The Puppet Cuts His Strings
If anyone needs further proof that Democrats are stupid, you need look no further than their attempt to tie Donald Trump’s presidential victory to the Russians.
If anyone needs further proof that Democrats are stupid, you need look no further than their attempt to tie Donald Trump’s presidential victory to the Russians.
Over the previous eight years, Obama and Mrs. Clinton had done everything but learn to dance the kazazachki to convince Vladimir Putin of their good intentions. Obama promised to be more flexible after his re-election; for her part, Secretary of State Clinton giggled while pushing the reset button with her Russian counterpart and then handed over a fifth of our uranium deposits in exchange for a bribe to her family’s foundation.
Think how much trouble and embarrassment the Democrats could have saved themselves if they had instead tried tying Trump’s transition team to China or even Canada.
After the better part of a year, Robert Mueller and his team of Never-Trumpers haven’t been able to come up with anything even resembling a smoking gun. In fact, the only scandal that’s been uncovered involves the FBI and its band of merry pranksters, including traitorous scofflaws named Comey, McCabe, Ohr, Page and Strzok.
Making it even harder for the rogue agents to make their case is the fact that President Trump is supplying Ukraine with anti-tank weapons to use against the Russians. Putin must be totally mystified by Trump’s actions, asking himself if this is any way for a puppet to treat his puppet master.
I recently saw a photo of Rep. Frederica Wilson decked out in one of her many fancy cowboy hats and Sen. Elizabeth Warren wearing an Indian headdress. Despite all of their whining about cultural misappropriation, Democrats seem ever ready to allow themselves a dispensation when it comes to playing cowboys and Indians.
Even though I spent many years as a scriptwriter, I always felt that the people who tended to be overlooked the most when credit was being bestowed weren’t writers, and it certainly wasn’t actors or directors. Rather, it was the men and women, mainly men, who composed the dramatic scores that served as the emotional bedrock of most movies.
This isn’t meant to diminish the contributions of others, but to call attention to how much the movies owe to the contributions of such people as Franz Waxman, Hugo Friedhofer, Dimitri Tiomkin, Miklos Rozsa, Elmer Bernstein, Alfred Newman, Victor Young, Bernard Herrmann, Aaron Copland, Erich Korngold, Johnny Green, David Raksin, John Williams, William Walton, Alex North, Ernest Gold, Nino Rota, Michel Legrand. Henry Mancini, Jerry Goldsmith, Georges Delerue, John Barry, Maurice Jarre, Jerome Moross and Ennio Morricone.
I know there’s a school of thought that if while watching a movie, you are aware of the music, it’s a bad score; the belief being that the music ‘s role is simply to subtly enhance the drama. That makes about as much sense as to suggest that the composer has screwed up if the audience at an opera notices something besides the costumes, the set and the size of the mezzo-soprano.
If you think about your favorite movie, no matter its subject matter or its genre, I’m betting you wouldn’t enjoy it half as much without its musical underpinnings.
While we’re on the subject of music in the movies, I have always found it amazing how lucky Judy Garland was, and how close she came to missing out on her three signature songs.
Although it now seems unbelievable, MGM studio boss Louis B. Meyer didn’t care for “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” or “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and wanted them yanked from “The Wizard of Oz” and “Meet Me in St. Louis,” and Jack Warner, who had an equally tin ear, didn’t care for “The Man That Got Away,” and wanted it excised from “A Star is Born.”
If the composers, lyricists and producers hadn’t managed to convince the moguls to change their minds, Garland’s repertoire would have been limited to “I’m Biding My Time” and “The Trolley Song.”
For years, psychiatrists have used the Rorschach test to delve into the subconscious minds of their patients. If you look at a pair of inkblots and where others see a mother and her baby, you see an axe-murderer, there’s a good chance you belong in a room with rubber walls.
But I think if you are asked to evaluate the eight years of the Obama administration and find good things to say about it or about the man, there is something equally off-kilter about you.
At least when it comes to an old commie like Bernie Sanders, I can understand the appeal. For one thing, he promised the millennials who made up his base that others would pay off their college loans. Offer people something for nothing, asking only for their vote, and it’s easy to attract a following of young ignoramuses. Besides, Sanders was never in the Oval Office, and, so, nobody got to see his cockeyed agenda in action.
But we all got to see Obama lie and scheme and give full vent to his massive ego. We saw him destroy health care in America; saw him blow a fortune on solar companies doomed to failure; saw him put the kibosh on our oil and coal industries; bribe Iran with 150 billion dollars for no better reason than to keep them at the negotiating table; tell Republican legislators to sit down, shut up and get out of his way, and then double down by lecturing them on their lack of civility; and set back race relations by at least 50 years.
Still, millions of people thought he was cool, and that was more than enough for them to ignore his obsessive use of “I” and “me,” even when he was supposed to be crediting the Navy Seals with the execution of Osama bin Laden. If you didn’t know better, you could imagine he was describing the way he had personally rappelled down from the helicopter, made his way across the Pakistani courtyard, climbed the stairs of the madman’s home and shot him dead.
But for liberals, it was enough that the schmuck uttered moth-eaten platitudes as if they were newly minted. In other words, he spoke their language.
Joseph Stockwell let me know that there were 15 amendments to Murphy’s Law. As someone who, left to his own devices, would edit the 10 Commandments down to five or six, it figures that I would pare Stockwell’s list down to eight.
A fine is a tax for doing wrong. A tax is a fine for doing well.
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.
Those who live by the sword are shot by those who don’t.
Nothing is foolproof to a well-motivated fool.
Anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there’s a 90% probability you’ll get it wrong.
Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will sit in a boat all day guzzling beer.
God gave us toes as a way of finding furniture in the dark.
A flashlight is a case for holding dead batteries.
