On the road again as I attempt to get back into a routine and with it gain some level of normalcy had me returning to the White House and attending the daily White House press briefings after a bit of a respite due to personal reasons. Well, if normalcy equates to frustration then watching Sean Spicer do his best impression of Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly rolled into one as he tap dances his way to responding to questions hurled at him, no matter how soft the softball question is, then normal it is.
I found a missing Russian in Washington D.C. yesterday.
He’s a funny guy and an easy guy to get along with overall. Boris Epshteyn, an assistant to the president, a friend of President Trump’s son and a well-known surrogate on the television circuit for this administration has gone walk about.
Last week the administration quietly acknowledged Boris has left to “pursue other interests in the administration,” according to Sarah Huckabee Sanders.
“Paulie, you won’t see him around no more,” Clemenza warned us as he made spaghetti sauce and the Corleones went to the mattresses. Sorry. Strong sense of déjà vu.
When I was just a little boy – standing to my daddy’s knee - I learned the gentle art of appreciating artful dodging from my mother who was a successful local actress, my father who was a very successful car salesman, uncles who were attorneys and politicians, and grandparents who were lawyers and judges.
My grandmother once told me my dad was so good at spinning the truth she would know he was lying to her and she’d still believe him. Perhaps that is why I enjoy standup comedy and politics so much – both offer great yarns.
Imagine my hope when I first saw President Donald Trump arrive on the scene. He brought with him Steve Bannon, a man who is a legend in his own mind. He brought us Kellyanne Conway, a woman I debated a few times in Philadelphia some 15 years ago.
She was defending Dan Quayle and I was promoting a book called “Spin Control.” It was a debate made in heaven. We had fun.
If you thought the blue lines in hockey were confusing (apologies to MAD Magazine), try spending time in the White House briefing room.
While most of the nation wants a health care plan much like the plan congressmen can enjoy, and while hate crimes and anti-Semitism are on the rise, reporters in the White House press briefing room are enduring a never ending epidemic of language H.L. Mencken would describe as “wet sponges,” though earlier this week we heard it in the guise of “rainbows and puppies.”
What was said? Well it turns out it wasn’t said. Maybe we didn’t understand and it doesn’t matter because there’s something new to say to us any way. Bad hombres are all about.
Friday I walked up to the White House and saw a couple of hundred pipeline protesters singing outside the West Wing. Meanwhile, as I got closer to the entrance, I saw a homeless man on the ground. Not sure why. The police were cuffing him, but it didn’t look like either side was struggling or too committed to the process. The takedown appeared to be in slow motion and I could’ve sworn I heard the guy on the ground saying “I’m not weird.”
Brevity can be the soul of wit. However, brevity often proves to be witless and soulless. Hence I’ve never been a fan of Twitter.
Last weekend President Donald Trump, riding high after a speech before a joint session of Congress –a speech when at times he waxed philosophical by implying it isn’t too much to dream of our footsteps on alien worlds – shot himself in his foot with a tweet.