Jennifer Rubin, by acclimation?

When Donald Trump first started polling in with his support at 20%, I tweeted to his account, "you had to borrow money from your father for your casino," which in translation means the electorate supporting him doesn't look too closely at how Donald Trump makes a living. Hitherto this assessment, I've taken a rather mercurial pleasure in the stomach cramps he's given to the fourth estate, but this doesn't mean I think he's good for the country. Fareed Zakaria may admonish angry reactionism by asserting that Trump cannot restore the US to what it was, and may be right even if he is often too generic to take seriously. Jennifer is finally closing in on what the media should have been doing about Trump, which is to ask what the fuck has he done other than make contracts? Not much.

I've been reading Jennifer's output for awhile, a few years at least. She is cool to libertarian sentiment, which may mean she's sexually content; she's reasonably hardline, rightly remains suspicious of the ongoing "Iranian revolution," doesn't have any of the glaring demerits of the Clinton biography (Kenneth Starr's report). She's female. Her election would be historic. Wapo's power and street credibility would take a quantum leap. Post election headlines would scream for days: Disability Journalist drafts Jennifer Rubin campaign singlehandedly

And voila. The woman gives me a second tier cushy policy position, scolds me that addressing people with "fuck you!" is not a lead for how Julie Andrews vocalizes chords in The Sound of Music, and between Rubin, Merkel, and I, all our male colleagues wind up emasculated in terror, a new age of Pax Romana ensues before you even know what hit you.

Leers menacingly.

To continue an imaginary debate

Fareed Zakaria would probably make the objection to me that according to Asian standards, I don't know what misery is, and to a certain extent he's right, but the disabled even in the western hemisphere are closest to third world conditions, and I can't keep bearing this up, even figures from my academic past are a case in point. Louisiana at La Fayette is a long way from the city of Chester, where Jerry McGuire wound up, and his firing from Widener, from the little I know, had some legitimacy. What Liberty did to me doesn't. As a technical matter it was illegal, and it is not conducive to my well-being that I have to live with Liberty board of director members who break the law at whim.

It may be better than a homeless shelter, but not by much. Certainly my lassitude bears some blame for the wrecking ball in my life, but it is like living with a skull fracture I can't repair.

Weekend on the Hill, an address to Fareed Zakaria

Mr. Zakaria, I offer my regrets that your children were harassed over the telephone after your column about self-destructive whites who support Trump was spoofed. Aside from the fact that I've traipsed on the hem of the fourth estate long enough to know that energy flags even with a deadline approaching, and aside from the fact that I've had more articles fall apart than I've had published, you wrote a bad column about a statistical analysis of white suicides for those in my age group, suggesting in your last line that people like me take a reality check, and that "Trump can't fix it, no one can." Exactly what kind of observation is that, even with the acknowledgement that Wapo needs to resolve its revenue generation issues just like the rest of us?

That Donald Trump is where he is at the moment in the run for the White House is a testament to more than a few failures of the previous and current administrations. Afghanistan hasn't been a viable nation state for more than 30 years. Bush and cabal didn't resolve that issue, destroyed Iraq as a buffer zone, and Obama subsequently offers seven years of apologias. Usually, national policy has little effect on my stagnant paralysis as a disabled woman, but the ACA is apparently deciding what kind of healthcare I need for itself without my participation, a cripple who's tragedy amounts to the realization that liberal academics who believed her intelligence would be her economic security were wrong. My career in Philadelphia, brief as it was under vocational interference and afterwards, was basically segregated within the public welfare system. Now it is worse than it was in my twenties, for reasons which have run the gamut through this account purportedly about disability in entertainment, which for the most part it is. The social media mockery to which you were subjected probably has its roots in the fact that your ability to brand your writing is too diaphanous, and yet, like many of your colleagues, you're unionized, salaried, to dish up milkweed as some sort of castigation, then the fact that you were trolled becomes its own establishment media item. That is the nature of the business; readers, however, even if they aren't over-educated with the debt to show for it, know when they're having their chain yanked; if they reacted before thinking it through the behavior was inappropriate, but the sensationalism whose maw you feed rather ineptly at times, puts the blame partly at your door.

I'm going to be blunt: I look like shit, and the last time I had a decent repast twice in the same day is beginning to fade from my memory, and I haven't taken the risk to use my aging bath chair since the building manager telephoned Health and Human Services agents to humiliate me last April, so my personal hygiene is under challenge, and if I am more than likely going to go the same way most section 202 housing residents go I've resolved to take my own life, and I am having a harder time than usual this month. I wanted to, determined to, keep my Amazon Prime membership. Why? Burnished comfort of vanity beyond my means? In a few hours I shall with embarrassment drive to Trader Joe's for a loaf of bread on my laundry money, good as my word when it comes to my visceral hatred of entitlements for what I'm subjecting myself to. I wouldn't have the slightest compunction about becoming a domestic militant, if I could, against housing authorities who've treated me like chunnel since I was a graduate student, and intake systems whose use of assurances rapidly germinate their own criminal liability, but even radical libertarian ranchers occupying federal lands in Oregon relegate morbidly angry quadriplegics to entities like Bellevue, particularly if they're now too old to ride stallions on their own as a good method of leg stretching. Most woman of my age probably swooned over Daniel J. Travanti in his heyday, with his cultured moderated pragmatism. I know I did, fantasized over the man as the perfect televised version of my father whom I'd never marry. Progressive multiculturalism destroyed even the humane standard of decency he represented. If you were as astute an analyst as you should be, allegations of fraudulence wouldn't continue to hound you as they do.

Austrian Evolution

"You're nasty!" Trudy Richardson, often accurate in the vernacular

One doesn't mind the original Predator, as the 1987 make was suspenseful. Did it add anything to the process of elimination narrative contingent to horror genres? Only that it was well done, kept your eye on the ball, made you reconsider Schwarzenegger's psych-out warfare with Lou Ferrigno when they were competitive, and on a primal level, offered a certain degree of faith in brawn juxtaposed against unknown lethal menace. Nice camp, crass sequels that did not know what to do with a culture based on killing as a form of conversation, which leads me to the question of price tags for junk food.

Star Trek, in the canonical sense, give the Klingons exaggerated moral values via and through which we reconsider human nature. The Predator franchise has one basic keynote which doesn't quite hold its rationale: that sentient species can evolve simply to kill in sophisticated manners that can leave them vulnerable to extraordinary effort in one on one battles. Predator versus Alien, Predator versus the unknown species that could wipe out a Borg cube, Predator versus Vladimir Putin, mixing their phosphorus blood with vodka, but how can an advanced species so hell bent on a Gothic spooky carnage have advanced using infrared technology without having the acuity to flag someone like Fareed Zakaria for using a very quick sleight of hand in his parentheses, that totalitarian state model transitions do not apply to oil rich states?

To some degree we're all analysts, excluding those with brain lesions, who need not insist on a place at the table, but foreign policy always makes certain assumptions about the stability of national identity, when beneath the surface there are always tensions, and greater or lesser degrees of sovereignty, perhaps not strictly applicable to islands at the mercy of the Pacific Ocean, but the analyst, like the clergy, seeks to help us understand what the issue is and what the solution entails, often missing the surprise, entirely. "Oh the Arab Spring is a good thing..." Most of them missed that Bashar al-Assad would move along the spectrum from westernized despot being wooed toward secular moderation to a pariah as the Syrian civil war emerged, now being compared, with ominous parallels, to Franco's consolidation of power in Spain as a preamble.

We don't know what we don't know: Ebola could gain a foothold in China, escalating tensions on the Russian border, or Hindu nationalism under Modi could spark an unanticipated ignition, or a real alien could infect us with their version of the measles. I don't bank on guarantees.