The Creepy Line

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Not to be an alarmist, but a Reminder is in order…

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You remember this guy ? His name was John Wilkes Booth. He killed President Abraham Lincoln, whose birthday it is today. He was a Confederate sympathizer who believed Lincoln and the federal government that enforced United States laws were evil. Pretty much like — no, exactly like — today’s Democrat know-it-alls who encourage violence against federal laws removing the technical non-voters they think they own like the crooked judges who make their fortunes. John Wilkes Booth was considered insignificant before he killed the President. He was an actor, related to a more famous actor and living pretty much on his name only anymore. Sound like any bios you’ve heard lately?  I’m just asking you to remember that the following people may seem like insignificant entertainers with all their violent threats agains Trump, but in their kind of work they all learn how to load and cocks guns. And pull the trigger while aiming at the red laser dot.  Yeah, these people. What do they all claim...
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Behind the Conman Shibboleth

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  P. T. Barnum’s Most Famous Attraction My first job at NCR Corporation was in Product Marketing, which encompasses marketing strategy, marketing communications, and sales support in the form of competition information. Yawn. But my career began with an immediate crisis. When I was taking stock of what I had to work with, I tried to find my division marketing strategy. There wasn’t one. Well, there was, but it wasn’t a strategy; it was a simple directive. Pursue major accounts. Period. So I wrote a marketing strategy document and showed it to the smartest guy I knew at NCR, the one-man band who gave Executive Briefings to targeted major account decision makers. He shook his head at me. “It’s great,” he told me. “But there’s nobody to show it to. Not your boss, not his boss, and not the Director of Marketing. He doesn’t give this kind of stuff the time of day.”  Oh. We talked. He got more enthusiastic. “What might work is sending it directly to our real boss, the Division VP. Y...
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Instapunk Wasn’t Born Yesterday

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  Yes, it became an annual Nightline Ceremony Now that the first battlefield casualties of ‘Trump’s Iran War’ have been recorded (6 as of 3/2/26), Ivan hear the bells tolling on the soundtrack of the Alphabet News networks lamenting the names of dead military personnel they don’t care about in any other respect. Soldier deaths are one more cudgel that can be used to beat the America First crowd with.  We’ve been here before. The article reproduced below is one I wrote for the original Instapunk blog almost exactly 20 years ago. The occasion was a forthcoming — and much promoted — edition of Nightline dedicated to intoning all the names, one by one, of American military personnel killed in Iraq. A not so subtle undermining of ‘Bush’s Iraq War,’ by a TV program that began as a nightly update on the American hostages taken by Iran in November 1979 after Jimmy Carter handed that nation over to the Ayatollah Khomeini. The ironies abound. Nightline was outraged by the plight of the ...
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The French Hurry-Up, 1963

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This is one in a series of posts I’ve written for a friend explaining ways in which my life has seemed orchestrated rather than the strict result of my own decisions. Even my biggest seeming mistakes have produced enormous benefits in terms of furthering my education and the scope of my writing. This is the latest of those posts, shared here because there’s no one living who can be hurt by its content becoming generally available. It’s more personal than IPR posts usually are. But I’m in a Shane mood at the moment and I don’t care. It’s a mood that recurs now and again. It passes and I go back to work. But that’s why this post is being shared here, today. One point to remember. The audio narratives here were not scripted. They were extemporaneous recordings made on my iPad over a number of years, not expressly for this post. C’est L’amour That’s the Piaf I fixated on when I was forming my first thoughts on romantic love. I knew of her before we were ever went to France, because my...
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The Daily Media Routine (Whether you’ve noticed or not)

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  In sunnier days, this would probably have been a Friday Follies post. But we’re talking a wilder take on recent antics being fed us through the mass media. More like Friday FAFO Fun. Just how batshit crazy we should feel about the hallucinogenic diet we’re on depends more than somewhat on what side of the aisle we’re viewing it from. For example, if you’re MAGA, as many of my readers are, you probably feel compelled to check in on the War Room on a fairly regular basis. Where the hunt seems to be on for that one more fatal trap the cunning Dementocrats will be using to steal yet another election.  I’m not taking questions here. This is just how the daily drear if RAV is striking me. Note that the part of “Hang On” Steve is being played here by Jon Voight, and wait for the relief of seeing Julie “the Smart One” Kelly being played by Sigourney Weaver. You and I should consider ourselves Stanley. Is that better or worse than being one of wet behind the ears voyeurs of the left ...
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Faint Praise and Other Hump Day Lumps

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Jesse Jackson (1942-2026) Honestly tried to find an appropriately hagiographic portrait of Mr. Jackson on the occasion of his death, but I came up pretty empty. Mostly photos of him with other famous people, usually Democrats and Civil Rights bigwigs. I really did make an effort to turn an old photo of him into something more. His was a career full of activity and effort but little glamor. He ran for President twice in two of the weakest candidate pools the Dems Hadhad before the current slagpile. In 1984 he lost the nomination to Mondale, who went on to lose 49 of 50 states. In 1988 he polled worse than Al Gore and Michael Dukakis, who also lost bigly in the general. What little attention I paid him then and subsequently is probably due to his participation in the phenomenon of Reagan Derangement Syndrome, that new streak of personal hatred which entered National Democrat politicking after Watergate. Then he gradually dropped away into the background.  Honestly, I probably would l...
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Brief Infatuations

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  Two people daring to approach one another against the odds I like this pic. A surreal take on Valentine’s Day. My wife and I love each other, just not this particular commercial permutation of romance. She doesn’t want a card and I don’t either. But it doesn’t mean I want to be a Scrooge about the whole thing. More than one way to stir a heart though. Loving a musical talent of the opposite sex is not what I’d call cheating, or else I’m in very big trouble. Just shared my lifelong romance with Edith Piaf, which will live as long as I do. But she’s not the only one I have flirtations, infatuations, even relationships with. Enough of them that this could be a series, though I promise I’ll keep that to a minimum. Still, this is a good time to acknowledge such affinities. Women have been misbehaving quite a lot on public stages of Iate and I have not been shy about calling them out. Appropriate that I give a moment to my more tender feelings. Yes, even I have feelings. And female sin...
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Ice Crashing 2006

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With all the ruckus about U.S. athletes showing off their jock insight about politics and patriotism this year (“me, me, effing ICE killers, and uh, me”), I haven’t paid much attention to the competitions in Milan, a city in which I had some fine evenings decades ago. Why spoil those memories with graceless images of Ugly Americans embarrassing themselves and us?  What has seeped through my indifference is four American performances on, ironically, ice. Two were disasters, gold medal candidates in figure skating who failed dismally under the Olympic spotlight, and two sterling American gold medal victories by a charismatic young legal immigrant from China and a Women’s Ice Hockey Team that beat Canada thrillingly in Overtime. Any karma involved here and there? Could be. Regardless, I’m not going to replay any of these turns on ice here. Let the dead past bury its dead self and let the long lasting glow of triumph reveal itself again at intervals as occasions warrant. Why such a hig...
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The Wild West of News Media

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  DISCLAIMER: If you’re anything like me (attentive to the things I’m attentive to), you’re behind the curve in this whole podcasting phenomenon. I’d seen short clips of podcasts at ‘X’-Twitter, heard about the land office business Tucker Carlson was doing right after he left Fox, and didn’t pay that much attention to people like Joe Rogan until Barron Trump suddenly got credit for stealing the media narrative from the alphabet media (ABC, CBS, NBC, MSNBC, CNN, PBS, NYT, WAPO) during the election campaign. Honestly, I’d regarded solo “pundits” filming themselves being smarter than everyone else as an opportunity for satire rather than serious analysis. Why this disclaimer. I have put my own oar in the podcasting water. Several times. Trying to figure out how normal people could produce a regular series of programs on their own hook. So I took a crack at it on the down low. I wake up early, long before dawn, so I experimented with filming myself on the iPad. Without a printer I coul...
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Legacy is a 6-letter word…

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  One of these gentlemen was named Hugh Walpole. F-a-a-a-mous Writer. Some other famous writer once wrote that “the good is oft interrèd with their bones.” It’s no secret that the reputation of Stephen King has taken a bit of a hit of late. Too much with the tongue-lashing of Donald Trump for some of his more down-home fans. Should this extremely rich and prolifically prolific author be fretting about his legacy in the annals of literature?  Hard to say. Have you heard of the prominent writer and “Commander of the British Empire (CBE) Hugh Walpole? No, not Horace. He was the one who wrote so swimmingly about fishing. This was Hugh, who has quite a lengthy write up at Wikipedia. Here are the most salient excerpts: WIKI: <<Sir Hugh Seymour Walpole , CBE (13 March 1884 – 1 June 1941) was an English novelist. He was the son of an Anglican clergyman, intended for a career in the church but drawn instead to writing. Among those who encouraged him were ...
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