NOT READY FOR HER CLOSE-UP?

Shane, come back! Come back! Shane!

–Brandon de Wilde calling to heroic Alan Ladd in “Shane”

 

Can it, already. I’m back.

And plenty steamed. Give me a break here. I’m away only a few measly weeks with blogger’s block, and everything falls apart.

Where to begin…

How about here? Oh, please!

That’s my response to Megyn Kelly’s defense of her scheduled NBC sit-down with that creep Alex Jones, a raging, fringe-right conspiracy theorist who famously has questioned whether the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre actually happened.  No wonder Sandy Hook families and others are outraged, even threatening to sue NBC should the interview run.

This is Kelly’s second go in her new prime time series opposite “60 Minutes” on CBS. Not quite ready for her close-up, her recent marquee debut with Vladimir Putin didn’t even register on the Richter Scale.  Kelly now gets Jones, who is the worst kind of raging provocateur:  one with a radio show (on which, by the way, our yutz in the Oval Office was a guest in 2015).

Her goal with Jones, Kelly insists, is to “shine a light—as journalists are supposed to do—on this influential figure, and yes—discuss the considerable falsehoods he has promoted with near impunity.”

My goal is to shine a light on her BS.

Her true agenda is a bit less lofty than advertised. It’s to dangle Jones’ notoriety as a bright shiny object to lure viewers and demonstrate she is a doyenne of daring who can kick ass. Never mind that in the process she will grant Jones his widest platform yet, without legitimate justification.  There is a cynical financial hook—ratings—but no news hook.

What, she’s going to expose him as a dangerous crackpot? The thinking world already knows.

This has familiar resonance. There was a time when Los Angeles newscasters and some national programs regularly granted Charles Manson camera access from prison during ratings sweeps periods, and then promoted his inevitable rantings to inflate their ratings. Stations would send a news anchor north for a tough-guy image reboot, and the camera-loving Manson, knowing his lines, was pleased to star in the role of murderous lunatic. In those days, you made your bones in local news by “boldly going one on one with Charlie.”

Inmates are now off limits to media in California, but the imagery endures, and Kelly hopes to make her bones going one on one in the same tradition.

Putin was Kelly’s bright shiny object in her opening show, and NBC’s promotion of it was thunderous, as if she would bring this shrewd guy to his knees. Oh, sure.  Instead, she asked, he answered, sort of like this:

–Do you? Nyet.

–Have you? Nyet.

–Will you? Nyet.

— Would you ever, ever? Nyet.

What, you really thought Putin would turn patsy and confess because his interrogator was Megan Bombshell? Yes, I screwed up your presidential election. Yes, all of Trumpdom is palsy walsy with me.   

The interview produced blotto, no news other than the news that Putin agreed to do it, a heavily hyped celebration of process over content, a growing media strategy of recent decades.  He said nothing, but what counts, it was to our very own Megyn Kelly he said nothing.

And why did Putin agree to this, as he did to filmmaker Oliver Stone’s strangely chatty and unthreatening multi-part interview now creeping along on Showtime? Because he wants to present soften U.S. public opinion toward him and present himself as good old accessible Vlad.  Will questioners like Kelly shake that image?

     Nyet.

EBENEZER SCRUMP

EBENEZER SCRUMP
A Christmas Story

The darkened penthouse of Scrump Tower on Christmas Eve….

Ebenezer Scrump, asleep after hours of heavy tweeting, is jolted awake by loud clanking sounds and a terrifying sight.

Scrump: Who are you?

Ghost: Look upon me, Scrump, for I am the Ghost of Your Past.

Scrump: What do you want of me at this hour, ghost?

Ghost: I’m here to show you the errors of your ways.

Scrump: Errors? Where are you taking me?

Ghost: The Peace Center in Greenville, S.C.

Scrump: Looks familiar.

Ghost: As it should. The date is Feb. 13, 2016, the occasion a Republican presidential debate where you insisted you always opposed the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq in 2003.

I fought very, very hard against us going into Iraq!

Ghost: You repeated that often during the campaign. But now behold Sept. 11, 2002, months before the invasion. It’s a New York radio studio, and here was your reply when asked by Howard Stern if you favored invading Iraq.

Yeah, I guess so.

Ghost: You later lied about this repeatedly.

Scrump: A little white lie is all.

Ghost: Was it a little white lie, too, when you claimed you never crashed the dressing rooms of beauties at your Miss USA Pageants to catch them undressed and cop a feel?

Scrump: Absolutely untrue. Never happened.

Ghost: Behold the 2003 pageant in San Antonio.

Eeek!

He’s here again!

Call the cops!

Get out of here, you creep!

Scrump: I thought it was the men’s room. It was all a big mistake.

Ghost: Was this, too, a big mistake? Observe Burbank, Ca. in 2005.

Scrump: I see a bus.

Ghost: The “Access Hollywood” bus, with you and that obsequious toad, Billy Bush. You said this about women.

You know, I’m automatically attracted to beautiful—I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. I don’t ever wait.

Scrump: A little kiss, what’s the harm?

Ghost: Only a kiss? Listen.

And when you’re a star, they’ll let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.

Scrump: Locker room talk.  You know how it is when boys get together.

Ghost: Boys? You were 59.

Scrump: Please stop. Why do you torture me so?

******

A second ghost appears. “Look upon me, the Ghost of Your Present, and observe.

Scrump: Why is my son, Baron, laughing himself silly? What is he watching on TV?

Ghost: “Saturday Night Live.” He loves Alec Baldwin.

Scrump: I beseech you to stop.

Ghost: Now cast your eyes on Indianapolis, Ind. A small house, fallen into disrepair.

Scrump: Who lives here?

Ghost: Bob Cratchit and his family, facing a penniless Christmas now that Bob has lost his job—one of hundreds of Carrier jobs you didn’t save despite vowing to save them all. It’s Monday night, and the Cratchits are watching TV.

Scrump: But not “Celebrity Apprentice,” which I still profit from.

Ghost: They stopped watching after you publicly ridiculed Tiny Tim’s disability.

Scrump:  Please, spirit, no more.

Ghost: It gets worse. The Cratchits are a Nielsen family.

Scrump: Take me away, please.

Ghost: Behold the security agency that offers the critical daily briefings you irresponsibly reject.

Scrump:  Borrrrring. I don’t need security briefings.  I’m very smart.

Ghost: Smart, when you don’t read?

Scrump: False! I like nothing better than curling up with a good tweet.

******

A third ghost appears.

Scrump: Who are you?

The Ghost of Your Future, bearing footage of you on “Dancing with the Stars,” hardly a presidential activity.

Scrump: But if they asked me…

Ghost: They didn’t ask you to tango wearing one of your stupid long ties.

Scrump: They’re part of my brand.

Ghost: Not in Berlin,

Scrump: Berlin?

Ghost: This is your first private summit with German Chancellor Angela Merkel.

Scrump: But why is she racing out of the room screaming?

Ghost: Instead of shaking hands, you groped her.

Scrump: Please, torment me no further.

Ghost: There’s more: in Russia the opening of your five-star Scrump Vladivostok.

Scrump: Huge hotel deal.

Ghost:  And huge conflict of interest. That’s you on a horse trail in the Urals, riding shirtless with Vladimir Putin.

Scrump:  Must we go on?

Ghost: Yes, to a televised trial.

Scrump: Judge Judy?

Ghost: No, she becomes your attorney general when Jeff Sessions isn’t confirmed. This is an impeachment trial—yours—in the U.S. Senate. Behold Kellyanne Conway testifying about your foreign policy.

Crimea desperately needs a luxury golf resort.

Scrump: What happened to my Republican support?

Ghost: You will lose much of it when you mount your SCRUMP sign on the White House.

Scrump: I can bear no more. Why have you taken me to this graveyard, ghost?

Ghost: Read the tombstone.

Scrump: Must I?

Ghost: You must.

Scrump: It says, “Here lie the democratic principles undermined by our woeful president.”

Ghost: What say you now?

Scrump: I implore you, no more. I’ve seen the errors of my ways.

Ghost: One more thing, Ebenezer Scrump.

Scrump: End the comb over?

Ghost: No, doofus. End the tweets.