This President's Day, the Executive and Commander in Chief setting the nation's course1 is an incredibly impolitic politician with at least one shade of cray (sic) for each state of the Union, a megalomaniac who embodies the worst qualities of Biff Tannen and Captain Queeg.2 Welcome aboard the Ship of State, the flush-class destroyer, the USS Caine. Seaworthy or not, sail she must, come Hell or high water.
February 20 is the 51st day of the year. There are 314 days left.
Today's number is 20
As most of us struggle to remain in the black year on year [we are doing our accounts yet again]
The three Mar-a-Lago trips in Palm Beach cost the federal treasury around $10m, based on figures used in an October government report analysing White House travel.
Draining the Swamp
When you are up to your ass in alligators, it is difficult to remind yourself that your initial objective was to drain the swamp.
Cross-posted from Real Economics.
Some Albums really stood out for one reason or another, but never seemed to get the recognition they deserved. There are others that I just like to play every once in a while. This one is both, possibly the most underrated band of the era. Do yourself a favor and listen to Section 43 twice.
There are some ads you need to click through, sorry.
Chilean director Sebastian Lelio has a new film which has been taking the Berlin Film Festival by storm.
I was actually planning on laying off of the essays for a while, but I recently read a piece by Caitlin Johnstone, a writer I respect and enjoy quite a bit, regarding how Bernie is still important to the the forwarding of Progressive change.
It's here:
I just recently became aware of the work and opinions of one Catherine Austin Fitts. Her opinons, as expressed on a variety of radio programs, are, to say the least, provocative and original. For example she has expressed her belief that Sanctuary Cities were established to provide Silicon Valley, Hollywood and Wall Street with cheap labor.
There may be chaos still around the world,
This little world that in my thinking lies;
For mine own bosom is the paradise
Where all my life's fair visions are unfurled.
Within my nature's shell I slumber curled,
Unmindful of the changing outer skies,
Where now, perchance, some new-born Eros flies,
Or some old Cronos from his throne is hurled.
I heed them not; or if the subtle night
Haunt me with deities I never saw,
I soon mine eyelid's drowsy curtain draw
To hide their myriad faces from my sight.
They threat in vain; the whirlwind cannot awe
A happy snow-flake dancing in the flaw.
