his son had made over the years to make peace with him. He could have reached back any one of the times he felt his son reaching out to him. He wouldn’t be lying in a hospital room with a toxic soup of dark body fluids draining into a bag hanging off his bed, trying to make amends, fighting shame, trying to explain why he hadn’t been able to act like the kind of person he wished he could have been.
There are days that start off with the weight of the indecent world sitting squarely on your chest. That weight can’t be wished away. Just the facts, dry and unsatisfying as that.
FOX & friends
from Julia Claire & Crooked Media—
Kevin McCarthy fascism update!! House Speaker McCarthy has granted Fox News host Tucker Carlson exclusive access to all of the Capitol security footage from the January 6 insurrection. This is…uhhh…a highly unusual (and unethical) move. (Imagine Nancy Pelosi bypassing House committees and the public to show oversight materials exclusively to, say, her daughter’s documentary-production company, so it could be turned into Democratic Party propaganda, and you’ll see the issue.) But it’s also a crystal-clear statement from McCarthy about where the GOP comes down on the Big Lie and the insurrection. Just last week, Dominion Voting Systems exposed Carlson’s efforts within Fox News to suppress accurate reporting about the 2020 election and intentionally feed the network’s audience lies. McCarthy’s here to say, Republicans love it! Carlson’s still their guy, systemic lying about the 2020 election is still their jam, and the insurrection is still all cool with them. House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries said he was not consulted on the release of the footage, and another source says neither was the rest of the GOP leadership. Just a big ole’ “Fuck you!” to us all from McCarthy. Meanwhile, his special pal Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) was really On One™ this weekend (even more so than usual), committing low-key sedition by calling for a “national divorce” between Republican and Democratic states, apparently angling to be a modern-day John C. Calhoun without bothering to update his talking points. Even Gov. Spencer Cox (R-UT) denounced this rhetoric as, “destructive and wrong and—honestly—evil.” Couldn’t have said it better ourselves!
Ari Melber puts it pretty well in this report:
crabbed
