Sometime in the summer of 2020, I ran across a quote from Hillary Clinton that I cannot for the life of me find again. And yet, I know I didn’t hallucinate it. It was immediately after the August 2020 Michigan primary, when the Wayne County Board of Canvassers made a big to-do at their certification meeting, and whaddaya know, I wrote about this once before, and here’s what I said in 2021:

I wish I could find a quote from Hillary Clinton, something she said after the August 2020 primary here, when there was, again, a hoo-hah raised over unbalanced precincts. It’s true that too many were unbalanced, but again, most were by very small numbers, attributable to human error, and didn’t affect any races. Having worked the polls now for three elections, I can tell you the procedures are filled with fiddly bits and little details and detours and side roads to cover every conceivable voting situation, and when the people working the precinct are doing it once, maybe twice a year, it’s a miracle that any of them come out balanced. In August, I caught two or three errors in my own precinct that were caused by nothing more than confusion or assumptions made in error. We easily corrected them, but still. It happens.

And Hillary said something to the effect of, “You watch, this unbalanced-precincts thing was a test run. They’re going to try it again.” And what do you know, they did. I have Googled and Googled, and can’t find the source, but I clearly remember her talking about it.

As the world knows, that was precisely the argument made against certification in November 2020, when the Wayne County board deadlocked over the results from Detroit. Unbalanced!* OMG! The meeting went on for hours, with the chairwoman of the board actually offering to certify the rest of the county, i.e. the white part, but not Detroit, i.e., the black part. The meeting was held on Zoom, and dozens and dozens and dozens of voters howled their outrage over this. Toward the end of the meeting, the two GOP canvassers changed their votes, but left without actually signing the certificate and, a day later, tried to call backsies.

* The total number of votes in unbalanced precincts was fewer than 500, fewer than four in individual counting boards, and wouldn’t have affected the results of a single race. Source.

It was upsetting for everybody, and someone did indeed call/text threats to one of the canvassers, Monica Palmer. We also knew that the president, the orange one, called Palmer after the meeting, to express “genuine concern for my safety,” which is what she said then.

These days, she says she “can’t remember” what was said on the call. You know how it is: The president of the United States calls you, and the deets slip your mind.

Well, in these days of a recording device in every pocket, a recording of that very call has emerged:

Then-President Donald Trump personally pressured two Republican members of the Wayne County Board of Canvassers not to sign the certification of the 2020 presidential election, according to recordings reviewed by The Detroit News and revealed publicly for the first time.

On a Nov. 17, 2020, phone call, which also involved Republican National Committee Chairwoman Ronna McDaniel, Trump told Monica Palmer and William Hartmann, the two GOP Wayne County canvassers, they’d look “terrible” if they signed the documents after they first voted in opposition and then later in the same meeting voted to approve certification of the county’s election results, according to the recordings.

“We’ve got to fight for our country,” said Trump on the recordings, made by a person who was present for the call with Palmer and Hartmann. “We can’t let these people take our country away from us.”

McDaniel, a Michigan native and the leader of the Republican Party nationally, said at another point in the call, “If you can go home tonight, do not sign it. … We will get you attorneys.”

To which Trump added: “We’ll take care of that.”

You can read the rest of the story, which is not paywalled. On the one hand, nothing about this is surprising, except to learn that 1) it wasn’t just Palmer he called, but Palmer, the other canvasser, Ronna McDaniel and a few other people who were sitting in a vehicle parked outside the TCF Center the night of the certification vote; and 2) whatever was said about her safety, there was a lot more said, too; and of course, 3) today Palmer testifies that she can’t recall what, exactly, was said on the call.

But bottom line, once again, Trump was caught on tape asking for crimes.

Three years later, Palmer has divorced her husband (a neighbor of mine) and moved back to west Michigan. The other canvasser, William Hartmann, died of Covid in 2021, a proud #pureblood. Palmer’s phrase to describe those who threatened her (and of course there were threats), “Grosse Pointe Antifa,” enjoyed a brief moment in the sun, and I regret I didn’t snag one of the T-shirts that clever merch salespeople came up with, especially the ones with the crossed lacrosse sticks. Both have been replaced on the canvassing board by even-crazier MAGA types. Ronna McDaniel has led her party to an ever-lengthening string of defeats, thanks to her fealty to Loser McLosington himself.

So. It’s nearly Christmas, and I wish you all a merry and peaceful one. I’ll be back sometime next week.

Topic for today: Is there a bigger hypocrite on the public stage than Clarence Thomas?

The latest ProPublica look at his fishy finances starts out with a banger:

In early January 2000, Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas was at a five-star beach resort in Sea Island, Georgia, hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.

After almost a decade on the court, Thomas had grown frustrated with his financial situation, according to friends. He had recently started raising his young grandnephew, and Thomas’ wife was soliciting advice on how to handle the new expenses. The month before, the justice had borrowed $267,000 from a friend to buy a high-end RV.

The gist of the story is, Thomas’ poor-mouthing at conservative events was what led to he and Ginni becoming the latter-day Duke and Duchess of Windsor, freeloading their way across the world, swinging from one rich friend’s guest house to the next. They vacation with billionaires, they take (forgiven) “loans” for shit like recreational vehicles, and so on:

The full details of Thomas’ finances over the years remain unclear. He made at least two big purchases around the early ’90s: a Corvette and a house in the Virginia suburbs on 5 acres of land. When Thomas and his wife, Ginni, bought the home for $522,000 a year after he joined the court, they borrowed all but $8,000, less than 2% of the purchase price, property records show.

Public records suggest a degree of financial strain. Throughout the first decade of his tenure, the couple regularly borrowed more money, including a $100,000 credit line on their house and a consumer loan of up to $50,000. Around January 1998, Thomas’ life changed when he took in his 6-year-old grandnephew, becoming his legal guardian and raising him as a son. The Thomases sent the child to a series of private schools.

I think I may have mentioned last summer, on a long drive, listening to a podcast interview with the director of a film about Thomas’ life. It was impossible not to feel empathy for him, a parent-less boy raised by his terrible grandfather, abused by virtually everyone in his life. His classmates called him “ABC,” i.e. “America’s blackest child.” His grandfather pushes him, hard, in the direction of the priesthood, for his own status-seeking reasons, but the blatant racism of his fellow seminarians drives him away. Law school at Yale exposed him to people who had been coasting on greased skids their entire lives, and Thomas thought at least here he’d graduate into some damn money, but that didn’t happen, either, and he entered government service in the Reagan era, distinguishing himself as a huge asshole at a time when there was real competition for that level. This was at the EEOC, an agency that Reagan would want a huge asshole running.

In short, hurt people hurt people, and Thomas was very good at it.

But what would Thomas, with his famous bootstrap philosophy, think of a person who bought sports cars and houses with practically no money down? He was earning around $176,000 at the time, or $300K in 2023 dollars. He would call that person fiscally irresponsible. And he would be correct. But money seems to be the bass line of so much of Thomas’ resentment. He was delivering big for the nation’s conservatives, and he expected tribute for it. Well, he got it. No one will remember him as a keen legal mind, but rather, as the fat man who rarely spoke, but always ruled predictably.

Breaking Detroit journalism news this afternoon, as local podcaster Charlie LeDuff was arrested last night for domestic violence against his wife. I’m watching the reaction unspool on Twitter. It’s interesting to see how many people are behaving, and commenting, exactly as you’d expect. The guy who loves a shiv when you’re not expecting it has deployed his own. The guy who now works for a right-wing policy shop points out the judge in the arraignment was a protege of the Democratic attorney general. There’s a lot of “not surprised,” which is Duh, because no one who knows, or even heard of, LeDuff should be even mildly surprised by this development.

Not two months ago, he was fired from his contributor’s gig at The Detroit News for calling the aforementioned attorney general a cunt on Twitter. At the time, I described him as “a downward-spiraling journalist who fancies himself a Jon Stewart/Hunter Thompson mashup and desperate to ‘go national,’” and I’ll stand by that. But I won’t do an end-zone dance; it’s sad when someone throws their career away, and he’s been doing so with both hands for quite some time.

If I were his friend, I’d tell him to follow the path of Neil Steinberg, arrested in very similar circumstances 18 years ago, who sobered up and has stayed that way ever since. But we’re not, and he didn’t ask. It’s up to him.

OK, then. Tomorrow is cleaning day. Cleaning and wrapping. As the days tick down.

Every so often someone will ask me if I’ve ever considered “monetizing” this blog. After I finish wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, I consider my options and conclude, yet again, that it ain’t gonna happen. Mostly because of my laziness, but also because I simply don’t care who reads this blog, or how many people read this blog, or even whether this blog exists into the next year, or the year after that. I have no idea what my traffic is. I haven’t checked my analytics in at least a decade, and don’t even know how I’d do it. Probably Google, but honestly? Who gives a shit.

In January, I think we’ll be coming up on — what is it, J.C.? — 23 years? I think so. I was a blogger before blogging was cool. Only MySpace and LiveJournal, maybe a few others, pre-date NN.C. Then, post 9/11, blogging got hot, and cooled off when the enthusiastic adopters realized you have to update the things once in a while, and what a pain in the ass that is. Then social media came along and destroyed it outright, because if you can’t say it in 140 characters, what’s the point? And yet, on I trudge, like the anachronistic crone I increasingly suspect I am. Yesterday I went to a party wearing skinny jeans. All the younger women — and everyone was younger than me — were in bootcut jeans, and it reminded me that skinnies are out-out-out, but oh well. This blog is like the woman who won’t go outdoors unless she’s wearing a hat and gloves.

Personally, I don’t think I look good in bootcut pants, plus I HAVE ALL THESE GREAT BOOTS and goddamn they need to be seen, not hidden under a bell of denim. I guess I could wear more skirts, but what if I have to get on a horse? Or a bicycle? Just doesn’t work.

And that, friends, is why I won’t be signing up with Substack anytime soon. Because of MySpace, jeans and boots. You can’t monetize that kind of meandering. Besides, J.C. has me with WordPress, and it is a fantastic content platform. In my paid work, every so often I’m asked to update a particular business’ website, and it, too, is on WordPress. Sometimes it takes me a while to get the update done, but so far I’ve always been able to do it. I told my boss that WordPress is like walking into an unfamiliar kitchen to make lunch. You may have to open a few drawers to find the right utensils, but you’ll find them. You won’t have to look under the pillows in the bedroom for the spoons.

And I suspect WordPress will still be around when Substack, et al, join MySpace in the great internet beyond, drifting like ghost ships, or space junk, or whatever metaphor you prefer.

Speaking of that party yesterday, a pro tip: If you day-drink, know when to stop, and even then you’ll probably feel like damp garbage afterward. Also, even excellent champagne is no substitute for good hydration. I’ll leave it there. But it was a fun party. Now the week, the last week before the holidays, begins. This should be the merry-and-joy week, but I suspect here at my house it’ll be the oh-my-god-we’re-out-of-tape week, the when-was-the-last-time-we-mopped-the-kitchen week, and of course the grocery-store-onslaught week. But it still lasts only seven days.

OK, a little bloggage, then:

Would you like to invest in Detroit real estate? Here ya go:

I saw this on Facebook Marketplace. Asking $180,000. Listed 13 weeks ago. Some caveats apply, of course:

NO SELLER FINANCING
HUGE PROJECT
NEEDS FULL REHAB

All 1 bed 1 bath units
Message for address and more details

But would you look at that beauty, and imagine what it might have been like to live there in, say, 1940. The ground-floor units with that little covered patio — imagine sitting out there on a warm spring night, listening to the rain. The second-floor units, with walk-out decks on top of them. All the rest. I don’t know if the one-bed-one-bath deal was the original configuration, or if it got carved up later. But yes, NEEDS FULL REHAB. There are some developers who are taking on projects like this, but as always: Location, location, location.

And speaking of outdated content platforms, I stumbled across this the other day, a glimpse of Benjamin Dreyer, of “Dreyer’s English,” before he was famous. Here’s his annotation of the first paragraph of Shirley Jackson’s “The Haunting of Hill House,” and if you want to know what an editor’s job is like, read. I’ve known only a handful of editors even a fraction this skilled and thoughtful, and considered it a privilege to work with them.

OK, then. I got up early this morning and the murk is just now lightening to somewhat-less-murky in the sky outdoors. (Confession: I really don’t mind the murk, this time of year, except when I do. It’s like permission to not be outdoors, and I’m fine with that when it’s cold.) Enjoy your murk, or sunshine, wherever you are. And start on your to-do lists before you have to besiege the grocery store! Thank me later!

Continuing the theme of earlier this week: I don’t know about you guys, but just looking at the news these days is either enraging or depressing. Biden at last night’s White House Hanukkah party, ignoring the elephant in the room. (On edit: Yes, there was a shift in tone today.) Tommy Tuberville, the idiot senator with the cartoon-mouse name. Trump collecting resumes for his next reign of terror. J.D. Vance, helpfully spreading the nation’s cheeks for a giant screwing by Vladimir Putin. The Texas abortion case alone about sent me through the fucking roof.

Fortunately, I have some diversions.

This afternoon, in our very own backyard:

Fuzzy pic, but you can watch the sharper short video here.

That’s a Cooper’s hawk, I believe, and lunch was an unlucky mourning dove. But boy, that raptor didn’t waste a bite — there’s a pile of feathers there now, and not a hint of flesh. Alan captured this moment of nature drama, and said the hawk started on the breast and went straight through to the guts, gobbled the whole thing up.

I find birds a solace at times like this. They’re up there in the sky and trees, living their lives, and so far they haven’t elected Donald Trump president. Maybe one will shit on his head in a public place sometime soon.

Otherwise? Check out these girls:

New Shadow Show rekkid (as they say on the east coast) in February! Is there a taste? Yes there is, another video. Which you can watch here. Girl-group psychedelia.

Anything else? Sure. Guess where I read this interview with Johnny Rotten:

The AARP Bulletin, that’s where.

And is there more? There is more! Another paywalled story, but the gist: A Metro Detroit local, described as an “amateur porn personality” was charged in the January 6 Capitol attack. Tee-hee:

The case against Paul Caloia, 33, shows him wearing a Detroit Red Wings hat and a white mask inside the Capitol during the siege and include screengrabs of surveillance footage of Caloia and a video he posted online showing him inside the Capitol, talking about being in the “wrong room at the wrong time.”

The Caloia case describes the colorful backstory of a Macomb County man who is among approximately 25 people from Michigan — and more than 1,100 nationwide — charged with crimes related to the siege that involved supporters of former President Donald Trump breaking into the Capitol, ransacking offices, overwhelming and assaulting police officers and sending lawmakers into hiding as Congress tried to certify the 2020 Electoral College vote count. The group includes former Republican gubernatorial candidate Ryan Kelley, who is serving a 60-day federal prison sentence in a low-security prison in Wisconsin.

While I had hoped that being a porn personality meant you were an extra who maybe stood around while the stars provided the action, maybe the guy who waves a feather fan in the Roman-orgy scene, but I guess he just does some amateur porn. Alan found a picture of his testicles online. Not very impressive.

And now it’s just past 5 and the sun has set. Cocktail hour, I’d say. Fortunately, Alan has mixed up an excellent margarita. Talk later, eh?

Well, that was a strange semi-illness. Not sick enough to be sick, not well enough to be well, just sorta in-between. I’m grateful I have the leisure now to fully indulge my little complaints, and not have to drag ass to work in spite of them. In any event, by Thursday I was fine. Took my boxing class on Saturday morning and made the heavy bag whimper a little. All better.

Otherwise, we spent the weekend chasing wild geese, trying to see “The Holdovers” and getting the time wrong, which led to a mediocre Thai meal in a strip mall in Sterling Heights (locals may shudder at this point) and no movie, but at least we got out of the house. So we came home, watched two episodes of “Fargo” and went to bed, only to learn the very next night that “The Holdovers” was available to stream all along, so we did. It was very good, and with “May December,” “Oppenheimer” and “Barbie” already under our belts, we may actually be able to form our own informed opinions on the Oscar race next year.

Speaking of movies, this morning I read a column in The Detroit News about the Israeli film that’s making the rounds of, as we say, opinion leaders and other big shots. It’s a compilation of atrocity videos seized after October 7, from security cameras and prisoner captures. I won’t link (paywall), but I’ll quote a bit more liberally than I generally do:

“Bearing Witness to the October 7th Massacre” was presented to a small group of Metro Detroiters by the Los Angeles-based Simon Wiesenthal Center and the Israeli Consulate to the Midwest. Much of the film was compiled from the cell phones and body cameras of the Hamas terrorists as they rampaged through Jewish settlements butchering civilians.

The footage is terrifyingly graphic. It is a reminder, as if we needed one, of the depths of inhumanity to which hatred can sink human beings.

What we saw Sunday night was excruciating to watch, harder still to discuss. When it was over most of us walked to our cars barely speaking.

Imagine watching the most gruesome horror flick, without the benefit of knowing the gore on screen is make-believe. In this movie, the blood is real. The bodies are real. The evil is real.

A snuff film, basically, prepared to counter the it-didn’t-happen propaganda coming from the other side. The sponsors are showing it here and there, to small audiences, with strict rules: Phones surrendered at the door, no notes taken, but you’re free (obviously) to write about it later, and given that many of those invited are journalists, that seems to be the intent. I wish this columnist had thought to write a better story, like this one in the L.A. Times, explaining more of the context, and the protest over it, but oh well.

The writer has certainly internalized the intent of the screening:

But the atrocities are why Israel is in Gaza, and why it can’t and won’t be deterred in its mission. The snake of fanatical jihadism must be killed, or it will strike again and again.

That is no doubt satisfying to write, but ignores the how of that statement, and that’s the problem. I don’t even listen to those who throw around terms like colonialism and resistance; Israel has a right to exist and defend itself. But the question that makes so many of us wince is this: How many dead civilians does it take to kill that snake? How many children? Because so far, it doesn’t seem to be going so well, and never mind the whole Netanyahu question, among about a million others. Of course Hamas committed terrible atrocities on October 7; this has never been in doubt. It’s whether those atrocities warrant the response so far that’s in question.

When I was a Knight-Wallace Fellow (’03-’04), we had a seminar one day, a discussion with the father of one of our international fellows, who was Palestinian, and a professor at the university at Ramallah. It went well until one of the others, who was Israeli, asked a question in a rather impertinent tone. The professor didn’t explode, but the temperature rose sharply. He angrily spoke about the destruction of vital highways in the Palestinian areas (which made it impossible for those employed entirely within those areas to get to their jobs, or anywhere else) and other Israeli actions. He talked about the crush at the checkpoints, where the few who could pass into and out of Israel were pushed by soldiers into tight spaces as they waited for their credentials to be checked; at one of these, an Israeli soldier standing on an elevated platform over the crowd unzipped his pants and urinated on them, moving in a wide arc to hit as many as possible.

That’s not an atrocity. It’s not a suicide bombing. But imagine being underneath him.

At the time, I knew much less about the conflict than I do now. A few months after this, I had a tryout for a job in public radio. Talking to the producer to plan upcoming shows, we threw around some topics, and something about the conflict was in the news, and hence, a possibility. “I hate those shows,” she said. “You end them despising everybody, on both sides. It’s so depressing.”

That’s kind of where I’m at now. I’m also kind of agog at how wars will be conducted in the future, when every soldier and civilian will carry a cheap video recording device in their pocket, when artificial intelligence reaches the point that virtually anything can be deepfaked. And legit journalism is shrinking-shrinking-shrinking, and fewer and fewer professional journalists will even be near the fields of battle.

I wasn’t invited to the screening of the Israeli compilation. At the very least, I wanted to know who else was, and I didn’t learn that from the column, either. Maybe even that description was verboten, too.

Don’t know how to wrap this, other than to say keeping up with the news is hard and depressing, but I’m not opting out.

I gotta tell you, Covid kinda spoiled me. Avoiding crowds, socially distancing, wearing masks in public – all that stuff shielded me from the usual seasonal crud. And so, when a perfectly normal and shrug-offable cold finally arrived, I turned into Audra Barkley from “The Big Valley,” where all I wanted was to lie in bed and have Barbara Stanwyck press wet washcloths to my brow, and maybe spoon-feed me some clear broth.

Which is to say, I woke up yesterday feeling po’ly and am not much better today, and I’m being a big wuss about it.

Taking a Covid test now. I sincerely doubt that’s what it is, but might as well check.

If I did have a mild case, it would serve me right. On Friday, I went to a THEATER and sat in a CROWD and watched CHELSEA HANDLER do her standup act. Not a huge Chelsea fan, but the tickets were spur-of-the-moment and free, so what the hell. Went with a friend. It was OK. Not tears-running-down-your-face funny, but perfectly fine, and a good example of long-form standup, which has to be hard as hell to pull off. The show was called “Little Big Bitch,” and was structured as Chelsea Tells Her Life Story. The problem with autobiographical shows like this is, you go in understanding there will be a lot of exaggeration and outright lying, because facts get in the way of a good story. But it was a good one, and I laughed a lot, and with that My Weekly Reader-style review, that’s it.

Covid timer went off. Negative. Still a Novid (I think).

The most interesting thing about Chelsea’s show was watching the crowd come in. Disproportionate numbers of 40something women with long blonde hair, holding go-cups of alcoholic smoothies, which is to say, women who look like her and drink like her. That, and gay men. So many that she made a point of calling them out and thanking them before she even got started, something of a land acknowledgement.

And that wasn’t my entire weekend, but it was definitely the highlight. It rained all damn weekend, as though November was getting something off its chest and it ran into December. Not feeling too Christmassy yet.

As for other feelings, I totally encourage Liz Cheney to run as a third-party candidate, as I’m certain she’d draw from the GOP side. She’s said that if she doesn’t, she’ll campaign for Biden, and I encourage that, too. This is so exhausting, worrying about the future of American democracy 24/7. Maybe that’s what my illness is: Trump Fatigue. Wouldn’t surprise me.

Oh, we also watched “May December,” which I loved, and if you have Netflix, get to it. I got a thing for Todd Haynes and Julianne Moore, that’s all I can say.

Let’s hope for better things later.

If there’s a God, Henry Kissinger is being tortured in Hell by being beaten for eternity with the severed limbs of all the Cambodian civilians he bombed to pieces. But maybe there isn’t a God, and if there is, we can’t know Their ways. All I know is, the world is a better place with him gone. It feels like it’s been a long time since we had the satisfaction of watching a genuinely evil bastard check out. So what does the may-or-may-not-be-God do next?

Kill Shane MacGowan. St. Patrick’s Day won’t be the same without him.

The other day I saw something — an op-ed, a tweet, can’t remember — that said every world event didn’t need to be reacted to by official bodies. The Detroit City Council has no dog in the Israel-Palestine war, but passed a resolution “supporting” a ceasefire, as well as hostage release. Which leads me to this:

First reaction: Oh, of course it would be the goddamn Yankees. Second reaction: Who the hell cares that George Steinbrenner and Henry Kissinger were friends? Final reaction: Not wanting to be one of those shut-up-and-sing people, I beg off of this dispute. But I think about what that op-ed/tweet/whatever that started this said: Not everything has to be reacted to, especially when it’s a baseball team reacting to the death of a war criminal.

What other assholes are in the news today? Elon Musk, telling Disney’s CEO to go fuck himself — in that language — if he won’t advertise on Musk’s moth-eaten social platform. Man, I hope Linda Yaccarino has an excellent exit package for when she finally gets fed up trying to put lipstick on this pig. Actually, no I don’t. She went into this deal with the devil with her eyes wide open. Well, shit happens, especially entirely predictable shit.

Sorry to be such a grouch today. I have a new library book I’d like to get to, and the day outside looks suitable for a walk, both things I’d rather be doing. So best zip this up and hope for better things.

Years ago, a famous journalist told me a story about the day he came to Detroit for a job interview. He’d just dropped his bag on the floor of his RenCen hotel room when the phone rang. He answered, and a man’s voice asked, “Is Cinnamon and Sherelle there?” “Um, no,” the writer replied, adding that he’d just checked in. “Well, do you want ’em to be there?” the man replied.

That bit of lawlessness, the idea that the first phone call you get in Detroit could be from a pimp, has always been one of the things I like about this place. After 20 years in Indiana, living in a municipality known as the City of Churches, I’d had enough “wonderful place to raise a family” to last a lifetime.

I thought of the writer’s story at the Thanksgiving parade last week, which I had to attend for work. Float after float of nice corporate entities putting on their best public face rolled under multiple plane-towed banners advertising cannabis businesses, the other side of Detroit’s business economy.

If you want to see fewer FREE WEED banners overhead, know this: As long as cannabis remains illegal at the federal level, it will continue. Cannabis businesses can’t advertise with Google or the social-media platforms, as they fear asset forfeiture should another Jeff Sessions assume control of the Justice Department. So – in Michigan, anyway – they’re pretty much confined to billboards, merch and other locally run advertising outlets.

Can’t have a Detroit Thanksgiving parade without the Big Heads, the walking troupe of notable Detroiters. This was their staging area. I see Aretha Franklin, Gilda Radner, Tom Selleck, Rosie the Riveter, Bob Seger, Rosa Parks and…not sure about the white-haired guy at the end of the row, but he’s probably Mort Crim, former anchor for the station that always carries the parade.

Here’s Stevie Wonder and Barry Sanders:

It was a good holiday weekend. Besides the parade, we had a Thanksgiving-for-two that was just fine, followed by a relaxing Black Friday, festive Birthday Saturday, chill post-birthday Sunday. The Lions lost, but the Wolverines won, and that was fine.

There’s leftover birthday cake. I want it gone by tomorrow morning, and then I MUST go on a sugar/alcohol fast for a few days, because I feel like one of those balloons floating over the parade.

Because of my sloth and indulgence, I didn’t get too much bloggage, but there is this, an infuriating look at how the Trump team cheapened and coarsened the pardon process, from the NYT:

Jonathan Braun of New York had served just two and a half years of a decade-long sentence for running a massive marijuana ring, when Mr. Trump, at 12:51 a.m. on his last day in office, announced he would be freed.

Mr. Braun was, to say the least, an unusual candidate for clemency.

A Staten Islander with a history of violent threats, Mr. Braun had told a rabbi who owed him money: “I am going to make you bleed.” Mr. Braun’s family had told confidants they were willing to spend millions of dollars to get him out of prison.

At the time, Mr. Trump’s own Justice Department and federal regulators, as well as New York state authorities, were still after him for his role in an entirely separate matter: his work as a predatory lender, making what judges later found were fraudulent and usurious loans to cash-strapped small businesses.

Nearly three years later, the consequences of Mr. Braun’s commutation are becoming clearer, raising new questions about how Mr. Trump intervened in criminal justice decisions and what he could do in a second term, when he would have the power to make good on his suggestions that he would free supporters convicted of storming the Capitol and possibly even to pardon himself if convicted of the federal charges he faces.

A loan shark, but a well-connected one. Of course Jared Kushner is involved, as is Alan Dershowitz.

On that depressing note, I leave you to your end of weekend/start of week selves.

A few years ago — two or three, maybe four — I was in the Deadline Detroit offices when a YouTube video crossed my feed, somehow. I don’t remember who sent or posted it, but I vividly remember the video: It featured four or five young men, employees of the Church Militant, a right-wing Catholic group based in Ferndale, a suburb here.

The guys were boxing, shirtless, in a Ferndale park on a fine summer day. I don’t remember if they were gloved or just barehanded, but they were boxing in the 19th century style, which is to say hands held high, like you see in old woodcuts. They were mostly moving around each other, throwing little jabs and crosses, not connecting hard, more like shadowboxing with the threat of a bruise or bloody nose around the edges. “We are enjoying manly, fresh-air exercise on a beautiful day,” was either the voiceover or maybe a title. Again, can’t remember. I watched it for a while and thought, this is the gayest thing I’ve seen in a month.

I didn’t save the URL, and when I looked for it later, it was gone. I searched and searched, googled everything I could think of, but it was gone. Last week, I had lunch with my friend Michael, who was ordained as a priest in a schismatic Catholic church earlier in the year. I told him about the video, and he said, “That’s the gayest thing ever.”

Wednesday I read an AP story about the leader of Church Militant:

The founder of a far-right, unofficial Catholic media group has resigned for an unspecified violation of the organization’s morality clause, the group said in a statement Tuesday.

Michael Voris stepped down as president of St. Michael’s Media and Church Militant, a Michigan-based enterprise established to address what Voris’ official biography calls “the serious erosion of the Catholic faith in the last 50 years.”

“Michael Voris has been asked to resign for breaching the Church Militant morality clause,” the organization said in its statement. “The board has accepted his resignation.” More details were not provided, and the board said it “has chosen not to disclose Michael’s private matters to the public” but asked for prayers for him as he is “focusing on his personal health.”

….In 2016, Voris acknowledged that when he was younger, he had for years been involved in “live-in relationships with homosexual men” and multiple other sexual relationships with men and women, actions he later abhorred as “extremely sinful.”

The Church Militant, which is also a schismatic group, likes to play dirty. During Covid, they sent an operative, a woman, to knock on the door of the music director for the archdiocese, the cathedral organist. He answered and she told him she and her wife were looking at buying a house in the neighborhood, but they were worried they wouldn’t be tolerated. The music director assured her he and his male partner had lived in the neighborhood for years and had never had any problems. She was wearing a hidden camera and captured the exchange on video. They aired it, and soon the music director was out of a job.

They are pro-Trump, of course. On election night 2022, they had a media credential and were doing live standups from the TCF Center, where the absentee ballots were being counted. I’m told the reporter doing the standups was the same woman who stung the music director.

I don’t think I’m going out on a particularly shaky limb to speculate what the breach of the morality clause might be. But they’ve asked for privacy at this difficult time.

A fuller story about the parting, from the Freep.

In other news at this hour, dogs are biting men. Film at 11. Happy Thanksgiving.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what we’re up against in 2024:

“Honestly, it was more of a choice of it just not being Joe Biden,” said Clara Carrillo-Hinojosa, a 21-year-old financial analyst in Las Vegas, of her support for Ms. Harris. She said she would probably vote for Mr. Trump: “Personally, I think we were doing a lot better when he was in the presidency, price-wise, money-wise, income-wise.”

Yet in some ways, Ms. Carrillo-Hinojosa is the kind of voter Mr. Biden hopes he can win once people start focusing on the race. Mr. Trump has offended her as a woman, she said, and she likes some of what Mr. Biden has done, including his support for Israel.

Most of all, she said, she strongly supports abortion rights — and did not realize that Mr. Biden does, too. She said that because states’ abortion bans had gone into effect during his presidency, she assumed it was because of him. Ultimately, despite her misgivings about the economy, support for abortion rights would probably be what decided her vote, she said.

I…have questions. You people who visit Las Vegas more often than me (lifetime total: Once), how does a 21-year-old become a financial analyst there, or is “financial analyst” just the fancy name for the person who cashes in your chips when you’re ready to go home? Presumably a financial analyst has some higher education, where you think she might have learned at least elementary, Schoolhouse Rock-level schooling on how laws are passed.

Or maybe not. But her vote counts the same as yours.

And who can blame her, when Donald Trump is building his brand as a “moderate” on abortion. The man most directly responsible for overturning Roe now is described thusly in the paper of record:

As the GOP suffers major losses from its stance on abortion, however, major media outlets have portrayed former president Donald Trump’s stances on abortion as less extreme. Over the last few months, mainstream media — including the New York Times, the Associated Press, and Politico — have portrayed Trump as “moderate” on abortion rights.

This week, for example, a New York Times headline described Trump as “Less Vulnerable on Abortion Than Other Republicans.” The subheadline noted that his “vague statements on the issue may give him some leeway with voters.”

Unlike his Republican rivals, who have “struggle[d] to address shifting views on abortion,” Trump has “effectively neutralized abortion as an issue during the Republican primary,” according to the New York Times analysis. The piece claims that “Mr. Trump has distanced himself from more restrictive abortion laws, favored by some in his party, seeming to recognize their unpopularity.” The story glosses over Trump’s actual record and policy positions, instead framing him as someone who has “been on many sides of the abortion issue over the years.”

Oh, and yet another bullshit word-salad response:

In April, during an interview with WMUR, Trump was asked if he would sign a 15-week abortion ban. “We’re looking at a lot of different options… and we’ll get something done where everyone is going to be very satisfied,” Trump said. When pushed to clarify if he meant on a national level, Trump said, “I think we’ll get it done on some level, it could be on different levels, but we’re gonna get it done.”

(I want a supercut of all the times Trump has claimed to be “looking at” something, followed by a promise that never was kept. I guess he can’t see it.)

If Democrats can’t nail three SCOTUS justices or his many statements on the “28 days after birth” bullshit to that guy’s doughy forehead, they don’t deserve to win anything. But I fear that’s what may well happen. I wrote in my journal yesterday that I thought Trump will win in ’24, and I’m thinking it wasn’t stream of consciousness.

It might be the dreary November rain falling outside, but I’m not feeling too optimistic at the moment.

But it’s nearly the holiday! We have an extremely low-key T’giving planned, partly because I have to work for some of it, and partly because we already did something, and partly because my birthday is Saturday, the same day Kate comes home from her Canadian tour, and might as well save the heavy meal for that. We’ll be at a Michigan-OSU indoor tailgate party for much of the day, so we’ll see how everything shapes up. I hope it’s fun. I’m sure it will be.