This is a Tough One

I lost an uncle today, my Uncle Ange. I knew he had been in rough shape but it didn’t really hit home until he couldn’t attend our family reunion last month. He rarely missed a chance to hang out with family. After my Grandpa passed, and then my dad, Uncle Ange became the reigning family patriarch. The last time I saw him, I thought he looked frail, and that’s the last word I ever thought I’d use to describe a man like him.

Uncle Ange was my dad’s brother-in-law. He was an immense, broad-shouldered, giant of a man who looked like an extra from The Sopranos. But he was really just a big teddy bear; always so happy and easy-going with everyone and full of love for his family. Unless you showed up at the house intending to date one of his daughters, in which case he was known to have you wash his car first. I don’t know that he was serious about that, but I’m told the prospective dates didn’t want to risk it.

He’d play ball with us, talk Pittsburgh sports, and always ensure we had enough to eat and drink.

Ange: Did you get enough spaghetti?  How about another sausage? Here, have a cookie. Hey, your wine glass is empty, pass it over and I’ll fill it up…

Bluz: I’m good, Uncle Ange, I gotta stay clear-headed for my spelling test tomorrow.

At our 2022 reunion, he appeared in my favorite family picture of all time. It looked like a high-level mob meeting.

From left to right:

Uncle Ange: What are we gonna do about that guy?

Cousin Denny: You mean that guy back there?

My Mom: Whack’em.

I remember the last time I stayed with my Aunt and Uncle when I was in town for a reunion. I used to stay with them before I met Sweetpea. Uncle Ange and I were the last two still up and found ourselves in a long, serious conversation that ranged from political to philosophical. He told me, to my amazement, that he no longer believed in God or had any use for religion, a point with which I heartily agreed. He said that no just God would ever allow the tragedy that had befallen his family, (decades ago, but still keenly felt today). I was surprised because this corner of my family carried the banner of Catholicism long after I’d abandoned it. It was something we didn’t really discuss. I don’t know if he ever told anyone else about it but I felt honored that he told me. Maybe he knew I’d be receptive.

I know I once caused a rift with my Aunt, who at a ceremonial family mass to celebrate my grandparents’ anniversary, wanted each of us cousins to bring up the “gifts” to the altar, and I refused. I was a young adult by then, lived on my own, and wanted nothing to do with participating in a rite that I found to be patently ridiculous. I was sorry for hurting feelings, but I was done with doing things for appearance's sake. I went to the mass; that was a big enough ask for me.

My family used to get asked to do that a lot, back when we went to church. There were five items to be ceremoniously brought up to the altar during mass, and there were five in our family. The church people put their hooks into us all the time. I’d always say I wasn’t going to do it. Then my dad would say, “Yes you are so,” and that would be that. It wasn’t a mountain I cared to die on. But I digress…

It’s ironic that we ever had such a conversation. After all, I chose him as a confirmation sponsor, back when I was in junior high. The confirmation is a Catholic rite that’s kind of like a baptism for kids who are old enough to participate in choosing to follow Catholicism. As if my little 7th-grade ass had any real choice. I was just going along with what was expected of me. I wouldn’t start developing my heathen views until at least high school. But it was fun that I got to choose my sponsor and that was Uncle Ange. This is us, on Confirmation Day:

I just wish someone would have confirmed to me that those were god-awful pants. Not to mention wearing a striped tie with plaid pants. I can't believe my parents let me out of the house looking like that. The 70s definitely had its fashion problems.

It’s strange now, getting to the age where the people you always looked up to are suddenly vulnerable. I suppose that’s the natural order of things. But when you still essentially think of yourself as 40 years younger than you really are, it can be jarring.

I used to jar Uncle Ange all the time, usually when he would mention how old all his nieces and nephews were getting. I was the oldest of my crop of cousins, the first-born of two first-borns. So I’d go, “You know how old I am? I’m 40 now… (or whatever.) He’d always wince in alarm at how the time flew. I’m sure he still remembered me as the little boy who was the ring bearer at his wedding.

I was five, but I took my job very seriously and hit all my marks. I was rewarded with cake, afterward, but I suspect that might have been for everyone.

I remember at one reunion in the 80s, I wore a (Pittsburgh's own) Donnie Iris concert tee shirt to the picnic. Uncle Ange said, “Donny Iris? I know Donnie Iris. We used to be roommates at Slippery Rock (University). He was kind of a strange cat.”

I said, “How come you never told me that before? I could have name-dropped you to try and get backstage to meet him.”

I’m not sure how well that might have worked though. Donny could have thought I was sent there to break his legs.

For the longest time, whenever I went back to Pittsburgh for an event… reunion, wedding, funeral, Steelers game, we’d always end up over at their place. My aunt would bring out enough food to feed an army and Uncle Ange would pour the wine. In his later years, he was making his own wine too. We’d be eating and laughing and drinking wine and just about when it felt like we should be done, he’d come out of the cellar with two more bottles. It could certainly make for a rough drive home the next day.

So, tonight, I think I may have a little wine with dinner, and pour one for Uncle Ange. He was a great man and one of my favorite people. I just hope he knew how warmly and deeply he was loved. I know that whenever we assemble back in The Burgh, I will always feel a giant hole where his immense warmth, kindness, and generosity used to be.

Salut!

Director’s DVD Commentary: I wrote about my three uncles back in 2013, as I contemplated my own role as an uncle at which I was just getting started, hoping I was doing them justice. I’ve been fortunate to have such outstanding role models to show me how it’s done.

G'Day Bruce

Going to concerts used to be a primary form of entertainment for me. Some of that just comes with youth, but much of my concert history was because I worked in record retail for 13 years, starting in college. The job was shitty but the perks made up for it: free albums/tapes/CDs, posters, various swag, and of course, concert tickets.

From 1979 to 1996 I saw 95 concerts. In the 28 years since, only 14. And that’s fine… there are far fewer bands that I would even consider going to see. Sweetpea and I have only seen three. One was John Mellencamp, one of her favorites. That was a birthday gift for her in 2019.

Two years ago, we saw ZZ Top. It was my 5^th time seeing them and it seemed like each show was shorter than the last. This time, they started encores after an hour of playing, and the show wrapped up 18 minutes later.

This brings us to last Friday when Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band played Camden Yards in Baltimore. (The baseball park where the Orioles play.) These tickets fell into my lap.

I had considered trying to go when the show was originally scheduled, but you know how Ticketmaster is with the big shows… First, you have to join some kind of club to get a special access password or some shit. Then log on at the split second the website opens for business. And maybe, just maybe, you win the right to pay an outrageous sum for the privilege of being allowed to attend. Who needs it?

Bruce postponed the 2023 concert due to health issues and later rescheduled it for last weekend.

My brother had bought a pair, I suspect on the secondary market, for him and his oldest son to go. But in the gap between the original show and the make-up date, the #1 Son moved to Philadelphia for a new job. #2 son was away at college. So, not wanting to go with anyone else, he offered the tickets to me. So thank you, Bluz Brother, for your incredible generosity.

I’d seen Bruce once before, on his 1985 Born in the USA tour, Pontiac Silverdome, north of Detroit. That was when he was at the height of his powers. He played for 3:20, not including a 35-minute intermission. He also told great stories, had detailed introductions to songs, and genuinely made all 68,000 of us feel like he was talking to each of us. That was an amazing experience. It was like, “How will any other show ever measure up to this?”

Like we did for the ZZ Top show, we decided to make a trip out of it and book a hotel downtown for that night. All the better not to have to worry about sitting in a massive parking lot traffic jam at 11:00 at night.

Unfortunately for us, all the “good” hotels were booked up, no doubt at the moment the new date was announced. But I managed to find a Days Inn about 2 blocks away. Not fancy, but it would do. All we needed was a place to crash for the night. And because this was an “event” night, they wanted $358 for this small, outdated room. Price gouging is real, folks! But whaddya gonna do? It was worth it not to have to fight the traffic.

Anyway, the seats were tremendous. Thanks again, bro! We were in the club level, first row. That’s the tier directly above the lower bowl, and being in the front row, there’s no one to stand up in front of you! Hallelujah! Given that Sweetpea is barely 5’1”, that’s always a consideration.

The place was pretty full but this wasn’t a rowdy crowd. It was mostly a bunch of white senior citizens. I don’t remember seeing anyone younger than 30. But that’s to be expected now at shows from the rock and roll dinosaurs of my youth.

This was our vantage point before the show started. No mosh pit, just some organized folding chairs. The stage was by the centerfield wall, with the legendary Warehouse lurking to the right.

At the stroke of 7:30, the lights went down and the band took the stage. Immediately, I tapped Sweetpea on the shoulder to acknowledge that her prediction was correct that Bruce would open with Hungry Heart. (Opening line: “Got a wife and kid in Baltimore, Jack/I went out for a ride and I never went back.”)

For a 74-year-old guy, Bruce looked damned good. While he was spirited and energetic, he wasn’t doing any more end-to-end stage runs that ended up with him sliding on his knees. 74-year-old knees are nothing to play around with, after all.

This time out, there were no long stories, no charging everyone up like a Baptist preacher. He didn’t say much in this show, in fact, he barely spoke from the opening number until the 15^th song. Until then, all we heard between songs was an impassioned “1-2-3-4…”

I’ll tell you, video screens are what make these big shows enjoyable. I barely even followed the action on the stage… not that you could really see anything. I just watched the near-side video panel. But here, (above) you could see where he came down the steps, up close to the audience. He did that frequently throughout the show. I don’t think video screens became commonplace at concerts until the late 80s to early 90s. Before then, you just had to try to weasel your way up front to get a good view. I know in my old days, when I was going to see a band at a club or small hall, I’d get there when the doors opened, so I could dash up front to get close to the stage. Back then I could stand for the whole show. Now, it’s all about getting a good seat.

Some other thoughts via pictures:

There’s nothing more Rock n Roll than Bruce and Little Steven sharing a mic for a big chorus. I didn’t get to see Steven the first time around so I was glad he was there this time.

Is there anyone who gets a bigger sound from such a small drum kit than Max Weinberg? The guy can really pound. But his kit looks like something you'd get a kid who's just learning.

Saxophone duty was handled by the late Clarence Clemmons’ nephew. If you closed your eyes, it definitely sounded like The Big Man.  The kid played his ass off. One of the night's best moments was during 10^th Avenue Freeze Out. I was wondering how they were going to handle this part… When the line came up: “A change was made uptown when The Big Man joined the band…” they showed the unmistakable silhouette of Clarence, followed by some other pictures of him and the late E Street keyboardist Dan Federici. Oh man, that hit me right in the feels. I actually choked up a little.

Bruce did a cool thing I liked when we went down close to the crowd. It wasn’t exactly Angus Young soloing while being carried through a raging crowd on his roadie’s shoulders, but it was very Man of the People. Nobody was grabbing at him though. Mostly they wanted to take selfies.

As he was winding up with a raucous version of Twist and Shout, he hollered to the crowd, “Do we look tired?” as he wanted to know if the crowd wanted more.

With an incredulous look, he shouted, “You think you can outlast the E Street Band??”

Man, no one outlasts these guys. They may be old, but they run a well-oiled machine. It’s a joy to see people at the top of their craft, entertaining a crowd.

He wound up the show by 10:30, clocking in at an even three hours, (In other words, like more than two ZZ Top shows.) 

Worth every penny.

Director's DVD Commentary: My apologies if you were lured here by the headline and expected to see something about Monty Python's legendary Australian Philosopher's sketch, wherein everyone is named Bruce and they end with the classic "Philosopher's Song," containing the immortal lines:

"Aristotle Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,

Hobbes was fond of his dram.

And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart,

'I drink therefore I am.'"

It's just that whenever I hear the name "Bruce," this bit is my go-to frame of reference.

Quick Debate Impressions

Director’s DVD Commentary: This is a special bonus post dropping midweek because if I wait until next Monday, it will literally be last week’s news and we’ll be onto the next thing. If this is the first you’re visiting this week, please click on the “Older Post” link at the bottom of the page.

Now, for today’s news:

BAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA

She spanked his ass red and sent him to bed without dinner.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a mismatched debate performance. She was cool, calm, and collected and he was sputtering like an old man raging about movies with sound.

TFG brought his customary lying to a new height, putting forth ridiculous, previously and easily debunked accusations like pet-killing Haitians living in Springfield and eating the citizens’ cats and dogs.

That brought on one of the few times the ABC moderators corrected him. I admit that if they had corrected every lie, there wouldn’t have been enough time to hear from Kamala.

Naturally, Republicans are accusing ABC of some kind of bias and I think they’re correct. Every time TFG begged for extra time, they gave it to him without equal time going to the VP. And the one time she asked for it, they denied it. He ended up with nine more minutes of ranting time than she had. Obviously, ABC was out to get him by allowing him to speak! It proved to be an effective strategy.

You didn’t think Republicans were actually going to do some soul-searching as to why they so slavishly back this incompetent madman, did you? No, they have to blame someone for his catastrophic showing. It can never be him who is at fault. Never apologize, never back down, and always double down. That’s their way. It always has to be someone else’s fault, usually a Democrat. From crappy debate performances to hurricanes, they need to blame a liberal.

Kamala impressed me by going after him in a civil but needling way. I loved that she went after his rally attendance, which is essentially how TFG measures his dick. It totally put him off his game. He just had to rebut every personal remark that highlighted his shortcomings. She let tons of stuff go, oftentimes, to my consternation. I love to see debunkery in action. But she was right in making the larger points, calling for unity and a way forward. All he could do was fall back to his regular routine of invading immigrants, coming to steal our jobs, rape our women, and eat our pets. Or is it to eat on the job, steal our women and rape our pets? Who knows with this guy? He makes less sense with every speech.

Taylor Swift's administration of the coup de grace endorsement was just [chef’s kiss]. A perfect message for the perfect time. I hope it transforms into votes, but knowing the reliability of the Swifties may make a difference in a swing state or two.

So while I feel pretty giddy about her debate performance, let me also remind you that Hillary also kicked his ass in a debate or two. It didn’t mean much when the votes were counted. Granted, there were outside factors involved there too, with the FBI breaking their own rule to publically resurface accusations that were later dismissed. Who knows what kind of skullduggery is about to be unleashed in the coming months? (Skullduggery is the best kind of duggery, don’t ya know?)

I expect the attacks to get more and more personal and the smears increasingly vicious. It’s all they have left. They don’t have any popular ideas to put forth, all they have is criticism and attack and gaming the system. If you remove that, all you have left is a party of stupid red hats sitting atop empty suits.

We just need to see through it and show up in November.

Final note: Speaking of gaming the system, if you live in a Red State, be SURE you’re registered to vote. Republicans are trying everything to thin the voter rolls of likely opponents, from closing and moving polling sites to, requiring new IDs, to stripping people from voter rolls, especially those who haven’t voted recently. 

"90-Days" of Conflict

 Even with its current pervasiveness, I’ve never been a big watcher of reality TV. For 20 years, I only watched the Big Three: Survivor, Big Brother, and The Amazing Race, all of which I picked up in their respective first seasons. By 2024, I picked up a couple more, “Bar Rescue” and “Naked and Afraid,” which I may post about some other time. And there’s one other.

Now, my wife, Sweetpea, predominantly watches what she calls, “murder shows.” You know, the true crime series like First 48, Forensic Files, Dateline, and the like. I’m ok with them once in a while, but I prefer more escapist fare. Because we don’t have many shows that we both like, it’s hard to find things to watch together. Because she gets up insanely early and goes to work before I’m out of bed, she also goes to bed early, so we don’t have a lot of downtime together. After dinner, she’ll usually put on a murder show and promptly fall asleep. When she can’t find a murder show she hasn’t seen, she’ll opt for MTV’s Catfish or TLC’s 90-Day Fiancé.

I figured I could tolerate those so I began recording them with the DVR, so we can watch together at our leisure. Catfish is straightforward enough. It’s like a true crime show where the hosts investigate people who get into relationships with other people via dating sites but refuse to meet or ever be seen on camera.

But the 90-Day stuff? Wow. What a mess of humanity… that I can’t stop watching. It’s basically nationally televised voyeurism.

There are several 90-Days brands. The original is 90-Day Fiancé, which centers on couples who date internationally. One will bring the other to the US via a K-1 visa, and will then have 90 days to get married or the visitor has to go back. That’s always the focal question: Will they get married or will it all blow up?

Another variation is Before the 90-Days, which focuses on the lead-up to the travel to America, as they begin exploring an international relationship. There’s also 90-Days – Happily Ever After? which shows the lives of some of the couples after they’ve gotten married and are going about their lives. Then there’s the Bizarro World version, 90-Days – The Other Way, which is where an American goes abroad to marry and live in a vastly different culture.

And if all that isn’t enough, there’s a parasite series called Pillow Talk, which runs right after each of the other shows, featuring several pairs of former 90-Day participants who watch the show and provide commentary.

The whole organization is its own self-contained world, like an Earthbound Marvel Universe, whose occupants have staged adventures and bitch at each other.

I had no idea what I was getting into when I started. I fully admit that this is crap TV and I’m probably dumber for having watched it. It’s just that you get sucked into these people’s lives. There are some you love but many more that you love to hate. And there are some real pieces of work on these shows.

The reason I’m bringing this whole thing up is that I find there are a lot of the same themes that flow through each of these series and most of the dating pairs. There are three main categories of conflict:

·         Money

·         Jealousy/Insecurity

·         Religion

Money? That’s obvious and applies universally. As British comic Spike Milligan once said,

Everyone wants/needs more money. Some lie about it, some cheat to get it, and some think it’s owed to them.

To me, the biggest thing keeping these couples apart is jealousy (and the insecurity that leads to jealousy). Women go ape-shit any time their man talks to, texts with, bumps into, or acknowledges the existence of another woman.

Director’s DVD Commentary: I’m not being sexist; it goes both ways. I just don’t care to bother with the verbal gymnastics of keeping all terms unisexual.

One woman doesn’t want her fitness instructor boyfriend to have women as clients, even though they make up over 90% of his business. Another guy is crucified for “cheating” by receiving sexy videos from women he’s never met. Men flip out any time they find themselves near their women’s previous boyfriends, with whom they are still friendly. One girl got upset because her guy went to church, and there were women there. She also didn’t want him to hang out with his sisters, because they might have friends around. And on it goes…

If I were on that show, my stories would be as dull as dishwater. Most of my friends are women. Anyone I was dating would have to understand that, and if they flip out about it, I’m out. It’s non-negotiable. I will be friends with women. And my mate is free to be friends with men. I’d never be a hypocrite about it. I’m fully trusting until I have a reason not to be. (And I’m quite fortunate that Sweetpea is fine with this.)

I think these “cast members” would ease a lot of their own misery if they just decided to trust their partner and assume the best rather than the worst. And if they do stray, for real, cut them the eff loose and move on. (Those who do bugger off invariably find a line-up of men (or women) who want to go out with them, after having seen them on TV.)

The last obstacle is religion and it’s almost always bout Middle-Eastern or African men wanting to control American women. They never seem to tell their prospective wives all the details of what their lives together might look like, or what she might look like after she’s covered head to toe. They know that if they let on they expect a life of obedience, servitude, and child-bearing at the outset, the American dating pool is likely to dry up

One Egyptian guy was coming to live with his American wife in California, and they had a fight that led to their breakup because she was wearing a dress that, while it went up to her neck, down past her knees, and had long sleeves, it bared a couple square inches of her back. He couldn’t live with such a tawdry display of wantonness. Because of religion.

There is a couple this season, where the 40ish American woman is going to Jordan to marry her 22–year–old guy on the very day she arrives because his religion won’t permit them to be alone together in a room. This story is just getting underway and she has no idea what he’s going to expect of her. This is basically a “boy” who told the cameras he wants her to obey his wishes at all times and not question him as the man of the house. And he needs her to cover up with loose clothing

I think she ought to spank his 22-year-old ass and send him to his room without dinner. These stories always seem to end up the same way, with the American women taking a powder either before or shortly after the wedding.

I don’t see how they didn’t research the culture the second they made contact with their foreign beaus. It would have saved them a lot of heartache and a pile of cash.

Or maybe they just reeeeeally wanted to be on TV.

But that’s the worst part. I can’t even comprehend allowing TV cameras to film every part of my life, every argument, every mistake, every emotional moment, and broadcast it nationwide. And when these fights happen, everything is in play, from bathroom habits to sexual inadequacies to masturbatory quirks. Nothing is off-limits.

And I make room for the fact that producers are egging them on or providing angles to assert to keep the fights going. You can see by their casting choices that they’re counting on the conflict, the louder and more warped the better.  That’s too bad because I’m sure there are viewers like Sweetpea and me who really enjoy seeing decent people overcome international obstacles and go on to live happily ever after. (These people tend to end up on the Pillow Talk series.)

At the end of every season, they stage a multi-episode “Tell All,” where all the cast members get together in New York to answer questions from a moderator and each other. They all get to know one another; some become real-life friends, others bitter enemies. This helps build the 90-Day ecosystem

It’s hard to watch sometimes because they poke and prod for every bit of controversy and conflict, even those that have already been resolved. They ought to call these episodes, “Pulling at Scabs.” It’s seldom pretty.

The bigger point is that we, as a people, are being conditioned to become our ugliest forms of ourselves. We’re guided to be vain, jealous, insecure, snarky, mean, over-reactive, and without empathy. Is this the public influencing the media or the media influencing the public?

Either way, we’re a mess and we don’t seem to be getting any better.

Maybe the next iteration ought to be “90 Days – Incel.” That’s where they take some anti-social, obnoxious misfit out of his parents’ basement, send him on a date with a real woman, and film the inevitable disaster. They just need to make sure the crew has tasers ready. They’ll need to be able to guarantee the woman’s safety.

So yeah, I’m up here on my soapbox, but I’ll still be watching Sunday nights. Damn it.

Climbing Walz

 My apologies for posting a day late. I’ve been running around so much lately that I literally forgot that yesterday (Labor Day) was a Monday and therefore I needed to post.

My mom has been in a seniors rehab facility for the last several weeks, getting therapy on some broken bones. My siblings and I take turns staying with her to support and advocate. The TV in the room is usually tuned into MSNBC, the only channel Mom watches. I rarely watch TV news unless there’s an event happening, so it was all news to me.

But this was how I came to see some of Gov. Tim Walz’s Labor Day speech. It was a real corker, too. I can see why Kamala picked him. By the time he was done, I was ready to run through walls for the guy. He’s loaded with Everyman Charisma and common sense.

He basically hung TFG out to dry with his own words:

“This guy has made it clear how he stands. He’s sitting down at Mar-a-Lago after he got elected president, and this was his exact quote, he’s talking to a bunch of folks at Mar-a-Lago: ‘You’re rich as hell, and we’re gonna give you a tax cut.’ At the same time, he was telling workers they get paid too much already. That’s who this guy is.” [snip]

“You tell me who in Wisconsin is sitting around saying, ‘damn, I wish they’d give billionaires tax cuts and screw me over. Damn, I wish they’d take my health care away. I wish they’d underfund my public school. I wish they would make my job more difficult and more dangerous. And then at the end of the day, I wish they’d make me work ‘til I’m 75 years old.’”

It’s no wonder the Republicans are grasping at any straw they can to tarnish the guy. Rather than anything of substance, they’re talking about how he was only an assistant coach and not a head coach, and that he had a DUI 15 years ago, and the other garbage about his 24-year-long military career. It’s all they have so they have to use it.

It certainly pales compared to the garbage that’s been found coming from their VP candidate. Talk about toxic. It’s like he’s saying, “All you single women, single men, women over 50, cat owners, and Swifties, your vote doesn’t matter to us and probably shouldn’t count, so go ahead and vote for the Democrats.”

Walz also managed to work in his catchphrase that the Republicans should “Mind their own damn business!”

I love this angle because I’ve been pushing that sentiment for decades. Republicans are all about “small government” and “limited government reach” when it comes to shielding businesses from regulations that cost money, regarding trivial things like worker safety, pollution, quality of goods, and livable wages. There is no ripple too high to surpass the importance of increasing the next quarter’s profits.

But they’re just fine with the government reaching into your personal lives and private bedrooms to judge you on or ban you from the exercise of your own free will. Everyone would be so much better off if we just Mind our Own Damn Business!

But as long as there are Evangelicals, there will be a push to make us get in step with their out-of-step views on morality and religion. They’ll never be content until this country becomes a theocracy with their views enforced as the National Religion. And that means controlling education, what people read, what people say, how they dress, how they love, and how they reproduce. Does that sound like a free country to you?

It’s really an unlikely pairing under the Republican banner; the business people, and the religious people. The business people don’t care what the wingnuts do as long as it doesn’t interfere with raking in money. And the religious people don’t care what the business people do, as long as they can ban abortion, shove gays back in the closet, and trumpet their holier-than-thou status. And then you can add the racists in there who don’t care what the wingnuts or businessmen do, as long as they can deport brown foreigners and re-marginalize the Blacks. It’s a match made in Self-Interest Heaven.

I presume it’s no accident that the rich guy looks like Rupert Murdoch, Owner/Creator of Fox “News.”