Saturday, April 15, 2017

About that rattling you hear after midnight…

Sometimes, late at night (or very early in the morning), when most people in my time zone are asleep, things start to rattle around in my brain. I can’t stop them and I can’t control them, and eventually, all of that rattling tends to wake me up.

When I was a reporter, it was news stories I needed to write. I could literally write 3-4 paragraphs in my head, review, revise and remember them until I got to work the next day and then type them into my computer. I could do that. Honest.

When I became an editor, it switched over to headlines. I’d be writing and re-writing headlines in my mind. Then, during my public relations years, it was news releases, talking points and answers to difficult questions.

Now, it’s mostly politics. I’m sure that surprises you.

Most of the time, if I’m lucky, I can lie in bed until the rattling stops and then go back to sleep. Other times I wake up and commit the rattling to paper – or more appropriately, to keyboard and screen. Last night was one of those times.

So first off, I was thinking about these four-day work weeks for the Alternative President of the United States. Is there really nothing that needs to be done between noonish on Fridays when he heads out for the golf course and whatever time he rolls in after his tweet storms on Mondays? I mean, if he’s really not busy, I could come up with a few suggestions, starting with simple stuff like “study a map of the world,” “open an actual book” or “read the Constitution.”

By my count, a four-day work week means the alternative president is off work 43% of the time. I know he says he’s not taking a salary, but he should still give 43% of it back to the taxpayers in some meaningful way. That would be $172,000, which might feed a few shut-ins through Meals on Wheels or keep Big Bird on TV for a few days. It used to be our money, so he should ask us how we want it to be spent.

Next, there’s the matter of Air Force One. If I’m not mistaken, that airplane belongs to us – the American taxpayers. If the alternative president goes to Switzerland for a peace conference or even just a seminar on Swiss watches or Swiss chocolate, I expect him to fly in that plane. That’s what it was built for and it has security features that United Airlines doesn’t have – even though they’re pretty good at dragging unsuspecting passengers down the aisle.

On the other hand, if he’s using AF One every weekend just to go golfing at, what, $3 million a trip, I believe he should get our permission first. We could vote online. It shouldn’t take but a few minutes for the majority of taxpayers to vote “no” on that idea.

What about Camp David? Is somebody up there around the clock, standing guard for nobody? Is there a cleaning crew keeping it tidy for the first family who will never, ever go there? How much does that cost? Inquiring minds want to know, especially when those questions start rattling around at 3 a.m.

If the Trumps don’t want to spoil their designer shoes by walking through wet grass or subject themselves to fresh mountain air, how about we rent Camp David out to the Girl Scouts or mountain bikers or use it for corporate retreats? We could blindfold the people going in and out so they wouldn’t know where it is and lock up all of the government secrets in a shed next to the outhouses.

Finally, there’s the White House. Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we own that building? Didn’t we harness up a few wagonloads of slaves to come north and build that building in the Maryland-Virginia swamps so our president could have a safe, well-guarded and rent-free place to live? And don’t we have a visitors’ log inside so we can see who came to visit our house?

It’s bad enough that someday we’ll have to clean his stench out of the hallways and off those gaudy gold draperies he’s hung everywhere, but now he’s only in the place 57% of the time and doesn’t want us to see the list of Russian spies who ARE spending time there.

These are the kinds of things that bounce around between my frontal lobe and my cerebellum after the late night episode of Perry Mason ends and the sleep timer kicks my TV set into slumber mode. Shortly afterward is when all that rattling begins.

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