Sticking With The Fair

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

The Minnesota State Fair, which runs through Labor Day, is a pretty big deal, culturally, in my adopted state. Sometime during the spring they announce the food and entertainment line-up. And then, once Memorial Day comes around, we all find ourselves measuring time against it as the Fair marks the official end of summer.

Back in the 1990’s, when I first moved to the Twin Cities with my now-wife Wendy, we visited the Fair a couple of times, once on our own, the other with friends, just to get a little taste. Prior to having kids, and once when they were much younger, in 2001 and 2009, I went with friends solely to see Cheap Trick and then Rush, perform and both were quite memorable concerts. But it’s only been the last five years or so that we’ve gone annually as a family.

I describe the Fair as an endeavor where the idea of going is better than the reality but that’s not entirely accurate. It’s more a matter of embracing tradition for tradition’s sake. For seeking the comfort in a routine; of holding on to a memory. So I wanted to take a moment and jot down some observations of Fair highlights, exactly as I remembered them, in order of how they happened.

• There’s always a bad detective show where the grizzled veteran says “I’m getting too old for this $&%@!” I felt that yesterday while joining our son Ethan on a midway ride.
• The french fries were greasier than I remembered them. It certainly didn’t stop me from inhaling them by the handful but I kept thinking “If these were on a plate of fries, and I wasn’t huddled with my family on a bench, trying systematically to only use one hand so I wouldn’t have two hands filled with salt and grease, would I have enjoyed them as much?”
• Everything about a Pronto Pub is nauseating but I have to eat one. And it has to be a Papa Pup – “Go big or go home,” as I say.
• I tested the “Go big or go home” way of thinking with Sweet Martha’s Chocolate Chip Cookies and didn’t follow through. Ethan and I were on line for them and debated getting a plastic bucket, the largest size. The two of us settled for the cone size but vowed to tackle a bucket together next year. I mean, really? If you’re going to eat about 20 cookies at once what difference does it make if you eat in the neighborhood of 30 or 40, maybe even more?
• The reusable metal drinking straw from Minnesota Public Radio might just be the most on-brand SWAG I’ve ever seen.
• Each year our daughter and I go on the River Raft Ride together, where the main draw is getting soaking wet. They always pair Sasha and me with another group, usually a family. And this year I was keenly aware that I was the Dad with the older kid, seeking just as much enjoyment from watching the other family’s apparent joy.

So now I’m good for another year. I’m going to savior this weekend, then Tuesday, when the kids go back to school, then that handful of truly perfect fall days. And then, of course, the snow will start falling.

Image credit: MPRNews.org

 

Maybe We Really Can’t Handle the Truth

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve been in a conspiratorial frame of mind lately. A couple of weeks back I read a 1985 book by Ralph Epperson called The Unseen Hand: An Introduction to the Conspirational View of History. Now, to put it mildly, Epperson, a proud member of the far-right John Birch Society, is not what I’d consider an ideological compatriot. But the guy can write and he did his homework. And, for every handful of laughable theories, every so often I’d come across one of his that really made me stop and think.

Yesterday morning, while on the Elliptical, I listened to a new podcast I discovered – Conspiracy Theories, produced by Parcast. The two hosts, Molly Brandenburg and Carter Roy, neither of them conspiracy theorists, take a detached, almost dry approach, to a wide variety of conspiracy theories, some going back several decades. They present all the evidence, detail what has or hasn’t been debunked, and then close with offering a 1-10 rating as to the validity of a particular conspiracy theory.

On this particular morning, I was listening to the second of a two-part episode on the moon landing conspiracy. This is one conspiracy I’ve always found ridiculous. But, I have to be honest; the more I listened to it, the more I actually wanted the moon landing to be fake. How audacious; how creative, how fun! But alas, the hosts gave it a 3-out-of-10 rating – highly unlikely. I ended my workout disappointed.

Less than an hour after my workout, our son Ethan, 14, sent me a link to an article from the conservative outlet The Daily Caller, alleging our Congresswoman, Illhan Omar, used campaign funds to support her affair with a married Democratic consultant. I groaned when I read the article and replied to Ethan that we would discuss it when I returned from my work trip.

So last night, while walking our dog Astro, Ethan made his case for why he believed Illhan Omar had broken the law. He objectively touched on all the right-leaning talking points and knew his subject matter. But as I listened to him I couldn’t help but think of the people who are absolutely convinced the moon landing is fake.

Now, I want to be clear. I can’t prove that Rep. Omar is or isn’t guilty of a crime, just as I can’t technically prove the moon landing actually happened. But in either case I have to look at the evidence and make the call. I’m no fan of Illhan Omar. But I believe she’s a flawed individual with a complicated personal life, no different than all of us, to some degree. And her opponents are willing to leap upon any shred of evidence to take her down.

Between the moon landing conspiracy podcast and the Illhan Omar story, it got me thinking about the notion of truth. I hate to say this but the older I get I realize that truth is really lame. It’s boring, often morally ambiguous and anti-climatic. The truth is rarely fun. Which is why, especially of late, we seem, collectively to be going out of our way to find our own version of it.

Perhaps that iconic Jack Nicholson scene in the 1992 movie A Few Good Men was way more prophetic than any of us realized at the time. Could it be that we just can’t handle the truth?

Image credit: The New Yorker

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting Past Stuck Points

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Yesterday morning, while walking our dog Astro, I was listening to a This American Life segment titled “Ten Sessions” in which the writer Jaime Lowe recounts her experience undertaking a short-term therapy for a trauma she experienced while a teenager. Lowe shares how she learns how to overcome a “stuck point” – basically something we believe to be true but might not in fact be and is holding us back. The form of therapy featured in the segment essentially involves finding stuck points, and then determining the best way to manage through them.

The phrase “stuck point” resonated with me in particular; especially the whole notion of believing something to be true. Forgive my armchair philosophy for a moment but seriously – what is truth, really? And is my truth the same as yours?

I’ve been turning the phrase “stuck point” over and over in my head since I heard the segment. It’s made me think, that’s for sure. And I hope, if you’ve read this far, it will make you think.

To entice you  a bit, I’m going to share a couple of my stuck points I considered after listening to the segment:

Stuck Point One – Responsiveness
I pride myself on responsiveness in my personal and professional life but realize my standards are different than others. I’ve learned to be patient and let others, within reason, respond in a manner and time that works for them. But for me, I often feel as though if I don’t act on something quickly, it won’t happen.

Yesterday a friend texted and asked me if our families could get together in October. My wife Wendy and I discussed our schedule last night, per my request, but Wendy said she needed more time before committing to a specific date. Now, if it were up to me, I would have responded to my friend before the day was up. But it’s not only up to me.

Stuck Point Two – Punctuality
I’m writing this post from an airport gate where I’m waiting to board a flight for a work trip. Actually, I’m at the airport today even earlier than usual because there have been construction projects causing excessively long security lines. At least, that’s what a series of co-workers said last week when they relayed horror stories about arriving to the airport with plenty of time to spare, only to barely miss their flight.

So this morning, I woke up extra, extra earlier and drove to the airport with a sense of foreboding, concerned I’d be at risk of missing my flight. Except, not only did I find there was practically no one on line to get through security – the entire airport is dead. Now, I’ve traveled enough to know that it’s a game of inches, incremental progress. But still – I’ll take what I can get.

Looking back at those two stuck points, I certainly get they’re interrelated and I wouldn’t say either one, on the surface, are bad; I might even make the case that both could be construed as positive traits. But, objectively, each, depending on execution, could also be limiting. I suppose getting past stuck points involves belief, in other words, faith.

Or another way of looking at at, as mentioned in the This American Life segment, is to change the story you’re telling yourself.

Whatever works best.

Image credit: Business Insider

 

 

 

 

 

He’s Was So Money, He Didn’t Even Know It

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve been running for most of my life; jogging or shuffling, truthfully, during the past few years, and it can get awfully boring. So I figure out ways to pass the time. I think through work situations and grocery lists and basically, do a ton of daydreaming. I almost always run to music and for some unexplained reason, find myself creating opening sequences to imaginary television shows based on certain songs.

One such song is “Gimme Some Water,” by 80’s-era rocker Eddie Money, which our local Classic Rock station here in Minneapolis plays quite a bit. The song profiles a not unlikable outlaw begging for mercy, almost an antihero. And I always picture the opening  credits of a Stephen J. Cannell-esque private investigator show, created, of course, by me. The PI, wearing an off-the-rack suit and of course, sunglasses drives a Mustang convertible along a California freeway. The camera zooms in on the protagonist’s stoic face and then pans back as Money’s song rollicks along.

I’ve never actually purchased Eddie Money’s music, even back when I didn’t listen to all music online; never saw him live. But I’ve always considered myself a fan in that he’s one of the few artists of that era who I never outgrew. Or, more accurately, outgrew and then revisited, as I have with many bands and artists.

Sure, Eddie Money’s delivery can be a little cheesy. I never quite got the big pause he took when singing “I feel a hunger … it’s a hunger” in “Take Me Home Tonight.” But I’ve always viewed him as immensely sincere and honest in his execution. I’ve never perceived Eddie Money as trying to be something he’s not.

I remember several years ago my wife Wendy started a new exercise program. She went on Facebook and posted about it, closing with “I think I’m in love.” I of course couldn’t pass up the opportunity to quote Eddie Money’s iconic song so commented “Cause I can’t get enough.” Another friend added a lyric, and another, until Wendy publicly chided me for hijacking her post. When “Think I’m In Love” comes up on the radio, Wendy and I will occasionally reminisce about the exchange, referring to it wistfully as a time when Facebook was still fun.

Throughout the years I would regularly see Eddie Money’s name listed among upcoming concert performances, almost always at a local casino, Fair or often, included among the countless touring “oldies” packages. I’d briefly consider going and then the thought would just as quickly leave my head.

But I won’t get my chance. Eddie Money died today, at 70, mere weeks after announcing he had stage 4 esophageal cancer.

We always rooted for you, Eddie. And we will always appreciate what you left behind.

Image credit: Eddie Money

 

 

 

No One Is Untouchable

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

There’s this classic scene in the 1987 Brian De Palma movie The Untouchables where Al Capone, as portrayed by Robert De Niro, is addressing a meeting of his top lieutenants. Wielding a baseball bat, he notes how a man needs to have enthusiasms and his is baseball. He segues into a lecture about teamwork and while talking, walks menacingly around the large round table. Finally, he zeroes in on the disloyal lieutenant and, if you haven’t seen the movie, you can probably guess what happens yet.

I haven’t thought of The Untouchables in years but it’s been on my brain lately when I consider the 2020 Democratic presidential primary, especially former Vice President Joe Biden. Now, I’m of course not envisioning Al Capone-style justice for Uncle Joe. But I am wondering if the voters might just, metaphorically-speaking, do it. As we all know; especially when it comes to politics, no one is untouchable.

I’ve never been much for the term “sentimental favorite” but Joe Biden would be mine. Despite being a politician’s politician, I find him unbelievably sincere. I have every confidence that he could walk into the Oval Office right now and be an effective president. But that doesn’t mean I’m enthusiastic about him. And something tells me I’m far from alone.

Recently family friends of ours attended the annual Wing Ding event in Clear Lake, Iowa, where 22 candidates were given five minutes each to make a presentation. According to them Vice President Biden, in person, was very unimpressive. They claimed that he spoke haltingly, wasn’t close enough to the microphone, and perhaps most ominously, looked old.

This insight was then reinforced by a New York Times article I read earlier this week, simply titled “Joe Biden’s Poll Numbers Mask an Enthusiasm Challenge.” Plus, Biden’s wife, Dr. Jill Biden, also this week tried making the “most electable” argument, stating, “You may like another candidate better, but you have to look at who is going to win.” This too gave me pause. President Obama used to famously refer to his wife Michelle as his “closer.” Knowing how much Vice President Biden emulates his former boss, it’s disconcerting he’s using his own closer so early in the game.

And speaking of early in the game; I know that the presidential race will go through countless permutations between now and Election Day. But right now, I’m concerned and I needed to take the time to document the reasons why. It’s my hope that if you’re reading this post you might either share my concerns or even have a “Hmm” moment that will impact how you evaluate the candidates moving forward.

I just keep going back to 2016. Trust me, I know it’s hard but try to take away Hilary’s emails, the Mueller report and Russian meddling. In the end the Democrats had a smart, tough, qualified, experienced and prepared candidate. They just couldn’t get enthusiastic about her.

Sound familiar?

Robert De Niro as Al Capone in The Untouchables Image credit: Imgur

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Again with the Jewish

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

When it comes to President Trump, I seem to fall into the same trap. It’s not so much that I give him the benefit of the doubt but I want to believe there is some method to his madness – some strategy behind his actions. I want to believe that whatever you think of him as a human being, Donald Trump at his soul is purely transactional person. He makes decisions not based on any core principle but rather what seems beneficial at the time.

So, during the last week or so, as he’s steadily been attacking Representatives Illhan Omar and Rashida Talib, I figured it was a political calculation. Make them the face of the Democratic party. Fire up the base. We might find it repugnant, and question it. But strategically we can see what he’s trying to do.

But then came the talk of Jews in Israel loving President Trump “like he’s the King of Israel.” Mind you this came courtesy of conspiracy theorist Wayne Allan Root, who I hadn’t heard of until yesterday. It turns out Root describes himself as a “Jew turned Evangelical Christian” and refers to Donald Trump as the first Jewish president. So there’s that. But then President Trump upped the ante yesterday, looking to the sky and proclaiming “I am the chosen one.”

Well, it looks like my method-to-the-madness theory went out the window.

All of this attention on Judaism and anti-Semitism frankly makes me uncomfortable. But the silver lining, if there is one, is that it’s made me re-examine the role of Judaism in my own life. I’ve always identified with the cultural aspects of Judaism much more than the religious or spiritual side. And, as it was driven home to me yesterday, I don’t see that changing any time soon.

I was talking to a friend yesterday and, in the midst of our conversation, told her about my “cat food” philosophy of life, as it seemed germane. She laughed and went about her day. Later on I received a note from her saying that she’d been having a tough day and our discussion was a bright spot. It pleased me to no end.

Towards the end of the day, I remembered I’d forgotten to contact a friend of my brother’s, who is planning on moving to the Twin Cities from New York. I texted her, we spoke briefly on the phone and I promised to connect her to some colleagues of mine via LinkedIn. Later, while making dinner, I received a text thanking me for taking time out of the day to speak with her.

Now, I didn’t do these two actions deliberately to receive thanks but I’m human – it truly feels good when your efforts are being acknowledged. I realized I was taking another step toward fulfilling my destiny as a Jewish man. That is being a “Mensch” – literally, “a person of integrity and honor.”

So; thank you, President Trump. In some crazy way you’ve helped remind me of the big picture. Even if you so clearly can’t see it.

Image credit: tabletmag.com

 

 

 

Brian’s Song

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Radios of the world are tuning in tonight,
Are you on the dial, are you tuned in right?
One of our D.J.’s is missing.
“Around the Dial,” The Kinks

Our son Ethan, 14, recently discovered the conservative pundit Ben Shapiro and began listening to his podcast. Ethan asked my wife Wendy and me if we’d listen along with him during a recent family road trip. And with nothing but time on our hands, we did just that.

I’m not going to comment on Mr. Shapiro’s politics but I very much understand his appeal as a host. He’s smart, informed and self-deprecating. I’m not surprised that Ethan enjoys his show and as I listened in the car, I thought of the one-sided relationships I’ve developed with radio and podcast hosts during the last several years. We grow so close to someone, learn so much about them, feel almost like we’re their friend. Except we’re complete strangers.

Given my recent experience listening to Ben Shapiro, it perhaps resonated with me more than usual when, last night, Wendy told me that long-time Twin cities DJ Brian Oake had been fired by 89.3 The Current, which is owned by Minnesota Public Radio.

The details are a bit murky but according to published reports, Oake and his 20-year-old daughter were kicked out of a recent Tenacious D concert in St. Paul after she allegedly sipped from his cocktail. A since-removed angry Facebook post from Oake followed, and he’d been off the air for the past two weeks. And this past Friday The Current confirmed Oake is no longer with the station.

Now, for some context, I’ve lived in the Twin Cities for almost 23 years and Brian Oake has been a presence in my life throughout that entire time. The Twin Cities is a notoriously difficult social culture for transplants and I had a tough time feeling at home. I vividly recall listening to Oake and then co-host Steve Nelson on REV-105, back in the late 1990’s. It truly was comforting hearing their voices and laughing along with them. As admittedly hokey as it sounds, it was like hearing two friends.

I followed Oake’s career as he moved from station to station and, like I’d imagine many people, believed he’d found his true home when he joined The Current back in 2016. At the time my sense was that that The Current took itself a little to seriously. I liked how Oake, while definitely a music fan’s music fan, understood music is about having fun. Oake realized that you can enjoy listening to both Morphine and Taylor Swift, but on entirely different levels.

Not surprisingly, an online petition has been started to get Oake re-hired at The Current. It seems there are many others who, like me, feel like they’re missing a friend who they never really knew.

Image credit: Minnesota Public Radio

 

 

 

 

 

A Month of Sundays

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m not sure when I’m going to make this post live or when you read it but right now it’s 4:50 p.m. CST on Sunday evening, August 18, 2019. This is my favorite Sunday evening time frame during warmer months. The late morning/early afternoon Sunday ennui I typically feel has dissipated and I’m not yet experiencing the disappointment of the weekend being over.

But night now I’m experiencing this Sunday evening on a more visceral level. Our family returned yesterday after being gone on vacation for a week so tomorrow it’s back to reality. Plus, it’s August. I’ve heard August described as the “Sunday night of summer” and I’ve always liked that phrase. Or, as a family friend described recently; when you look at an entire summer, June is the Friday; July the Saturday; and of course, August is the Sunday.

In the Twin Cities, where I live, the Minnesota State Fair, also known as the The Great Minnesota Get–Together marks the unofficial end of summer. The Fair starts this Thursday. So I recognize that, as far as summer is concerned, I’m on borrowed time.

It’s funny because even though I’ve been out of school for coming up on 30 years (man, it hurts to write that sentence), I still view summer through somewhat rose-colored glasses. I have these romanticized notions that somehow things will be different. But, somehow, they never are. Or, more truthfully, they are never different in the way I envision.

Like most parents of school-aged children, I tend to view summers as they relate to our children. This summer our son Ethan worked for the first time – a few shifts here and there at Chick-fil-A but mostly caddying at a local golf course. Our daughter Sasha participated in a series of camps and focused on refining and improving her soccer game. And each took turns mowing the lawn, taking a key household chore off my plate.

As for my wife Wendy and me? Well, let’s see. We worked, spent time with each other, our kids and friends, and exercised. Come to think of it that’s what we did this past winter. And spring. And … you get the picture.

But throughout the entire summer I kept holding out some faint hope that things would be different. Now, I want to be clear. I have no idea what I mean by different – I had no concrete objective. It’s just that with summer wrapping up I realize that these vague seasonal notions of mine never really transpired.

Now, shopping is one of my least favorite activities but earlier today I ran two shopping-related errands. I returned and picked up a couple of used books and purchased a pair of lawn gloves. If memory serves, when I visited the bookstore in June I told myself this was the summer where I was going to really get some solid reading done – go on some great intellectual and creative journeys. But the reality is that I followed the same reading schedule I have for pretty much my entire adult life: drips and drabs, fiction mixed with non-fiction; real literature mixed with plenty of genre books.

And then there’s our lawn. Back in June I spent a good few hours weeding and pruning. Oh man, did I have plans for our lawn back then. But I never quite found the time to weed or prune in the intervening weeks. And to no one’s surprise, everything grew back.

So earlier this afternoon, I grabbed a lawn bag, put on my headphones and new gloves and headed out to our backyard. While I caught up a recent podcast I frantically grabbed handfuls of weeds until I filled up one bag. After less than 30 minutes I figured it was time to call it quits.

After all, there are almost two weeks of August (and summer) left. Plenty of time to make some serious headway. If I just put my mind to it.

Image credit: tutorateam.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I Can’t Go Back I Know

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m writing this post from the kitchen table at our family’s Airbnb in Washington, DC; the same place I sat to write a post on Sunday night, when we arrived. But now our trip is almost over. Tomorrow morning our family will get up early and begin our journey back to Minneapolis.

We’ve covered some significant ground while in Washington; visited every conceivable tourist destination. Monuments. Multiple Smithsonian museums. Capitol Hill tour. It’s an amazing city and one that, especially if you have children, I highly recommend visiting.

As I’ve alluded to, my wife Wendy and I went to college in Washington and lived there for a few years after graduation. But except for a couple of work trips and a wedding back in the late 1990’s, neither of us have gone back for a visit. And we were both wondering if we’d feel nostalgic. While I of course can’t and won’t speak for Wendy I can tell you for me the answer is a resounding “no.”

For some context, I’m not a sentimental person. I have never enjoyed reminiscing and prefer to always focus on what’s ahead; not in the rear view mirror. But Washington, DC holds such a special place in my life. It was where I learned to make decisions on my own, where I had personal and professional experiences that would profoundly shape my life. Certainly I had to feel something. But I really didn’t.

Like any major American city, Washington, DC has gone through significant changes since Wendy and I lived there during the 1990’s. Some locations, like the campus of our Alma mater, The George Washington University, seemed almost unrecognizable. Others, like DuPont Circle, seemed entirely the same. But none bore any imprint – obviously not physical but neither emotional. It was like the memories I associated with particular places happened to someone else; not me.

Now, I haven’t led a nomadic life. I’ve really only lived three places; not many when you compare it to some people. So I don’t have much of a frame of reference. But I suppose in the end a place is a place is a place. No matter how you cut it.

All throughout our visit, walking on the street or riding the Metro, I kept seeing young whippersnappers walking about; dressed awesome, looking awesome; almost all of them wearing headphones. Not once did I think that could have been me. Because it wasn’t.

I suppose what drove it home to me was all the occasions on which I would try to savior a moment I was experiencing as an adult, in the here and now. Our kids laughing, often at my expense. Spending time together as a family, outside of our normal routine. I couldn’t help wonder how the kids will think back on our time together. Or if they’ll visit Washington on their own, go to school; even live there. If, despite all their memories, in the end, it will only be a place.

Image credit: Fodor’s

 

Tell Me Are You a Republican Child? Ma’am, I Am Tonight

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I had a hunch the name sounded familiar but it wasn’t until I Googled “Capitol Hill Club” that I knew for sure. The Capitol Hill Club is a Republican social club, located on Capitol Hill, right next to the Republican National Committee. A very dear friend of my wife, who I have known for several years, has been long active in Republican politics and invited us to the Capitol Hill Club for dinner.

I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t have some misgivings. As you can tell if you’ve read this blog, I’m not a fan of President Trump. Plus, it would of course be rude to decline. And, I was really hungry.

Picture what comes to mind when you consider a typical Republican, pre-Trump, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of the Capitol Hill Club. Homey with an old-school feel. Not that I’ve spent much time in either but almost like a country or yacht club that you could feel welcome at.

Throughout the entire time my wife Wendy and I kept noticing all the little accoutrements – the framed photos of Republican officeholders, FOX News on in the background, well-stocked bar and snacks you could bring to your table, and commented how surreal it all seemed. Our daughter Sasha was sold from the get-go as she was in the mood for a club sandwich and my wife and my friend, the club member, had called ahead and made sure they would make one for Sasha, even though it wasn’t on the menu. And our son Ethan; he was in a whole universe altogether.

As I’ve alluded to in past blog posts, Ethan became interested in politics during the 2016 presidential campaign and has experienced quite an evolution of late. He began his journey as supporter for Florida Senator Marco Rubio, has become a vocal critic of President Trump but, during the last several months, has been listening to podcasts by conservative-leaning podcasts and following them on Twitter. But after seeing how, to to speak, the GOP lives, I wonder if our family friend might have recruited a Republican for life.

Throughout the entire dinner, I kept thinking of myself that this is how politics used to be. Meaning, not too long ago, we were able to separate the person from their politics. Now, I happen to go way back with this family friend and think the world of her. But the people she introduced us to at the Capitol Hill Club – friends and colleagues, seemed like nice, friendly folk who my family and I certainly would enjoy sharing a drink or meal with, despite our political differences.

Now, I want to be clear. I won’t waste space to detail my concerns with President Trump but suffice it to say that I hope to G-d he gets defeated next November. But whether he wins or loses I’m going to try and not categorize or, as the case may be, characterize his supporters. Because, as naive as it sounds, whether we realize it or not, we need to remember that President Trump’s supporters are our colleagues, family members, friends and acquaintances. And I’ve got a son cherishing his newly-acquired Republican National Committee single-use coasters and matchbooks to prove it.

Image credit: Yelp