The Big Trumpowski
I was listening to the Boston sports-talk radio station again and wondering why. It’s only interesting the day after the Patriots win, which they nearly always do, when I can hear the game dissected, discussed and debated ad nauseum. But that leaves the rest of the week, when the programming is a mix of sports and pop-culture drivel, and right-wing political nonsense.
It’s pretty awful stuff but I have come to realize that I keep tuning in because of (here I pause for my morning Xanax and shot of bourbon) Trump. The political news has become too terrifying for me to listen to and is dominated by his calculated lies, idiotic tweets and incoherent sound bites. Mindless sports chatter is equally dopey but less malicious and destructive. If I wasn’t close to being in a medically induced coma the current state of affairs would drive me crazy.
Such mind-numbing content is bad enough, but what pushes me ever closer to the edge is the way that all this blather is delivered, in both spoken and written form. There is no escape, whether it’s sports-talk yappers or (more bourbon here) the president-elect tapping out 140 characters of bullshit from his gold-plated bathroom, from the sight and sound of the English language being raped, pillaged and plundered. I’ve been a reader, a writer or an editor for most of my life and the ubiquitous mangling of the language is especially offensive to me. During my journalistic career I was able to fight back against language-usage mayhem by editing or rewriting incomprehensible news and feature stories to make them presentable. I gained a deep satisfaction from improving poor writing and protecting a trusting public from the feeble attempts of reporters and columnists who were incapable of producing, for example, a simple declarative sentence. Now, however, all I can do is wince.
I’ve stopped expecting to hear anything approaching proper grammar in everyday conversation. Even the most basic rules, such as subject-verb agreement, have been cast aside, mostly, I’m certain, through ignorance. My wife says that language is a living thing and that what is considered proper usage is in constant flux. I can grudgingly agree with her, up to a point, but that view, if taken too far, is perilously close to giving up on our beautiful language being used artfully and effectively. Even as civilization comes crashing down around us (now where’s that Xanax bottle?) I’m not yet ready to do that.
I also believe that paying attention to words and how we use them helps us to think more clearly and logically. Before we can frame a thought concisely and unambiguously we need to know what it is we wish to get across to our audience, and why, which requires thought. That need, in turn, drives us to consider and choose words that have the desired effect, which is also, or should be, thought-provoking. Presumably, anything worth saying is worth saying well enough to be understood; if not, it’s just noise.
Is my concern with proper grammar and clear communication stuffy or prudish? Have I become a grumpy old man who screams at strangers to get off my lawn? I don’t know; maybe. But I think that being able to speak and write one’s native language according to established standards is important, a basic requirement for a society to be able to thrive and progress. If ideas can’t be communicated coherently they can’t be shared, explained or acted upon.
As Walter Sobchak, as portrayed by the inimitable John Goodman, said in The Big Lebowski: “This isn’t ‘Nam, this is bowling. There are rules here.” OK, this isn’t Vietnam and it isn’t bowling, either (I’ve experienced both). But Walter’s point is well taken: There are grammatical and linguistic rules and they need to be followed for things to be done right, dammit.
And that’s a big problem for Trump. When something is on his mind, he is unable to tell us what it is. Incoherence is a major drawback for anyone who needs to clearly articulate what he wants to do, and how. It is essential for the (shudder, gulp, swallow) president to be able to do so.
Here’s an example of Trump struggling, unsuccessfully, to assemble a series of half-formed thoughts and vague impressions into a lucid response to a Washington Post interviewer’s 2016 question on how to ease racial tensions in Baltimore:
“Well, number one, I’d create economic zones. I’d create incentives for companies to move in. I’d work on spirit because the spirit is so low, it’s incredible, the unemployment, you look at unemployment for black youth in this country, African American youth, is 58–59 percent. It’s unthinkable. Unemployment for African Americans — not youth, but African Americans — is very high. And I would create in the inner cities, which is what I really do best, that’s why when I open a building and I show you it’s way ahead of schedule, under budget and everything else — I think it was the Rite Aid store, the store in Baltimore it took them 20 years to get it built, one store, and then it burned down in one night — we have to create incentives for people to love what they are doing, and to make money. And to create, you know, to really create a better life for themselves.”
That’s a slice of Trumpspeak at its most babbling and baffling and I’ll fight anyone who says it makes sense. Such gibberish is the product of a disordered mind and can only be understood when it’s considered as part of a tale told by a fraudulently elected idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
I’m sure we’ll be subjected to even worse from this poor player as he struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard, thankfully, no more. Until then, speaking and writing clearly and elegantly are more areas in which Trump has shown himself to be entirely unfit to lead. Just as well, though; following him is impossible.
I turn again to Walter Sobchak, who was at his most unknowingly prescient when he said, repeatedly, in The Big Lebowski: “Shut the fuck up, Donny.”
