Is God now here, or is God nowhere?

This church sign in Newton, MA is fascinating. What did you see when you saw it? 

Presumably the intent was, "God is now here."

But if you're me, I saw "God is nowhere."

Spacing is everything. 

But maybe I'm being too presumptuous. Perhaps the minister or sign attendant or even the congregation took a long, hard look across the American landscape and thought, "What has happened to our country?"

  • A serial adulterer who bragged about sexual assault, attacked Gold Star families, publicly disgraced veterans, failed to keep his promise to release his tax returns, operated a fake university that stole millions from American citizens, and has spent more than 25% of his days in office on a golf course is now President of the United States.  
  • A billionaire's wife who never set foot in a public school is Secretary of Education.
  • A billionaire who spent his career suing the Environmental Protection Agency is now running (and dismantling) the EPA.
  • A millionaire who campaigned on the desire to eliminate the Department of Energy (and did not know it regulated the nuclear power industry) is now running the Department of Energy. 

Maybe whoever is responsible for this sign assessed the state of our country and decided that God is nowhere to be seen. 

Or perhaps this is a signal of an existential crisis. The minister or groundkeeper is doubting God's existence. Maybe the person responsible for the sign is like me:

 A non-believer who wishes he could believe in a higher power.

Maybe not the vengeful, wrathful, violent God of The Bible who sent 42 boys to death at the hands of two bears after they insulted a Hebrew prophet's hairline (2 Kings 2:23-25), but a kinder, gentler God who is less prone to pointing large, angry mammals at disrespectful children.  

I would like that kinder, gentler version God to be somewhere. 

The 14 women who have accused Trump of sexual harassment or assault

Donald Trump and his Press Secretary, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, claim that all 14 of the women who have accused Trump of sexual harassment and/or assault are lying.

At the same time, Trump admitted to sexual assault while aboard an Access Hollywood bus back in September of 2005, and his description of this assault is strikingly similar to some of these women's accusations.

Trump also famously tweeted this:

In summary:

  • According to Donald Trump, 14 women are liars, but he is not, even though both he and the women are speaking  about the same same thing in the same terms. 
  • Trump seems to believe that women and men cannot work together without sexual assault taking place.

I have worked almost exclusively in the company of women for 20 years. It is not uncommon for me to be the only man in the room at any number of meetings or professional development. Prior to that, I attended an all women's college and was always the only man in class. 

Despite my proximity to women for almost a quarter century, I am quite confident that no woman would claim that I sexually harassed or assaulted her.

Trump is no different than Harvey Weinstein except that he has a Republican Congress and a Press Secretary standing behind him. History will judge these people poorly. 

The women who have come forward so far include:

Ninni Laaksonen, former Miss Finland.
 “Trump stood right next to me and suddenly he squeezed my butt” in July 2006.

Jessica Drake.
Said Trump grabbed and kissed her without consent, then offered her $10,000 for sex in 2006.

Karena Virginia.
Says she was groped by Trump at the U.S. Open in 1998.

Cathy Heller.
Says Trump grabbed her and attempted to kiss her at Mar-a-lago in 1997.

Summer Zervos.
Apprentice contestant says Trump started kissing her and grabbing her breasts, began "thrusting his genitals" in 2007.

Kristin Anderson.
Said Trump reached under her skirt and grabbed her vagina through her underwear in the early 1990s.

Jessica Leeds.
Said Trump lifted up the armrest, grabbed her breasts and reached his hand up her skirt in the early 1980s.

Rachel Crooks.
Says she was assaulted by Trump in an elevator in Trump Tower in 2005.

Mindy McGillivray.
Says Trump groped her while she was attending a concert at Mar-a-lago in 2003.

Natasha Stoynoff.
Says Trump pushed her against a wall and jammed his tongue down her throat at Mar-a-lago in 2005.

Jennifer Murphy.
Apprentice contestant says Trump kissed her on the lips after a job interview in 2005.

Cassandra Searles.
Says Trump grabbed her ass and invited her to his hotel room in 2013.

Temple Taggart McDowell.
Former Miss Utah says Trump kissed her directly on the lips the first time she met him in 1997.

Jill Harth.
Says Trump repeatedly sexually harassed her and groped her underneath a table in 1993.

A high opinion of your own opinion is a very good thing

John Wooden famously said, "The true test of a man's character is what he does when no one is watching."

In other words, what do you do when there's no one to either praise or scold you?

It's a good definition of character, but there is one flaw:

If you have an exceptionally high opinion of your own opinion, then you are able to meaningful praise yourself for your own behavior when no one is watching, thus negating the idea that character is good behavior unrewarded, because you are able to reward yourself.

In short, it doesn't matter to you if someone is watching or not. 

"I just picked up that piece of litter, even though I wasn't the one who tossed it on the ground. Great job, Matt!"

If this bit of self-assigned positive reinforcement is meaningful to you, Wooden's definition doesn't exactly hold up, because the presence of others becomes irrelevant. And when your opinion of yourself is even more important the opinions of others, the definition becomes even less meaningful.    

For example, when a colleague is upset because his supervisor has rated him a four out of five on his annual review, I ask, "Do you think you were a five?"

"Yes," the colleague says. "I do."

"Then who cares what your supervisor thinks? If your rating isn't impacting your salary or job security, your own honest assessment of your performance is what matters most. Just say, 'I'm a five, damn it,' and move on."

This rarely makes a person feel better, because most reasonable, well-adjusted people do not possess exceedingly high opinions of their own opinions, and this is probably a good thing. For most people, the opinions of the public, superiors, loved ones, and/or authority figures carry more weight than their own opinion, especially when those opinions pertain to themselves. 

I get it. It's normal to care deeply about the opinions of others. 

Not everyone aggressively under-dresses for all occasions regardless of the opinions of others.

Not everyone stands in front of hundreds and sometimes thousands of people and shares the most embarrassing, shameful, and criminal moments from their life.

Not everyone can dribble a tee shot 17 feet down a hill and into a pond while a dozen golfers are watching and not give a damn.

Not everyone is willing to acknowledge that they possess a high opinion of their own opinion. 

There is nothing wrong with concerning yourself with the opinions of others. It's normal and healthy, and I'm not saying that I don't care at all. My wife's opinion, for example, means a great deal to me, and the respect of my colleagues and the satisfaction of the parents of the students who I teach is something I strive to achieve. I also like it when my editor, my publisher, and especially my readers like the writing that I produce. 

But I also believe in being kind to yourself. Valuing your own opinion of yourself. Meaningfully crediting yourself for a job well done when no one is watching or no one else agrees, and allowing that credit to be at least as important as the credit of others. I believe in allowing yourself to feel great about your performance even when your supervisor, your evaluator, your coach, your friends, or even your spouse disagree. 

Praise and recognition from others is a lovely and precious thing, but it should be secondary to the praise that you offer yourself. The value of your own honest opinion of yourself should be at least equal to the opinion of others. if you're depending upon the praise and adulations of others, you're not going to be a happy person. 

John Wooden's definition of character is a good one. It's true that we often don't act like our best selves when in private, and those who do are probably the best of us. But I also think it's true that a high opinion of your own opinion can help a person to act well in those private moments. 

When you are kind enough to yourself to value self-praise as highly as public praise, Wooden's definition doesn't hold up. Perhaps I might revise it to something like this:      

"The true test of a man's character is what he does when his most honest, unflinching self is watching."

My kids were sweet and lovely this week. Don't try to tell me otherwise.

Oftentimes Elysha and I see or hear our kids do something and can't believe what just happened. 

A few from this week.
____________________________________________

I picked up Charlie, who is five years-old, from his hip hop class on Tuesday. From the waiting room, I heard his class end, then Charlie and a couple kids lingered for a bit before finally emerging into the waiting room.

"What were you doing?" I asked.

"Just chillin' and being funny, Dad," he said.

He's five. I'm still not cool enough to say words like that.
____________________________________________

Yesterday morning, I managed to snap a photo of Charlie and Clara saying good morning to each other. Clara had been awake for at least an hour (she's like her Daddy) but Charlie had just ambled downstairs:

Thank goodness for the speed of a photography on phones today.

Later on that same morning, Elysha sent me this text:

We see these things and hear these things and often want to pinch ourselves. We're so blessed. 

Just in case you're a parent of a child who is older than my kids and you suddenly feel the need to jump and say something like:

"Just wait until they become teenagers," or "Enjoy these moments now because it only gets harder," or "This is all well and good, but start saving for college because it will be a fortune" or "They won't always love each other like they do now..."

Don't. Stop. Silence those stupid thoughts.

It takes a special and unfortunate breed of cynicism to try to spoil moments like these for proud parents with your assurances of possible doom and gloom.

It also takes a special and unfortunate breed of myopia and self-absorption to assume that the future path of every child will be exactly the same as your child's own path.

Sure, there will be times when our kids are decidedly less sweet and more challenging. That was true three days ago, and it will be true three days from now, too. But we choose to embrace the beauty of these moments whenever and wherever we can find them and not sully them with anyone's inexplicable and incessant need to rain on our parade.  

Our kids were lovely and sweet and funny this week. That is what I am choosing to hold in my heart. 

As long as you're not as sexually repressed as the Vice President, the gender-neutral restroom is working just fine

During intermission at last night's Moth StorySLAM at The Oberon in Cambridge, I went to the restroom.

The Oberon has converted its formerly gender-specific restrooms to gender-neutral restrooms. When I entered what was once a men's room, I was greeted with the typical line that can be found during intermission, except that this line contained both women and men. 

Nine people in all. Five women and four men were queued up in front of the four urinals and three stalls. Some were chatting while waiting. Others scrolled through their phones. As far as I could tell, no one thought this odd or inappropriate.

And why would they?

Women used the stalls. Men used the urinals or the stalls.  

One of the women in line actually knew me from previous performances and asked me for some storytelling advice while we waited to pee. 

For someone like the Vice President, who can't have dinner alone with a woman who isn't his wife or drink a beer when his wife is not present, I would imagine that this scenario might cause him to blow a gasket. His seemingly admitted inability to control his lustful desires might erupt into an uncontrollable fervor at the mere thought of a semi-naked woman behind a thin restroom partition.   

But for the majority of Americans who operate as normal human beings and who aren't so fearful of temptation that they must quarantine themselves from the opposite sex without a marital chaperone, this gender-neutral reconfiguration is working out just fine.      

Perhaps in the future the restroom design could be differentiated this way:

Gender-neutral restrooms

Single use restroom for the perverse who can't control themselves when genitals are exposed privately but in the vicinity of their own genitals

Lyric Problems: Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven is a Place on Earth"

Belinda Carlisle claims again and again in her 1987 Billboard #1 hit "Heaven Is a Place on Earth" that:

"They say in heaven, love comes first."

No, they don't. This is not a commonly used (or ever used) expression. No one says this. This song is the only place where these words are spoken.

In fact, I ran a search on the King James Bible. The three words "love comes first" do not appear sequentially anywhere in The Bible.

Also, who are "they?"

Donald Trump is fond of say that "People are saying this..." and "They say that..." but he's lying every single time. Absent of an actual, quotable human being, Trump claims that people are speaking in his favor but is incapable of pointing to any specific person. 

I'm not attempting to compare Belinda Carlisle to Donald Trump, and I understand that there's a big difference between the veracity of the President of the United States and a musician. Carlisle didn't even write the song. That credit goes to Rick Nowels and Ellen Shipley.

Still, "they" don't say in heaven that "Love comes first." Not as far as I can tell.  

That lyric has annoyed me for 30 years. 

Guest post: Daniel Dale's Twitter feed

Daniel Dale, Washington correspondent for the Toronto Star, tweeted the following thread that I have cut and pasted here in the event you don't use Twitter or didn't see it on Twitter.

It's fantastic.
________________________________

Here is a thread about Donald Trump getting hilariously lost in his own lying. 

This is what Trump told radio host Mike Gallagher last week:

So Trump starts with a lie: that Rasmussen had his approval rating at 46% or 47% that day. He was actually at 41% that day.

Then Trump adds a second lie: that 47%, an approval rating he does not have, is an approval rating that makes re-election guaranteed.

He is not content with that. He must boast about his superiority to Obama. And this is where he loses control of his own nonsense.

He says...Obama left office with an approval rating lower than his own. "46%." This is a third lie.

In fact, Obama left with a much higher approval rating than Trump's imaginary 47%: Obama had 62% final approval in Rasmussen.

But anyway, Trump is stuck - he said Obama's approval was almost identical to his own! And he adds, scrambling, "So he was very popular."

But oh no. Trump has gone wrong. He has now called Barack Obama "very popular." He must correct this.

So he adds, in the mocking tone of a middle schooler: "If you call that popular."

OK wait: he had just said 46% or 47% is his own awesome rating. Now he is mocking the idea that that is a good rating. Because Obama.

In sum: Trump went from bragging about his fake 47% to mocking a fake Obama 46% that is 5 points higher than his own actual rating, 41%.

This concludes today's episode of One Paragraph Of Donald Trump Talking.

I want a little signage, damn it.

I'm not asking for much.

When construction begins on a new project, could we require that a sign be erected explaining what this new project will be?

Last year, a gas station was removed from a plot of land near my home, and construction immediately began on something new. I drove by the site almost every day, wondering what it might be, dreaming of something interesting or fun.

A new restaurant? A bowling alley? A sports bar? A golf shop?

Nope. It was a mattress store, build within sight of two other mattress stores. 

How hard would it have been to erect a sign that said:

 "Relax, people. Just another stupid mattress store. Nothing to get excited about."

Last week construction began on another plot of land along a road that I drive every day. Enormous lengths of wood were being laid down across a swampy piece of land.

What could it be?

A new bus station? A future apartment complex? Another damn Whole Foods?

After a week of wondering, I finally took to Facebook and asked if anyone knew what was happening, and I got my answer:

Repairing power lines. That's all. 

How about a sign as construction began that read:

"Don't get your knickers in the bunch, people. We're just repairing some power lines. Noble work, to be sure, but not exactly exciting."

Sometimes these signs are erected, but more often than not, the builder leaves the public in suspense, often envision a grand new future that does not exist. 

Signage. That's all I want. Is it too much to ask?

Just the kind of conversation I want before sunrise

Nothing to see here.

Just a pre-sunrise conversation with my eight-year old daughter, Clara, about what the word "stillborn" means, followed by a flood of tears over the fate of Elizabeth Adams, the stillborn daughter of Abigail Adams.

I love parenting.

The men's restroom: All I want is a little consistency, please...

I appreciate and embrace consistency in all things. Find the fastest, most accurate, most efficient, least expensive way of doing something, and repeat as often as needed.

This is why men's restrooms infuriate me. 

Almost all men's restrooms contain urinals. This is good. They actually allow for the fastest, most efficient use of the restroom. They are quick to use and take up less space than a standard toilet, allowing for more of them. Urinals are the reason why the line to the men's restroom is always shorter than the line to the women's restroom. 

But here's the thing:

In the last decade or so, privacy partitions have started appearing between urinals in some restrooms. These rectangular pieces of plastic or wood have been bolted onto the wall between urinals, apparently offering a modicum of privacy to the user. 

"You can still see my head and my feet, but just try looking at my penis now, buster!" 

I'm not specifically opposed to these privacy partitions. What I'm opposed to is the lack of consistency between restrooms. Some have partitions between urinals and some don't, and this bothers me. Men either require this privacy partition or they don't, and I'm annoyed that we haven't come to a decision on this matter.

If it were up to me, I'd have no privacy partition. For a very long time, men used urinals without complaint or problem. Why we need to suddenly ensure the privacy of our genitals is beyond me. There was a time when men at Fenway Park and other baseball stadiums urinated into a communal trough without much complaint, and there are probably places where these troughs still exist. Men pee on trees all the time. Sometimes we pee side by side on the same tree. I can't imagine that many men suddenly felt the need for privacy while using a urinal.

But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps a significant number of men require a strategically placed sheet of plywood positioned at penis height to feel comfortable.

"You can look me in the eye or stare at my shoes while I pee, but don't you dare look at my penis!"

Maybe men are more concerned with wandering eyes that I think. Perhaps exposure of the penis contributes to shy bladders. Maybe this is homophobia rearing its ugly head.  

What I've also noticed is that the smaller the men's room and the more professional or fancy the establishment, the more likely that there will be partitions. 

Therefore a corporate headquarters or an expensive restaurant is more likely to have partitions than a concert hall, a fast food restaurant, or a sports stadium.

This annoys me, too. 

Men who work in the corporate world or spend more on dinner are more likely to have penises that require privacy than men who attend football games or stop at a McDonald's to use the restroom?

Also, aren't these quite often the same men? 

I don't know.

But here is what I do know:

We either need these partitions or we don't. Either equip all men's rooms with these privacy partitions or stop adding them to restrooms altogether.

Consistency. That's all I want. A universal agreement that this added expense is either needed or not. We either need to hide our penises in the restroom or we don't.

I think not, but as long as we can come to some kind of agreement, I'll be happy. 

Earning his keep

This cat pushes everything he can find onto the floor. He's broken bowls and glasses and picture frames. He's toppled laundry baskets off counters and shoved laptops of tables.   

He eats our plants.

He has found a way to open kitchen cabinets and climb inside. Once inside, he pushes the contents of the cabinet out and onto the floor.

He is a bad kitty. A menace. A four-legged wrecking ball.

But he allows the kids to man-handle him. Drag him across the house. Aggressively cuddle him. He doesn't fight it or flee. He simply submits to the smaller people of the house.

He makes them happy.  

 So I give him a pass on all of his misbehavior. He's found the one way to make up for all of his transgressions. 

Barely.

When will she die?

Sometimes I listen to a despicable person - politician, commentator, talk show host - and find myself compelled to run to Wikipedia to find out how old the person is, hoping that he or she is at least ten years older than me, thus reducing the chances that I will have to share the planet with this person for my entire life.

It's not that I am wishing death upon this person. I'm just hoping that he or she is so much older than me that the natural course of their life will run out before mine does, and for at least some measure of time, I can enjoy this life with all it has to offer absent the hatred, the lies, and the general vileness of the person in question. 

I hesitate to tell you whose age I just look up, in fear that it will seem that I am wishing for her death, which I am not. But I was pleased to discover that she is exactly ten years older than me, so perhaps I will someday know a world in which she does not exist. 

Free Dive

This is both fascinating and bizarre.

Watching the video of this man free dive to the bottom of the deepest pool in the world is both mind boggling and incredible, and yet:

1. I don't understand the desire to free dive. I cannot fathom (see what I did there?) the desire to swim as deep and far as possible on a single breath of air while risking your life in order to do so.  And while it's true that there are many other desires that I don't understand (sky diving, marathon running, baking), free diving seems to hold absolutely no reward.  

You can see the bottom of the pool with or without a tank of oxygen. I'm not sure how the lack of life sustaining air makes the experience any more compelling.   

2. Who spends millions building a creepy-ass pool like this? Sure, you might want to build the deepest pool in the world, but does it have to look like the inside of a water treatment plant from a Bond film?

Julian Edleman changes everything!

Each month my children each receive a free book from PJ Library, an organization that sends free books that celebrate Jewish values and culture to Jewish families across America and Canada.

Last week the newest books arrived. They tend not to be my favorite stories. Perhaps part of the problem is that I'm not Jewish, but while they do an excellent job teaching Jewish culture and values, they tend to be light on humor, antagonists, and conflict.

I find them a little boring.  

Elysha opened the latest books and began raving about one that she remembered reading at a child. "Yeah, yeah," I thought. "Another sweet little book with no stakes, no bad guy, no car chases, and no laughs."

A little while later I rose from my computer and took a peak at the book she had been holding. Just as I thought. No sword fights. No blood. No evil emperor. No underwear jokes. Blah.

Then I looked at the other book that had arrived. The one she didn't mention. My eyes immediately settled on the author of this book:

Julian Edelman.

"Julian Edelman!" I shouted. "This book is written by Julian Edelman!"

"Who's that?" Elysha asked.

"Who's Julian Edelman? Just the best receiver on the Patriots since the days of Randy Moss and Troy Brown! And apparently Jewish! Julian Edelman! I can't believe it!"

Flying High is the story of a squirrel named Jules who learns to overcome his physical limitations through hard work and the assistance of a goat named Tom.

If you know anything about the Patriots, you understand the genius of this plot. 

Julian Edelman is an undersized player - my height, in fact - who played quarterback in college and transformed himself into one of the finest receivers (and former two-way player) in the league.

Tom Brady is the G.O.A.T. - an expression in sports that means Greatest of All Time.  

It's true. There wasn't much conflict in the story and very little humor, but still... Julian Edelman wrote the book. 

I couldn't wait to read it to the kids. It was truly the first PJ Library book that excited me in the same way Elysha, Clara, and Charlie are so often excited about these books.

I guess even a blind squirrel can find a nut every now and again.

Sibling love is a strange and varied thing

Sometimes they want to kill each other, and sometimes they aggressively ignore each other, but more often than not, there are days when I walk into the room and find this and my heart breaks. 

Even if my son has his shoe in his mouth. 

Complacency kills.

Regardless of what I am doing or have ever done, I have always asked myself this question:

"Who is better than me?"

Whether I was managing a McDonald's restaurant, sitting in a sociology class, writing a novel, playing golf, performing onstage, or teaching multiplication to fifth graders, I'm always looking around and asking, "Who is better than me?"

I do this for one of two reasons:

  1. Identify the person or persons who can teach me to be better.
  2. Identify the person or persons who I need to beat, crush, stomp on, step over, or defeat.

There is always someone better than you. The bar is always higher than you think. When you stop looking for and striving for that higher bar, you are doomed to remain far below it.  

Failure to seek out people better than you results in complacency, and complacency is the worst. Complacency produces mediocrity and a false sense of security. It results in an inability to see the scarcity of resources and increasing levels of competition in this world. 

The end product are individuals who fail to realize their full potential and are caught off guard when the economic climate shifts and the world moves on without them. 

We see this all the time. I see this all the time. People who feel secure in their jobs suddenly out-hustled. Outsourced. Made irrelevant by technology. People who fail to provide value to their employers, their customers, their students, and their constituency by assuming that they are doing a fine job. Good enough.

"Who is better than me?" is a question that guarantees continuous growth. Self-determination. Flexibility. Adaptability. A competitive edge.

I ask this question constantly, and I never need to look very far to find someone who fits the bill. There is always someone better than me. Someone who I am learning from or chasing after or attempting to destroy.

Lyric Problems: Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe"

Carly Rae Jepsen's 2016 hit song "Call Me Maybe" was a favorite of mine during the summer and fall of that year as it packed floors at weddings where I was working as a DJ.

But I have one problem with the song. One niggling complaint. 

The chorus of the song goes:

Hey I just met you
And this is crazy
But here's my number
So call me maybe
It's hard to look right at you baby
But here's my number
So call me maybe

"This is crazy?" I don't understand what is "crazy" about the scenario described. You meet someone who you find attractive, so you ask for or offer your phone number in hopes of reconnecting. 

This is not crazy. It's normal. It's how dating works. Right?

Or it's how dating worked when I was dating. Many a time I met a girl at a party or a dance club or the beach or the mall or a concert or Disney World or the the produce section in the Stop & Shop in Attleboro, MA or a rest area on I-95 in New Hampshire or a liquor store in Myrtle Beach (to name a few), and after talking for a while, I asked if I could have her number and call her sometime. 

Not crazy. Just dating. Right?

"Don't you dare..." are words most frequently uttered by morons

This is a tweet from Pastor Greg Locke, an outspoken, mouth-breathing conservative who opposes the rights of gay, transexual, and transgender Americans and has gone so far as to call them mentally ill and criminal. He's also a supporter of Donald Trump and many of his policies. 

Yesterday Locke tweeted this:

If you haven't heard, Eminem produced a freestyle rap about Trump that has gone viral. It's angry, clever, pointed attack on the President and (more surprising) his fans who support Trump.

I have two comments on Locke's tweet:

1. His description of Eminem is ironically a near-perfect description of Donald Trump.  

2. More important, Locke did that stupid thing that people do.

He writes, "Don't you dare lecture us..." 

Don't you dare? He already dared. He produced a four minute freestyle rap video that clearly lectures about politics and that you clearly watched. How can Eminem not dare to do something that he's already done and you know he's already done?

Do you think he has a time machine? 

It's sad and stupid when someone uses this meaningless, overly dramatic rhetoric to try to make a point. Proper retorts to the "Don't you dare..." nonsense include:

1. Too late, wing nut. I dared. And you know I did. That's why you're talking about it. What is wrong with you?

2. Hey dumbass, this isn't a reality television show. The "don't you dare..." middle school melodrama doesn't play well in the real world where cameras aren't running and the words are meaningless. Give it a rest. 

3. Look at the angry little man, everyone! He's trying to tell someone who's already done something to not do that something. How transparently powerless and pathetically ineffective of him. What a train wreck of a human being. Kind of makes him look like a President who promised that Mexico would pay for a wall, Americans would have beautiful, inexpensive healthcare, the Dreamers immigration status would remain unchanged, the LGBTQ community would be supported at every turn, and that he would release his tax returns. All talk and no action.