Why did Trump leave the G7 early? Because he’s a sociopathic toddler who found himself in a terrifying situation — surrounded by competent adults and cameras. In his first press conference, he lauded Russia then made a stupid mistake, and there’s no question his deficiencies would have gotten ever more evident. So either his team pulled him out, or he realized he was over his head and bailed instantly. Pretty galling to have to flee, after such a lovely parade in his honour.
CBC’s Ideas had a fantastic program exploring Theodore Adorno’s theory of the authoritarian personality, which goes a long way to explaining why we are where we are. They presented the “F scale” which tests fascist tendencies: people who are conventional and hostile toward those who are not, superstitious, paranoid about government and the future, value stereotypes, power, aggression, and toughness, reject being “imaginative, tender-minded, self-critical”, and have an exaggerated concern about sex, at least, other people’s sexual choices and activities.
Recognize anyone?
Speaking of fascist tendencies, watching or reading the news these days is more unbearable than ever. Mind-boggling. Can you imagine if Republican senators had been thrown to the ground and handcuffed during Obama’s tenure? If he’d run roughshod over every known convention of democracy and decency? The other side would have gone mad; Fox “News” would have exploded. But these thugs get away with doing whatever they want. Grotesque.
Just watched a few moments of a video posted online — a woman on an airplane attacking the woman sitting behind her who’s wearing a mask — pulling her hair and insulting her. We are witnessing the flinging open of Pandora’s box. Trump and his ilk have lifted the lid off the box containing human cruelty and callousness, which was always there, of course, but muted by civilization. It’s all permissible now, in the new fascist America. Perhaps that lid will never be fitted back on.
Okay, moving right along before I get too sad: it’s summer. The roses are flourishing, and there was one solitary red cherry tomato; all the rest are still hard and green. I had an ultrasound — strange to lie there with the wand moving over my belly for the first time since I was pregnant with Sam in 1984 — plus blood test and x-ray of my swollen thumb, will hear the results next week. Moving right along.
Sunday, I went to a Luminato presentation of An Oak Tree, by British actor Tim Crouch. It sounded interesting, every performance using a different local actor who had not read the script. Perhaps I saw it on a bad day, but it did not work at all for me. The actor was Rebecca Henderson, who was terrific — valiant as he whispered instructions to her all the way through, telling her exactly what say, or handing her a script to read. The worst was when he impersonated a hypnotist, set up eight chairs in a row, and invited audience members to come up. Not a single person moved. Yes, it was a Sunday matinée, so reserved Canadians hadn’t been lubricated at dinner, but still, I think it was because we didn’t trust him. I found it all awkward and manipulative. A no from me. Interested to hear if anyone differs.
On the other hand, I finished Orbital. An extraordinary book, well worth reading, though it’s slow, heavy going, so much rapturous prose about the flight of those astronauts around our lovely, fragile earth. Samantha Harvey is an incredible writer and obviously a meticulous researcher; you’d think she had been in space herself. Which she has not.
Today’s excitement: a former student of mine, now a colleague who also teaches memoir at U of T, asked me to speak via Zoom with her class today at 2. But there was a big storm at lunchtime, and at 1.15, the internet went down; Rogers said it was down in the whole neighbourhood. Didn’t have a phone number for the teacher, and U of T didn’t have one either. No way to get in touch. And then I remembered: Jean-Marc is with Bell. Luckily he was home and as welcoming as ever, so I marched down the street in the rain with my computer and books; he got me set up on his dining room table, and, as my mother would say, Bob’s your uncle. (Must look up where that expression came from.) I loved speaking with her class and miss having my own this term.
The rain has stopped; the smell of wet roses is intoxicating. Enough to forget the horrors for a minute or two. And wait … it’s after 5. Time for rosé!
Wish I had some cartoons to share with you, but never again. Instead, my cat. Living blood pressure medicine.
Wait – one more thing! A gift! Posting this, I saw that someone had commented on an older post. Someone read my post about my childhood friend Penny and responded. I’d hoped someone would. She knew Penny and can update me on her life. Another joy of being a writer. Thank you to the gods.
