Category Archives: Trump

Realism in the Time of Covid

I walked down the broad, sandy track, distracted. The path was built for motorized traffic, so it required no attention to route finding, and my mind could wander elsewhere, in places far from plagues and Gumby revolutions. But I did not stray for long. Behind me, I heard barking. The noise was the sort of high-pitched yap which a dog makes when something frightening, yet fun, is in progress.

I had assumed that a dog made the sound, but I began to doubt as the yammering grew closer at an unnatural rate and became accompanied by a growl that fluctuated in uneven gasps. I stepped off the track, waiting nervously. But of course, no extraordinary monster appeared around the last bend. What did roll into sight was a standard, biomechanical amalgamation. The dog, a German Shepherd mongrel, sat lashed to the vehicle frame up front, shaking and yelping. Behind the mutt, a lumpy man in a down coat steered the buggy from the comfort of its silver roll cage. He gunned the engine over little rises, and coasted around the curves. He gave a little smile and a wave as he passed me. A small American flag fluttered from the apex of his sun-shade.
The commotion rapidly faded, and I turned my attention back to the walk, and the granite towers at the walk’s end. I could see the formations now. Poking up from the slopes of the Little Valley, they were squat spires, the color of the sand beneath my feet. Most were not monoliths, but stacks of huge blocks, each brick 40 feet or more on a side.
At the apex of a small rise in the trail, a single, rhomboidal flagstone, and a small prickly pear with three leaves marked the turnoff to my objective. They looked as if they had been placed there, but they were no more intended for my purpose than the track of hoof prints which led away from the landmark towards the climb. A dotted line, stamped in the sand by deer and elk, and punctuated with mounds of pellets along the way, wove through the Manzanita until it intersected with a line of Cairns leading to a gigantic stack of boulders.
I dropped my pack at the base. I could not tell if the staging area had been manufactured or not, but it was a perfect little patch of dirt, sheltered by cypress and laurel. I fished the rope out from the bottom of the pack and donned harness and helmet. I carried no more gear, because my goal for the day was not to climb the 4 inch wide crack above me from the bottom up. My goal was to find out if I was still a climber, and if so, to begin to claw my way back to a respectable condition. To those ends, I would crawl through gaps between the blocks above, anchor the rope to a pair of unseen bolts, descend the rope, and climb back up to the bolts as many times as I could.
With the rope tied to my back, I made my way around the side of the formation until I could tunnel through the cracks. The way led down and across to a small alcove. A scraggly alder tree grew there, apparently supported by a very shallow bowl of sand alone. In retrospect, it had made a mistake. Though the spot was secure, the soil was too shallow, and the tree’s highest leaves could only catch sunlight for a couple of hours every day. It could never thrive, but it was a pleasant decoration for the time being. From the alcove, a short, awkward squeeze led to a hidden ledge, and the anchor. I secured my rope to the two bolts.

After descending back to the base, I loaded my self-belay device and began to climb. I moved methodically, not at all like I would climb with a partner belaying from the base. I used a single device for fall protection. This was on purpose. The set up relied on hands and feet as my first line of protection, with the rope and device as backup only. Having a second chance put an edge on the whole project which was lacking in the case of third chances and single chances alone. With a third chance in play, the focus shifted to the equipment and allowed for some slop in the climbing. Committing to one chance only demanded fatalism, and fatalism shifted the focus to the mental equipment needed to accept one’s fate, at the expense of free movement.
I climbed through the route, slowly convincing myself that I could still move smoothly. The effort meant ignoring the grind my left shoulder when I loaded it in extension, and the stiffness in my leg on the right when I tried to step high.
I made it through an acceptable number of laps and pulled the rope. The sun was now as high as it would get in midwinter, and it illuminated a small tuft of leaves poking from the alcove between the boulders above.
I turned my back on the formation and wandered down past the Cairns, the elk pellets, the rhomboidal rock, and the three-leaf pear. With the full warmth of the sun on the Little Valley, the trail was now bustling. A grade school child teetered over a bump on his motorbike. A parent followed, riding a matching cycle nearly on the kid’s back tire. Groups of people, some wearing facemasks, some not, nodded to me politely as I stepped off the trail to let them by.
As usual, I could gauge my distance from the trailhead by the age and attire of passing hikers. I first passed those kitted out with boots and daypacks, then the sneakers lot with their coats tied around their hips, then the shorts and flip-flops crowd. By the time that the expensive homes which flanked the start of the trail were visible, the vast majority of passing travelers wore boat shoes and elastic waistbands and would plainly go only a few more steps beyond the gate. What they sought by this activity, I could not imagine.

The parking area had filled up since my departure, and in the usual fashion. When I had arrived in the morning cold, the only other cars parked in the lot were a dated Subaru and a Toyota truck. The Subaru had a Sierra Club sticker on the back window. The truck was covered in dust. Between morning and afternoon, cleaner vehicles had filled in the rest of the parking spaces. A few of these had American flag decals, and one of the flags was blue with a prominent blue line through the middle of the stripes. One rear window bore a red white and blue “Q”.
I wondered who belonged to those stickers. Nobody on the trail looked crazy. Certainly, nobody looked like a revolutionary, and if my fellow travelers that day really were the sons and daughters of the Revolution, then the revolution would be over as soon as the propane and Slim Jim’s ran out.
I had them entirely wrong, though. What a person trusts depends on what a person wants. What a person wants depends on the depth and breadth of their perception. The revolution was against the untrustable unseen. They revolted against rumors of an invisible pathogen. They revolted against the idea of murky social, political, and personal depths. Most of all, they revolted against a start in the cold and dark which they had somehow been convinced that they were entitled to avoid.

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For Anyone

…who believes that, “we have more cases because we have more testing”.

Testing for an infectious disease is like counting the number of balloons in a dark room by tossing darts through the doorway. Say you throw 10 darts in the room and hear two pops. There is still a good chance that a number of balloons remain uncounted. But if you throw 40 darts in the room and hear two pops, the likelihood of a two-balloon scenario soars. When the rate of pops drops below a certain proportion, you can be sure that you have counted most of the balloons in the room. A low percentage of positive tests is what you’re after.
Once you have established the adequacy of your testing, you can sort out what the results reveal about containment. The raw numbers don’t tell you that much. In the case of national case counts, it is reasonable to expect a country with a large population to experience higher numbers than a country with a small population given similar degrees of disease containment. A true measure of containment is cases per population, or in our analogy, how crowded the room is with balloons.
So when a pinhead like Trump says that we have more cases because we have more testing, that standalone statement is pure bull shit. What’s worse, it’s a distraction from what really indicates the adequacy of our understanding of the outbreak’s extent and the effectiveness of our efforts to contain it: percent positive tests and infections per population.

How is the US doing?

Top of the heap with >15,000 cases/1 million persons (European Centers for Disease Control)

Percent positive tests: 7.9 (an adequate percentage is less than 5%)

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H plus or minus the A

Wee Donnie loves his Plaquenil. He says that hydroxychloroquine may be a game changer. He is not a doctor, and he is certainly not an academic, but he says that he has common sense to guide him. His common sense tells him that the drug might have some beneficial effect in Covid-19 infections, times are desperate, and so why not give it a go – what do you have to lose?

Of course, common sense is what tells us that the earth is flat and the sun goes around it. Shockingly, common sense is just as dependable when it comes to bio-statistics. Trump has no idea what he is talkiing about (as usual). Let me heap a fair helping of scorn on his contentions. To do that, Donnie’s argument has to be split into its two components; otherwise, the load would collapse the full-length argument before even a third of the deserved disparagement were dispensed.

Part one concerns the effectiveness of hydroxychlororquine for corona virus. There are a couple of observational studies from China suggesting that moderately ill people given the drug may have been less likely to progress to severe illness. There are also in vitro studies of viral replication which show hydroxychloroquine to be inhibitory. Finally, there is a study examining viral shedding in patients given the drug versus patients not given the drug. This last study is open label, not randomized, and examines a surrogate endpoint – what we want to know is whether the medicine makes people get better, not whether it makes their nasal swab get better.

All of this evidence generates a hypothesis (that hydroxychloroquine may improve clinical outcomes in coronavirus infection) but doesn’t yield any conclusions at all.  To illustrate how this can be so, witness research on the use of this very same drug for influenza treatment. Because, hydroxychloroquine inhibits replication of the influenza virus as well, in vitro. When given to patients in a randomized, controlled trial however, it didn’t make anybody any better, any faster.

But why let the perfect be the enemy of the good? We can go on hope and the possibilities implicit in the observational studies. The med is safe, right? Just give it. To clarify the consequences of such proposals, lets say that the putative cure for Covid-19 is not a Q/T – prolonging antimalarial. Let’s say, it’s a chocolate brownie. The instructions are: chocolate brownies cure corona. That’s it; that’s all we know.

Now, some people are going to take a tiny pinch of brownie, and secure in its protection, head off to the church picnic. They will get the virus and wind up in the ICU.

Other people will eat 5 brownies per day, sending their triglyceride levels through the roof. Those in this group who are also taking certain medications, will develop pancreatitis and wind up in the ICU (drug-drug interaction).

Some will go beyond the 5 brownie dose, to 7 per day. Among this lot are bound to be some latent diabetics who will subsequently land in the unit with hyperglycemic hyperosmolar non-ketotic coma (drug -disease interaction).

Finally, a few true believers will bump the dose to 10 brownies daily. They will experience nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea with subsequent dehydration and acute kidney injury, buying them an ICU bed right beside the Covid patients (adverse drug effect).

The point is: common sense sees no farther than its own nose and is blind to all these eventualities. Scientific method is not, largely because it admits that we can’t know all the eventualities. That’s why good clinical trials measure hard endpoints, like death or time to hospital discharge, and not surrogate markers, like the presence of virus on nasal swabs.

Don’t rely on that nitwit shyster Trump, his toadies, and their common sense. Rely on scientific method instead.

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International Domestic Abuse

I confess to listening to the impeachment trial. I did so without much interest at first, especially during the opening statement from team Trump.

What else were they going to say that had not already been said by all his other flunkies? As Cipollone began speaking, my expectations were momentarily fulfilled, but then he did something surprising. He read a section of Trump’s call to the Ukrainian president which he felt was exculpatory and which he claimed had been omitted on that basis from the House’s presentation.

The President: Well it’s very nice of you to say that. I will say that we do a lot for Ukraine. We spend a lot of effort and a lot of time. Much more than the European countries are doing and they should be helping you more than they are. Germany does almost nothing for you. All they do is talk and I think it’s something that you should really ask them about. When I was speaking to Angela Merkel she talks Ukraine, but she doesn’t do anything. A lot of the European countries are the same way so I think it’s something you want to look at but the United States has been very very good to Ukraine. I wouldn’t say that it’s reciprocal necessarily because things are happening that are not good but the United States has been very very good to Ukraine.”

This move elicited a strange mix of amusement, puzzlement and deja vu. It did not seem too helpful for Trump’s case, quite the opposite, in fact. And I had heard this kind of bizarre exposition before. It took me a moment to realize that it was straight out of those training videos on domestic abuse which are required viewing for my job.

One of the techniques employed by the abuser to control the victim goes just like the passage above, something along the lines of, “Nobody loves you like I do baby, you know that. Who else is going to love you like I do, give you all those things you need, if you throw it all away and leave me? You understand now why I get so upset, even lose control sometimes when you disappoint me? It’s because I love you so much.”

It all became clear in that moment. The nature of Trump & Co.’s relationship with the rest of the world is the nature of an abuser’s relationship to the victim. It explains the lack of insight (the abusers are always happy to use the same defense to outsiders, oblivious to its lack of force absent the power disparity). It explains the displacement of guilt (looking at you Pompeo, you fat, stinking sack of pig shit). It explains everything.

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Q Confessions

I must confess that I have not been completely honest with all of you. It is with a heavy heart that I admit this, but it will soon become too difficult to maintain the charade anyway. Some of you may have guessed the truth already, and to you I offer congratulations. You really are the clever ones after all.

To start, I am, and all along have been, working with the Clintons, the FBI, the Jews, and all the rest of the deep state apparatchiks who seek to undermine their own positions by bringing about a New World Order. All this even though I am a Black Muslim.

You may wonder why I am coming clean. But you must know by now that we villains are at once diabolically clever and thoroughly incompetent. We can concoct airtight and elaborate schemes, but can’t seem to help telegraphing our every move.

I think we fail because of our unconscious guilt. We know we are wrong, deep down, and so we confess just in time for the upstanding to foil our plots. But it will be too late this time.

As I write this, our operatives in the CIA and FBI are assembling the guillotine in a secret House chamber, as Rep. Schiff and Hillary herself drag Donald from his nest in the West wing. Moments from now, Pelosi will give a perfunctory reading of charges and then pull the trigger, with the ceremonial rape of Our Great Leader’s headless corpse to follow immediately thereafter ( I am told that the last bit will not be televised).

Once the deed is done, I will at last be free to pursue my true motive in all this. In this final hour, I will reveal the secret desire, formerly known to just one other, behind all my machinations. I have manipulated both my loyal Americans and my co-conspirators in pursuit of one, grand prize: Melania.

Dearest Melania, It has all been for you, all along, just as I promised. Soon we will walk in the light of day, together, and Baron will finally know what he must have suspected. For how could such beautiful wine ever come from such soft and withered grapes moldering near to the ground?

All of this shall come to pass momentarily, my loyal friends. Then you will have the Truth, and the reassuring feelings which go along with having been in on it all along. And if nothing happens, then all of you will know that this has been a triple-double cross, in which case, you are still the clever ones. Even better than church, isn’t it?

WWG1WGA

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Huh?

On the census citizenship question: The supreme court invited Tweetsy the Clown & Co. to come back with a better lie?

Sebastian Gorka called somebody a punk? Dough boy? Called somebody else a punk?

Pass the popcorn; even arson can be done as slapstick.

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OK

Send migrants from the border  to sanctuary cities. Give those cities control of the manpower and financial resources currently employed by the federal government for immigration enforcement, too.

Because, the move to make immigration and the asylum process somebody else’s’ problem is an admission of incompetence.

So, go ahead and put the grown-ups back in charge Trump, you whining little prick.

Just do it properly…Oh. Never mind.

 

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What Did You Expect?

Did you expect that professional intelligence officers would involve a bunch of loud-mouthed incompetents in their operation?

Did you expect any persuasive evidence to come from an investigation for a population which, as Trump accurately estimated, would not change its vote if its candidate shot someone on 5th avenue?

Did you really need a conspiracy theory to convince you that the author of the Mexican rapist invasion, fine folks in the Neo-Nazi (Alt-right) ranks, Enemy of the People press, dictator admiration and non-stop smack/lies needed to be evicted from office and reviled in the histories?

Really?

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The Takeaway

One: Special K says that he understands his opponents’ viewpoint. He has been a Machiavellian political operative too. And he has been, apparently without regret.

Two: Kavi argues that he is being assaulted where he stands, while he vies for a position of prestige and power. The implication is clear. The position is his by right, and part of the ground upon which he stands.

The latter attitude is consistent with the attitude of Kavi’s sponsor, and it is the attitude which summarily defines them both as little bitches.

That’s the takeaway.

 

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Before I Forget…

Happy first, you bloated tick on America’s bunghole, and thank you.

You have given me so much over the last 12 months.

You have revealed the disgusting weakness of the full third of my fellow citizens who voted for you and continue to support you wholeheartedly.

You have confirmed my thesis: Facebook is for stupid people; Twitter is for people too stupid for Facebook.

You have given me refuge. No matter how low I feel, I can always say, “At least I’m not Trump.”

Thanks.

Now go back to reality TV.

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