Trump's whole team is this way. They blow my mind.
I feel a tension within myself as I sit here and observe Lighthizer respond to Bartiromo's questioning. He is not there as an open book to be read, rather, he is there as a book that wants to read chapters of itself to you.
As a self-reading book he does that through the availability of Bartiromo's questioning. That is, he shapes his answers to her questions to suit his pre-written chapters.
The tension is between my mind and my spirit.
When I was younger my spirit and mind would agree when observing a diplomat answering (that's what Lighthizer is among everything else). I want to be like that.
And now my mind is willing to copy while my spirit says, "Nah, Brah."
When Pelosi takes credit for passing USMCA Lighthizer is willing to acknowledge her contribution. My mind processes that as appropriate while my spirit says "F that s. Pelosi's a hag, she did no work whatsoever. She is taking unearned credit. My team did all the work and her team worked against us throughout until the moment it became profitable for Pelosi to concede, then boom, she got off her butt and passes our work."
When Lighthizer says that Trump calls him everyday to apply pressure, my spirit says, "Trump rides my ass like a maniac."
My mind processes observing Lighthizer as model, and my spirits says, "Oh no you don't."
Nah, Brah.
Last summer I took a little old man's shopping cart full of boxes and trash to the trash chute at the end of the hall.
When I opened the square door to the chute I could hear a voice and some activity below.
Somebody was down there.
Surely, not in the dumpster five floors below.
I dropped an egg carton to test. I heard a faint voice.
"Ah, Brah."
Someone is inside the dumpster.
No they're not.
Yes, they are.
No. Couldn't be.
But I head the voice. The person reacted.
Nobody is in the dumpster. There is no reason to be inside it. That's just wrong.
I dropped another egg carton. I heard the same faint gentle voice.
"Ah, B-r-a-a-a-h."
Oops. That does it. Now I must take my trash down and outside and apologize for dropping two egg cartons on the guys head.
I retrace my steps back down the hallway, past my apartment, to the elevator, go downstairs, go outside, in the bright sunshine, get out my key, go to the room that contains the two dumpsters. I am composing my apology in my head as I go.
Just before the two large doors in the shade, two 30-something roughnecks stop me in front of the open doors. They're sweeping and cleaning. I tell them what happened. In total 100% sincerity I add, "I am very sorry ... I'm Brah. "
The two roughnecks cracked up laughing. And they didn't stop.
They literally doubled over laughing. They used their brooms and shovel to steady themselves. They straighten out and bellow. Something is incredibly funny to them and I just stand there behind my cart nonplussed. What in the f is so funny?
"Why are you two guys laughing? What is so funny?"
They start pulling things out of my cart and tossing them into the dumpster.
They're helping me out while still laughing.
They completely empty my cart for me and never stop laughing.
I still don't know what is so funny.
It's like the two smoked a joint and everything is funny. I was concerned and my concern was funny to them. I was sincere and my sincerity was funny to them. They were pissing me off and helping me at the same time. They're laughing at me while conveying they don't want hard feelings.
"That guy is our boss."
"Where is he so I can apologize?"
"He's gone now."
They were still laughing. Apparently an older white guy twice their age saying "I'm Brah" is incredibly funny to people.
2 comments:
75% of car components must be made in North America and the Wall Street Journal has a problem with that?!
Brah is a slang term for "Bro" and is used by all the hip youngsters. I think it is a corruption of a Jamaican accent which they picked up on when they went to buy the ganga.
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