President Trump told you COVID would be gone by Easter: HE LIED President Trump told you COVID would be gone by Memorial Day: HE LIED
President Trump told you he saved millions of lives from COVID: HE LIED President Trump told you COVID was no worse than the flu: HE LIED President Trump told you there were COVID instant cures and remedies: HE LIED
President Trump told you he knew more about science than scientists: HE LIED President Trump told you COVID was fake news: HE LIED
President Trump told you a COVID vaccine would be available before the presidential election: HE LIED
President Trump told you COVID would disappear after the presidential election: HE LIED
And now he is telling you the presidential election is a fraud: AND YOU BELIEVE HIM?
Three years ago I blogged about a pledge from Volvo, the Swedish auto manufacturer, that by this very year, 2020, no one would die in a new Volvo automobile. A Google search this morning failed to turn up any evidence that Volvo is still making that brag, even in this pandemic world of fewer drivers, fewer miles, and fewer accidents. I can’t find any evidence that there has been a fatality in a 2020 Volvo and death rate data takes years to compile but I am hoping, fingers crossed, that Volvo has been successful.
In that blog, way back three years ago (who remembers 2017?) I asked other entities to make pledges for 2020. And now it is time to see the results…
PLEDGES FOR 2020 THAT I ASKED FOR in 2017
Pledge Request: The airline industry will promise to utilize artificial intelligence to devise a system in which no passenger traveling from Chicago, Illinois to Fairbanks, Alaska gets routed through Miami, Florida. Result: The airlines did us one better. They made sure almost no one would want to fly at all.
Pledge Request: The recording industry will pledge that I recognize at least one song nominated for the Record of the Year Grammy. Result: Nope, though the nominated songs for this year aren’t out yet, I struck out on last year’s list. No surprise.
Pledge Request: The Sox, Cubs, Bears, Bulls, and Blackhawks will each pledgenot to be in Year 1 of a 5 Year Rebuilding Plan. Result: All was good in White Sox Land until Tony LaRussa came along. As for the rest? Why bother.
Pledge Request: While the airlines are making pledges, how about a guarantee that there are no bumped passengers hauled off a plane by air marshalls, or better yet, no bumped passengers at all? Result: Who could have predicted hauling off passengers for their lack of mask etiquette?
Pledge Request: The Democratic Party will pledge to have a viable Presidential Candidate. (I know this one is a b-i-g stretch!) Result: We did it! We did it! We did it!
Pledge Request: Progressive Insurance and Toyota will pledge to swap Flo and Jan for a month. Just because it would be fun. Result: Flo is still hawking policies and Jan is still peddling cars–even in a pandemic, some things never change.
Pledge Request: Brian Urlacher will promise to readopt the shaved head look so we can get rid of all the awful hair growth billboards along I-294. Result: Not as many billboards–perhaps as a result of Urlacher’s political views?
Pledge Request: NBC will pledge that “Chicago Streets and Sanitation” will be thelastshow in it’s “Chicago” pantheon, and will return the streets of Chicago to the residents of Chicago. Result: NBC reportedly interested in giving “Chicago Pol”, a Lightfoot/Pritzker production, a weekly primetime slot.
Pledge Request: Wisconsin will pledge no new shootings by 8-year-olds legally licensed to carry a weapon. Result: Wisconsin decides to import its underage shooters from Illinois.
Pledge Request: Chip and Joanna, Jonathan and Drew, and all those House Hunters will promise to take a year-long sabbatical so my TV sets can take an HGTV sabbatical too! Result: Magnolia Network anyone?
So only the Democrats lived up to my pledge request–but that was a big one. What pledges do we want for two years from now? And what will come true?
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RIP Alex Trebek — photo courtesy of the Chicago Tribune.
RIP Alex Trebek. Below is a repost of my blog from 2018, before we knew of Mr. Trebek’s illness.
There have only been two hosts ofJeopardy!that mattered. Art Fleming gave the answers on most of the original run, and Alex Trebek has been the man behind the podium on the current version since the show’s reinception in 1984. Mr. Trebek’s current contract expires in 2020, and he has hinted that after 36 years and thousands and thousands of shows, that might be the time for him to retire. He has also suggested two potential replacements, hockey announcer Alex Faust, and broadcaster Laura Coates.
Hogwash! If the answer is “This person would be the ideal next host ofJeopardy!” the question is “Who isME!” Think about it. Appearances on both Jeopardy! and It’s Academichave shown I know what it takes to be tested under those hot TV lights without breaking a sweat. Ok, those were both decades ago, and I didn’t win on either show, but in my opinion, I have only improved with age. Andmy almost appearance with Steve Harvey on Family Feud should be enough to prove I’ve still got that cool under pressure style.
About physical appearance. Fans ofJeopardy!just want a host that won’t make them shudder each time they tune in. I think I can pass that bar. And thanks to Mr. Trebek, the audience has gotten used to a well groomed white-haired host. I have the hair color and style to match. I even have a Bangkok tailor so I can order as many fitted suits as I need for the multiple shows taped on one day.
How about a voice that gets attention and demands and commands respect? I served my six years as Board of Education President and kept those unruly crowds of unhappy parents in check. And I never had to raise my voice. They all just listened. (True confession: The crowds weren’t really unruly or unhappy, they were mostly at our meetings to see their kids get awards and honors.)
Oh, one more thing. Ipromisenot to pretend I know all the questions to all the answers. The players should be the stars of the show. And even if they are not at all brilliant, charming, or funny I promise not to embarrass them. It’s probably their life’s dream to be holding that buzzer! Who wants to crash those dreams?
So Sony Television, give me a call. I won’t let you down.
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‘Twas two days after polling, and all through the US
The country was waiting, an election to bless;
The ballots were endless and counting was slow,
With hopes for a victor before there was snow;
The pundits both writing or those talking heads;
Repeating over and over what the others had said;
My wife in the kitchen, my daughter on the phone,
Were both getting weary from all this unknown,
The President had claimed on the very first night,
That he was the winner, but that was not right.
Even Fox News wasn’t quite that hardy,
Advising he wait before a celebration party.
The pollsters were saying they hadn’t quite blown it,
But they weren’t really sure, if only we’d known it.
Now the headlines are saying there are six more states,
Upon whose numbers the result still awaits,
“Now, Nevada! now, Alaska! now North Carolina!
On, ‘Zona! on, Georgia! on, Pennasylvina!
Give us some results, we all need to hear!
We hope when you’re done it will all be so clear!”
Then the lawsuits will come and accusations will fly,
With more fireworks than the 4th of July;
So up to the Supremes the challenges may go
And we will see how the Court feels about Joe.
Or if for the Donald their loyalties lie
And a judgement for him they decide to apply.
It’s a crazy old system we have in this land,
To try to determine who gets to command.
The millions of dollars on attack TV ads,
Just make us feel angry and the candidates look bad.
Hope we figure it out before New Year’s Eve,
Then we can happily watch two-oh-two-oh leave;
Or by the time that you read this, results all may be here.
And I will end this poem on a note of good cheer.
Keep your head up, keep a smile in your eyes.
Whoever it is, who wins the big prize!
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If you like Hungarian food, They have a goulash which is very good.
Allan Sheman, Hungarian Goulash #5, 1963
Sometimes you still have to love the Internet.
Our daughter Laury has been telling us for years how she uses her slow-cooker to make easy, tasty, dinners. Back-in-the-day when Barb and I were working long hours we would occasionally cook supper in a crockpot; the concept of coming home to a simmering stew being very enticing. But lifestyles changed–and the lure of local restaurants became irresistible. Our crockpot usage evaporated.
Then came the last 7 months. Like all of you, we have been eating 99.9% of our dinners at home and getting more and more bored with our menus. Last week Laury’s words finally sunk in.
I decided to make my crockpot favorite, Hungarian Goulash. We found a slow cooker in the very back of the highest kitchen cabinet and then began the hunt for our crockpot cookbook. It wasn’t on our cookbook shelf, it wasn’t on any other bookshelf. It was not here, it was not there, we could not find it anywhere.
I did the modern-day thing and looked up “crockpot recipes for goulash” online. I found a dozen and chose one to make. Went to Woodman’s, bought the few ingredients, threw ’em all in the pot, and later that night we were eating tender, juicy, goulash. The only problem–what should have been a spicy stew was bland as library paste. Barb and I started reminiscing about the old recipe. Wasn’t there brown sugar and Worcestershire sauce? And how much paprika?
Following dinner, I had a new mission. I was going to find a copy of that old crockery cookbook, the one with the recipe we loved. I did a Google search for “crockpot cookbooks from the 1970’s” and got a hit! Someone had listed the very same book I wanted on Mercari, a selling website I had never heard of before now. For only 6 bucks!
I signed up, put in my credit card, ordered, and dreamt of goulash. Until the next morning when I received a message from the site. The seller had canceled the sale. SH*T! I went back to my search and found another seller of the same cookbook on the Mercari site, this time for $9.
Wondering if Mercari has a monopoly on outdated cookbooks I offered the same $6 as I had the first time and waited. Success! The seller accepted my offer. Messages from the site confirmed the cookbook was being sent and yesterday, it arrived, as evocative of 1975 as a cookbook could be. I tore through the recipes, and there, on page 47, was my recipe for Hungarian Goulash, loaded with brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce, and just the right amount of paprika. The only thing missing was the smudgy ketchup thumbprint I remember leaving on my original copy of the book.
I won’t make the goulash this week. I’ll wait for a cold wintery day when a smoky stew will be most appreciated. Want to join us for dinner–virtually of course!
Kudos to old Eugene Field School friend and baseball buddy Gary Shulman, the first person to correctly answer the “Layla, Learning to Fly, Closer to Home” trilogy trivia question. The common denominator? All have bird tweets. Way to go Gary–I always knew you were for the birds!
Less than a week to go. VOTE
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I haven’t cooked that special dish yet. I’ll probably wait for a snowy wintery day when a warm stew will be most welcome. Care to join us for dinner–remotely of course!
A long time ago, i.e. before Covid, I could get my dose of rock’n’roll trivia listening to and participating in the “Three for Free” audio quiz from Lin Brehmer and Mary Dixon in the pre-dawn hours on WXRT. Those challenges are gone, with Mary now on WBEZ, and our best friend in the world Lin spinning the disks on 93.1 at a more civilized midday time. But my rock’n’roll mind never rests. As you will see…
After breakfast this morning (but well before my weekly dose of Meet the Press)you would have found me in the basement exercise room, grinding away on the elliptical. As per my usual routine, I was plugged into the Pandora app, listening to my self-curated radio station. Decades features rock bands from the ’60s right on to today–from the Beatles’ “Love Me Do” to Bruce Springsteen’s brand-new “Letter to You,” with lots of Floyd (Pink), Dan (Steely), and Straits (Dire) in between.
I warmed up with U2’s “The Sweetest Thing” and then got my heart pumping with “Layla” by Clapton’s Derek and the Dominoes, followed by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with “Learning to Fly.” “That’s cool,” I recognized. “Those last two songs have something unusual in common.”
Letting my mind roam as I continued my workout, I came up with two more songs with the same unique characteristic. One of those two is “Closer to Home (I’m Your Captain)” by the Michigandering Grand Funk Railroad. The other…well if I told you the other this question would be much too easy!
So now it’s your turn. What do “Layla,” “Learning to Fly,” and “Closer to Home” have in common? I know “Layla” and “Closer to Home” both are two-part songs, but “Fly” doesn’t fit into that pattern. And it doesn’t have to do with how many people are in the band, or who they are. But there is something that ties these 3 songs together.
If you know, send me a note at les.raff@post.com. You can leave a comment, but don’t give away the answer. And enjoy your Sunday.
Vote November 3rd.
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Can you tell me 10 things Trump and Pence have accomplished? Photo Courtesy Chicago Tribune.
To my friends, former friends, frenemies, colleagues, and the voting public at large:
Just give me 10. 10 things that Donald Trump has accomplished in just under 4 years as President. Not four things you like about him. I don’t care that you think he says what he means, or that he doesn’t take any BS. Those are just personality traits.
No, I want you to stop what you are doing for a moment, stop sharing those pictures of American flags that you think make you a better patriot than me, or circulating bizarre and ridiculous conspiracy theories, and instead, give me a list of ten actual accomplishments of 45 months of Trump ascendency. And while you are at it, tell me why you like those accomplishments. Be specific, be factual, be credible.
What things don’t count as an accomplishment to me? Holding big rallies — that’s just entertainment. Attacking opposition politicians, other world leaders, and almost any female of power? Being a bully is a flaw, not an achievement. Trashing the Biden family while your family reaps millions from your presidency–that’s chutzpah, not progress. And falling in love with Kim Jong-un? Dennis Rodman’s been there, done that, first.
So please, give me 10 things the man has actually done! That’s less than 3 a year. Surely you can come up with them. If you think his biggest accomplishment is a few hundred miles of wall, fine, put that at the top of your list. If you think it is appointing judges you like, list that–but only once–you don’t get to list it separately for Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Barrett.
Surely though, you can do better in your support of the man. After all, you must be able to show at least ten things that have advanced our country during the tenure of the caricature you so strongly, vociferously, unwaveringly, support.
If not–why would you vote for this man?
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John Belushi would have made an excellent neuropathologist!
(Rated SG for Slightly Gross)
Do you remember Friday afternoons when you were a kid in school? The teacher’s voice would drone on and on. The minute hand on the wall clock would move slower and slower. Time would freeze.
You kept staring out the window, at the shining sun, at the park at the end of the block. You couldn’t wait to get outside and play some ball. Or snow was on the other side of the glass — and you were looking forward to an evening with friends at Alpine Mountain to practice some downhill ski runs. In any case, it sure was rough waiting those last few minutes.
No matter how bad you thought you had it on those long-past Friday afternoons, you most likely have nothing to compare to my Fridays in the early 1980s when I was a Resident in Pathology at a teaching hospital just outside Chicago. Because every Friday, at precisely 3:30, was brain-cutting time!
No, that’s not a clever nickname for some devilish oral Q and A the attendings would throw at us, nor was it a dastardly written exam. On Friday afternoons we would literally slice our way through the previous week’s autopsy brains.
I’ve written about autopsies before. But not the secret of brain-cutting. A brain removed at autopsy is a squishy mess. It’s the consistency of that disgusting lemon Jello mold that has been sitting under the hot sun since 11 am at your 4th of July picnic. Trying to examine it fresh is brain salad surgery.
So to prevent brain meltdown at autopsy, the fresh brain is carefully dissected from the cranial cavity (we won’t discuss how you open that up,) wrapped in gauze, and suspended on a network of strings in a large bucket of formalin for at least a week. Put THAT on your bucket list.
But eventually, we had to look at those brains. So every Friday afternoons Dr. D, our visiting samurai neuropathologist, would join the residents in the autopsy suite. One by one the brains from the previous week’s post-mortems, now solid enough to be cut, would be set before him. Though each had been soaking in running water for several hours in preparation for his attention, the formalin odor was still overpowering to the assembled residents. But the miasma didn’t seem to bother the Master.
Brandishing a long, glistening, and oh-so-sharp two-foot-long stainless steel knife he would approach each brain and go chop-chop-chop. He would then bow slightly and present us with thin slices of sashimied brain laid out in precise rows on a cafeteria tray. With the tip of his blade, he would point out the abnormalities–the tumors, the infarcts, the paleness of the substantia nigra in Parkinson’s Disease. He guided me through the pink blush of increased vessels in Moyamoya Disease, a rare vascular disease whose name — “puff of smoke” in Japanese — memorialized the appearance of increased blood vessels in an angiogram.
Dr. D had seen it all and explained it all.
Our residents may not have been happy to be in that autopsy suite late on a Friday afternoon. Maybe the good neuropathologist didn’t want to be there either. So many other places we all could have been. But no matter how much we hated it, we learned our neuropathology — at the point of a sword.
But it is a shame that I never did learn how to ski!
Use your very functional brain–VOTE!
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“I want to get for you what I got and I’m going to make it free. You’re not going to pay for it. ” With those words in yesterday’s Twitter video, President Donald Trump tacked a new direction as he at last revealed his health plan for America.
Mitch McConnell, in a follow-up interview, confirmed the President’s announcement.
“Yes, we want to destroy ObamaCare, that hideous piece of legislation that those evil Democrats rammed through our throats during their illegal administration of the worst eight years of this great nation’s history. Obamacare is a mess, loaded with premium payments and pre-pays and copays and deductibles.
President Trump’s plan is simple and straightforward. You need healthcare? Go to your doctor and you will get it for free. Need drugs? Go to your pharmacy and get them for free. Need an abortion? Go to Canada and rot in hell.”
When asked how the country could afford this plan, McConnell stated that Trump had been given a method direct from God. This was confirmed in last night’s Vice-Presidential Debate when VP Mike Pence interrupted Democratic nominee Kamala Harris to say “Our plan to pay for America’s wonderful healthcare is as clear as the fly on my hair which I believe is another message from God.”
When it was pointed out to Speaker McConnell that the plan sounded like a socialist-style European healthcare plan, McConnell objected, stating only the liberal fake-news industry would make that comparison. Sean Hannity also refuted the idea that this was universal healthcare, relaying that it was God’s desire and therefore a capitalist endeavor.
Alex Azar, Secretary of Health and Human Services did not return numerous telephone call requests for further information. An email request was returned with an “Out of the Office until November 4th” automatic response.
Chuck Schumer, Democratic Senator from New York, was overheard telling a staffer about Trump “The guy is meshugh, what more can I say?”
Vote November 3rd.
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I see trees of green Red roses too
Bob Thiele and George David Weiss
A perfect fall day, just before lunch. Last year I would have left the laboratory and driven to the fitness center where my running gear–shoes and shorts, water bottle and hat–were stashed. I would have popped in my earphones, dialed up a Pandora playlist, and charged through 3 miles, mind consumed with pace and breathing and knees. Back to the fitness center, a quick shower, and an afternoon of prostate slides.
But that was last year, and this of course is not. COVID has zapped the fitness center and seems to have zapped much of my energy as well. My runs this year have been rarer than real birthday parties, and even using my home elliptical has felt like a burden. But today I felt good, the sun was shining and I decided to go for a walk.
And how nice it was to talk a walk in the quiet residential neighborhood just a block south of the lab. Without headphones clogging my ears, without being concerned about how fast or how far I could go, I was able to look around and enjoy the world before me.
Things I might normally not notice; the man and his son, helmets pulled low over their faces, pedaling their bikes in the street, playing hooky from their virtual career and virtual classroom; the woman teaching her virtual classroom from a card table in her garage; the cardboard boxes stacked next to recycling bins pointing to homeowners who have succumbed to Amazon Fever.
A man walks his dog; a maintenance man uses a propane tank for fuel as he fiddles with a structure in the park. The grass is green, the sky a pure blue with gently floating wisps of white clouds. For a moment there is no COVID, there are no politics–the bitterness and hatred have been banished by the light and colors of the fall.
If I was running I wouldn’t slow down to even see the roses, today I want to stop and smell them. No, it won’t change the world, but sometimes we don’t have to.
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President Trump told you COVID would be gone by Easter: HE LIED
Just Like Starting Over 