Jardim Itanhangá, Carnival and Washington DC

Posted on March 2, 2025 by 34orion

We live in a quiet neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro, nestled in the shadow of Pedra da Gávea—the world’s tallest coastal monolith (2,769 feet)—and a cone-shaped granite dome (whose name I don’t know and, apparently, neither does anyone around here. I have asked.). The neighborhood, Jardim Itanhangá, translates roughly to “Garden of the Stone,” and its streets and homes are graced with stunning foliage, from golden acacias to orchids of every variety, from Emperor’s Scepters to Bismarck Palms. I could go on, but imagine a tropical forest, and you’ll get the idea.

Its fauna is just as diverse. Instead of squirrels, we have tamarin monkeys (an improvement), big-eared opossums (definitely uglier), hummingbirds, parakeets, egrets, bem-te-vis, and even the occasional capybara.

Needless to say, my usual 2.5-mile trek through the neighborhood is always scenic, interesting, and filled with the constant sense that I’ll discover something new around every bend.

This was never truer than yesterday.

Around mile two of my walk, directly adjacent to a trail leading up to Pedra da Gávea and near a playground for neighborhood children, sits the Wiz Mart. It’s a tiny, overly air-conditioned, self-serve market (a lifesaver for those moments when you realize you’re out of something but can’t summon the energy to trek to a store miles away). It carries everything from cleaning supplies to snacks, frozen dinners to ice cream, beer to Powerade. I stop there almost every day for a sports drink—and, if it’s particularly hot, an ice cream bar.

Yesterday, as I approached this little oasis, I was surprised to see two women emerging in full Carnival attire. One was dressed as an indigenous figure, wearing a thong, headress and a bikini-style top. The other was a samba dancer, complete with dazzling plumage and glittering—if not exactly modest—clothing.

While not entirely unexpected (a Carnival party was happening down the street), it was a noticeable departure from the usual neighborhood wildlife. And it made me realize something: despite having visited Brazil for thirteen years, being married to a Brazilian beauty for twelve, and having watched countless films depicting Carnival, I had no real understanding of what it was—beyond a massive party leading up to Lent. (And, if I’m being totally honest, due to my Hebraic heritage, my grasp of Lent is pretty rudimentary.)

So, I decided to educate myself.

According to my most reliable source, my wife, the predecessor to Carnival was a festival called Entrudo, which may have roots in the Roman festival Lupercalia, a mid-February fertility celebration involving masks, rituals, and street festivities. In Portugal, Entrudo was marked by rowdy street parties where people gleefully hurled water, flour, mud, and citrus fruits at each other. When the Portuguese colonized Brazil, they brought the festival with them, and it became particularly popular in Rio, Recife and Salvador. There, it evolved. The wealthy organized masked balls, while the lower classes continued the tradition of messy street battles. Over time, Entrudo blended with African and Indigenous cultural elements, incorporating new rhythms, dances, and instruments—eventually becoming what we now know as Carnival.

I also learned that Carnival’s meaning is derived from the phrase “without meat,” a reference to the fasting associated with Lent. The excesses of the celebration not only highlight the fleeting nature of worldly pleasures but also serve as a release of inhibitions before entering a more introspective and devout Lenten period. The masks, disguises, and costumes allow people to shed their social identities and embrace the personas they feel truly represent them.

Finally, Carnival is a time when rich and poor, young and old, Black, brown, or white, all come together. It aspires to create a sense of unity before the personal journey of Lent. It encourages forgiveness and reconciliation before entering a period of self-reflection.

All this learning made me think: Perhaps the time has come to bring Carnival to Washington, D.C.

It might serve as a reminder to those in our nation’s capital that the world is progressive in nature. Nothing stands still. What began as a Roman fertility festival, then transformed into a mud-rowing party, has evolved into a grand celebration that ultimately reflects Christianity’s most profound meaning.

It might remind those who have forgotten the fundamental promise of our country: E Pluribus Unum—Out of many, one. Just as Carnival arose from European, African, and Indigenous traditions, the United States is strongest when it embraces all of its citizens.  Carnival would not be the vibrant, joyous event it is without the contributions of different cultures. Similarly, the United States would not be the nation it is without the diverse communities that have made it their home.

Carnival is not about the rich or the poor. It is about connection. It unites people across socioeconomic lines. Our nation was founded as a democracy, not an oligarchy, where the poor and middle class are just as vital to our success as the wealthy, the powerful and elite.

Finally, it would serve as a constant reminder to the current occupant of the White House that forgiveness, reconciliation, and reflection are far more important than personal grudges, vendettas, or the pursuit of power

There is one downside to all of this. By tradition in Rio, the keys of the city are turned over to “King Momo” on Friday morning and serves as the King of Carnival until its conclusion on Tuesday night. By tradition, King Momo is tall and fat. Need I say more. We already have a tall, fat man who thinks he is King.

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The Tijuca Forest, Climate Change and Pissing in A Stream

Posted on February 28, 2025 by 34orion

Baby, It’s Hot Outside

How hot? The cisterns that hold our water are located in the eaves of our attic, providing additional water pressure for the home. In the three weeks we have been here, we have never had to turn on our hot water heater to shower. The water that comes out of the tap is warm enough on its own.

There is no doubt in the minds of most Cariocas (Rio de Janeirians) that this is due to global climate change. I would argue that they probably understand it better than most.

All they need to do is look southwest to the Pantanal, the largest tropical wetland and flooded grassland in the world. It provides essential sanctuaries for migratory birds, critical nursery grounds for aquatic life, and refuges for creatures such as the yacare caiman and deer. But it is under threat. Climate change has dropped water levels to nearly half of what they were 20 years ago. Commercial exploitation—through fishing, cattle ranching, pollution, and deforestation—has contributed to the destruction of what was once one of the world’s most pristine ecosystems.

And then, there is the Amazon. The lungs of the world have emphysema. Over the last twenty years, more than 186,000 square kilometers of the Amazon have been deforested. To put that in perspective, that is larger than two-thirds of the countries in the UN—or imagine the entire state of Oregon stripped of trees in a single generation. The Amazon helps absorb the world’s CO₂ emissions. Less forest means more CO₂, which means higher temperatures worldwide. It affects regional and global rainfall patterns, decreases biodiversity, hinders medical research, and leads to the destruction of indigenous peoples’ habitats.

But honestly, Cariocas don’t need to look beyond their own city to understand climate change. In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the jungle in the hills of Rio was systematically harvested for building materials, firewood, coffee plantations, and livestock grazing. The streams that fed the forest were a major source of water for the city, but without the forest, there was nothing to hold the streams back. When it rained, there were flash floods and landslides. When there was no rain, there was no water, and the tropical city went thirsty.

In 1861, recognizing the problem, Emperor Pedro II placed the land under federal control and initiated efforts to restore the forest over the now-barren slopes and abandoned fields. The replanting was carried out by six enslaved people—Elueuteiro, Constantino, Manuel, Mateus, and Maria. Over the next 16 years, they planted over 100,000 trees. Today, the Tijuca National Forest, covering nearly 4,000 hectares, is the largest urban forest in the world and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

As I walk around our neighborhood in the near-100-degree heat, looking at the forest that surrounds us, I can’t help but think about the lessons we should have learned.

Left unconstrained, individuals and corporations will exploit and destroy the environment to enrich themselves, with no regard for the consequences. It is an immutable law—no industry has ever self-regulated in favor of the greater public good. As Teddy Roosevelt (back when Republicans were the progressives) once said:

“Defenders of the short-sighted men who, in their greed and selfishness, will, if permitted, rob our country of half its charm by their reckless extermination of all useful and beautiful wild things, sometimes seek to champion them by saying the ‘game belongs to the people.’ So it does; and not merely to the people now alive, but to the unborn people.”

Teddy believed, as did Pedro II, as do I, that government must play an active role in protecting the environment—not just for us, but for the generations to come. This includes supporting global agreements such as the Paris Climate Accords and the Rio Earth Summit. It means investing in clean energy initiatives like solar, wind, and nuclear power and setting environmental goals for emission standards in transportation and industry.

What it certainly does not mean is denial.

I cannot deny walking around our neighborhood in the early afternoon, in 100-degree heat, downing a liter and a half of water. And the government should not be denying climate change, as the Trump administration has done—by denying farmers access to climate data, withdrawing from the Paris Accords, rolling back renewable energy support, slashing budgets for climate research, and reducing environmental protections.

Many years ago, I was walking through a forest in the Tel Dan Nature Reserve in Northern Israel with my father and a guide. It is a beautiful place, full of streams and springs, one of the major sources of the River Jordan. At one point, we came across a little boy—no more than seven or eight years old—who was joyfully peeing into one of the streams. Our guide said to him,

“Don’t you know that if you piss in the water, it will come out of your tap in Tel Aviv?”

Without missing a beat, the boy replied,

“That’s okay. I live in Jerusalem.”

Beyond being a wonderful story about the inbred chutzpah of Israelis, it is also a powerful metaphor. Children do not understand the consequences of their actions. It is up to adults to teach them that when you piss in a shared resource, you foul it for everyone.

The Trump administration needs to understand that denying climate change, silencing discussions about it, or refusing to participate in global solutions does not alter reality. All it means is that we continue to piss into the springs we all drink from

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Salvador, A First Date, Michael Jackson and Brazil’s History of Slavery

Posted on February 24, 2025 by 34orion

Brazil’s history with slavery is shameful.

Brazil imported more than 4.8 million Africans as slaves—almost eleven times more than the American colonies and the U.S. during its own shameful past. Even more shocking is that 50% of those who arrived in bondage in Brazil died within five years of their arrival. That is mass murder, a holocaust by any definition.

I first learned of Brazil’s ugly past with slavery on my first date with my wife.

We had met the night before when we became dinner companions on the cruise ship where we were both traveling. She was radiant, beautiful, and had a delightful Brazilian accent. How could I say no when, after finding out that I had never been to Salvador, she volunteered to be my tour guide?

If you don’t know Salvador (saw-va-DOH), it was the colonial capital of Brazil and the heart of its slave trade. When you arrive in the upper city and the neighborhood of Pelourinho (it means whipping post in Portuguese) , it looks like a movie set depicting the Brazilian colonial era. The Baroque and Rococo architecture features pastel-colored buildings adorned with decorative tiles, ornate balconies, and grand wooden doors. You are greeted by Black women wearing Traje de Baiana (Bahiana attire)—long, flowing, multi-layered, petticoated dresses with intricately patterned lace blouses, shawls, and head wraps made of patterned fabrics. Their beaded necklaces provide percussion as they move to a beat only they can hear.

I am enchanted.

As we make our way to the Igreja de São Francisco (The Church of Saint Francis), we come across a group of people watching a troop of shirtless teenagers in white baggy pants demonstrating Capoeira. I had heard of this mix of martial arts, dance, and music before but had never seen it performed live. Elaine tells me that this is uniquely Brazilian, created by the enslaved Africans brought to Brazil as a means of self-defense. Their movements are mesmerizing, and we watch and applaud as they demonstrate their skills.

Just before we reach the church, we stop before a statue of a shirtless Black man standing on one foot, holding a large spear, gazing into the distance. His face is proud and defiant. Elaine tells me this is Zumbi dos Palmares, King of the Slaves. An escaped slave, he was the leader of the largest quilombo—a settlement of escaped slaves—in northern Brazil. He fiercely fought the Portuguese and their efforts to subjugate the quilombo until his death in 1695. He is celebrated for his resistance and remembered every year on November 20, Dia da Consciência Negra (Black Consciousness Day).

I am dumbfounded. Not because there is a statue honoring this man, but because I know that the history of enslavement in the U.S. is largely glossed over in most school curriculums. There are still those who believe slavery was relatively benign and that those who were enslaved actually benefited from their enslavement.

I need to make an admission here. I do not care much for churches. As a Jew, they make me feel uncomfortable and a bit paranoid. I wonder whether I will be found out by the parishioners and tossed out on my ear for being a heathen, or whether a bolt of lightning will come from the heavens for failing to accept Jesus as my savior. That said, the Igreja de São Francisco is amazing. From the decorative tiles in its courtyard to its gold-leaf interior with elaborate wood carvings, you can sense that those who built the church were celebrating their God with all the skills they possessed.

As we leave the church, we are confronted by a beggar. He is in a wheelchair, and his legs and arms appear to have been put on backwards. It is disturbing—horrifying, really. It is a punch-in-the-nose reminder of the abject poverty some suffer here, and I cannot get a 20-real note out of my pocket fast enough.

We eventually make our way to the Mercado Modelo and find a table at an outside café, ordering some of the coldest beer I have ever had. It goes down way too easily, so I have another, and Elaine orders us some pastéis de camarão, the Brazilian version of empanadas. As we eat and drink, we are entertained by a series of performers, including samba dancers, Axé, and samba-reggae musicians. When I mention to Elaine how much I enjoy the entertainment, she tells me that the Afro-Brazilian heritage in music and dance is one of the reasons Michael Jackson came to Salvador to film the music video for “They Don’t Care About Us.”

I know the song. It is an anthem about racism:

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

Don’t worry what people say, we know the truth

 All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

 Enough is enough of this garbage

 All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

Skinhead, deadhead Everybody gone bad

Situation aggravation Everybody, allegation

 In the suite on the news Everybody, dog food

Bang-bang, shock dead Everybody’s gone mad

I ask, “Why do you think he came here to film the video?”

She tells me she believes he came here for three reasons: first, because of the rich musical tradition of this place and the beat he was trying to create, and second, because of the racism that still exists in Brazil and finally because the only country in the world with a more shameful history of enslavement than the US is Brazil. She explains that even though over fifty percent of the Brazilian population identifies as Black or “pardo” (mixed race), racial prejudice is very much alive in Brazil. She tells me that Michael is a legend in the favelas, there is even a statue of him in Dona Marta favella, because he came here to shine a light on the prejudice and poverty they suffer through every day.

I think about that day a lot these days, especially since Trump and his supporters have launched a war on DEI. Brazil, a country where more than half of the population is at least partially of African heritage, recognizes that it has a race problem. They have enacted specific policies such as:

  • Law 14,553/2023, amending the Brazilian Statute of Racial Equality, which mandates that employers include fields for employees to self-identify their racial or ethnic backgrounds in administrative documents.
  • Affirmative action policies such as income- and race-based quotas in federal universities since 2012, improving access to higher education for underrepresented groups and leading to enhanced labor market prospects.
  • The Ministry of Racial Equality, reestablished in 2023, is dedicated to promoting racial equality and combating discrimination.

You cannot fix a problem until you acknowledge you have one. And you have to be blind not to see the racial problem we have in the U.S. Brazil still has a long way to go but at least they understand they have a problem.

This is a long way to say:

  • Diversity is not a swear word. It means giving ourselves the opportunity to see the world from multiple perspectives. Perspective is the key to seeing the whole picture, not just a single frame.
  • Equity means providing people with a level playing field. Fair play is at the center of our culture. When there is inequity, fair play does not exist, and we fail as a society.
  • Inclusion means feeling as if you belong. Many of us have felt like outsiders looking in at one time or another. It is a lonely feeling. Making someone feel welcome is an obligation we have as a society. Understanding how some may not feel included is called kindness, and it is not a sin.

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The Shining Light On The Hill

Posted on February 17, 2025 by 34orion

Not far from where we live is the neighborhood of Rocinha.

We pass by it—really, through it—every time we travel from our home in Barra da Tijuca to Leblon, Ipanema, or Copacabana. Perched on a sheer mountainside, it commands breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean beyond. At night, it is literally a shining light on the hill. 

If this were any other city in the world, the homes here would be among the most expensive.

But this is Rio Instead of luxury living, Rocinha is the city’s largest favela, home to upwards of 200,000 people crammed into just 0.86 square kilometers (0.33 square miles)—a population density nearly five times that of Mumbai.

Favelas are institutionalized slums that emerged when Black, Brown, and Indigenous people left their slavery adjacent jobs in rural areas in search of a better life in urban centers like São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. Unable to find affordable housing on their less than subsistence wages, they “squatted” on unoccupied land. In Rocinha’s case, that land was a former coffee plantation worked by sharecroppers. They built their own homes—first shanties, which over time evolved into brick structures, often stacked on top of one another, some reaching three stories high. They developed their own infrastructure, frequently tapping into electricity, water, sanitation, and cable services illegally.

You might think the city would have objected to this land occupation. After all, the land was owned. But the authorities either turned a blind eye or didn’t object too loudly. It solved a problem for them. If the poor had somewhere to live, the government didn’t have to invest in housing. A policy of benign neglect took root.

To those who champion unrestrained capitalism and minimal government intervention, this may seem like a perfect solution. The government spent nothing—no reals, no taxpayer funds—while simultaneously creating a permanent underclass to serve the more fortunate.

As anyone who has seen Cidade de Deus (City of God) knows, such neglect has dire consequences. Nature abhors a vacuum. Where there are no rules, people create their own—or, more accurately, the powerful impose their own rules on the powerless.

In the favelas, drug traffickers and militias filled the void. They established their own communities governed by rules outside Brazil’s legal system. Those living in favelas must pledge absolute loyalty to the criminal and paramilitary organizations that control them. In return for their obedience, residents receive protection and occasional rewards. This system, known as narco-populism, sees traffickers providing food, medicine, and cash to struggling families. In many cases, they were more effective than the Bolsonaro government in distributing aid, enforcing quarantines, and providing medicine during the pandemic. They fund community events and enforce a strict code of conduct, punishing petty crimes like theft and assault with severe punishments for the violators.

Police rarely enter the favelas—it’s simply too dangerous. At the first sign of an approaching patrol, lookouts launch fireworks, alerting the entire neighborhood. Armed enforcers prepare for battle, often leading to bloody shootouts that leave scores of residents and police dead.

No wonder many police officers find it heathier and if we are being honest, far more lucrative to stay out.

The result of this cycle is captured in the phrase “Nascer no morro, morrer no morro.” Born on the hill, die on the hill. In other words, those born in the favelas rarely escape the institutional poverty that traps them. They are condemned to a life of servitude, working for the middle and upper classes as maids, laborers, street vendors, or drug mules.

In the United States, we are taught that if you work hard, play by the rules, and use your intelligence, you can achieve anything. The American Dream promises that anyone can rise from poverty to wealth in a single generation.

But that dream crumbles in the face of institutional poverty. And the surest way to create a permanent underclass is by dismantling programs that protect the financially marginalized programs the Trump administration is determined to destroy.

Eliminating the Department of Education and diverting public school funds to private vouchers leaves marginalized communities without the resources necessary to educate their children. Cutting welfare pushes desperate families toward survival strategies that criminal organizations can exploit. Slashing Medicaid would not only lead to higher rates of disease and death but also create yet another opportunity for drug cartels and other predators to take advantage of those least able to defend themselves by providing health services the government declines to provide and generate a market for social media cures that generate even greater problems. .

I could go on, but you get the point. Gutting social welfare programs may save a few dollars in the short term, but the long-term consequences will be catastrophic. If you want proof, just look at Rocinha. Then ask yourself: What do we want to be? The shining light on the hill that is Rocinha or the vision John Winthrop and John Kennedy had for America.

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Brazil, Free Speech and The Rabbi’s Lesson

Posted on February 13, 2025 by 34orion

You may remember the kerfuffle X got into with Brazil last summer. For a few months, the social media platform was banned from doing business in the country. At the time, the disingenuous right claimed that Brazil’s actions were an affront to free speech—that people’s rights were being trampled on and that Brazil was not a true democracy.

As with so many arguments from Trump and his acolytes, this could not be further from the truth. In fact, what Brazil did was a protection of free speech. Let me go a step further: the current laws in the United States actually contradict the very concept of free speech. Let me explain.

The Brazilian constitution enshrines and celebrates free speech, particularly after decades of dictatorship. The framers of their constitution wanted to ensure that dissent was protected. However, as in the United States, the right to free speech is not absolute. Brazil specifically excludes hate speech, racism, discrimination, and the deliberate spread of fake news. Their laws also prescribe penalties for slander, defamation, and incitement to crime. When Twitter (now X) refused to comply with these regulations, it was shut down until it agreed to pay a large fine and establish in-country accountability for its actions.

The U.S. Constitution enshrines free speech in the First Amendment, but, as in Brazil, this right is not absolute. You cannot yell “fire” in a crowded theater. You cannot commit slander or libel. You cannot incite a riot. Civil and criminal laws ensure that those who cross the line are held accountable, providing the state and private citizens with remedies for protection. Media companies that violate these protections can be sued—just ask Fox News about their $787 million settlement with Dominion Voting Systems.

These U.S. laws that protect against slander and libel safeguard free speech by ensuring that what is said is truthful and decent, preventing individuals and companies from spreading spurious and hateful lies that cause harm—just as the Brazilian constitution does with its carve-outs.

Unfortunately for those of us in the U.S., we have Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act. This provision states that “No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider.” In practice, this means that social media companies cannot be sued in the same way traditional publishers can, even if they disseminate libelous content. Ironically, this section of the law undermines decency and contradicts the ideals of free speech.

There is an old Jewish parable that illustrates why this is so dangerous.

A troubled congregant once approached their rabbi and confessed to having spoken ill of someone in their community, spreading harmful rumors and gossip. They now deeply regretted their actions and asked how they could make amends.

The rabbi instructed them to take a feather pillow to the top of a hill, cut it open, and release the feathers into the wind. Confused but eager to make amends, the parishioner followed the rabbi’s instructions and watched as the wind carried the feathers far and wide.

When they returned, feeling relieved, the rabbi gave them a second instruction: “Now, go and collect every single feather.”

The parishioner was distraught. “But that’s impossible! The wind has carried them all away!”

“Exactly,” said the rabbi. “Just as it is impossible to gather every feather, it is impossible to take back every word of gossip. Once spoken, words spread beyond our control, affecting people in ways we may never see.”

There is no metaphorical wind that spreads misinformation faster than social media platforms. There is no greater threat to free speech than the immunity that Section 230 provides them. In an era of AI, deepfakes, and malicious actors who manipulate the system for their own gain, it is time for social media companies to follow the same laws that govern every other media company and individual in the country.

One final note: Jair Bolsonaro, the former president of Brazil—often referred to as the Trump of the Tropics—has been banned from holding office because Brazil’s courts found that he convened a meeting with foreign ambassadors in which he made unfounded claims about the integrity of Brazil’s electronic voting system.

Just imagine how much better off we would be if we had the same laws as Brazil.

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The Breakfast of Champions

Posted on February 10, 2025 by 34orion

Brazilians do not eat the same breakfasts as Americans.

My friend Chatty… Chatty GPT (I know, it’s a strange name, but she is very smart) tells me that a typical American breakfast consists of eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns, and coffee. Not my breakfast. I usually have coffee and maybe a piece of toast. (But I don’t think anyone who knows me would consider me typical.)

A typical Brazilian breakfast—or at least the one we eat at home—is a roll, fruit (either mango or papaya), and perhaps some cheese. My wife often has a tapioca crepe filled with cheese.

But Americans and Brazilians alike are complaining about breakfast these days.

Brazilians are frustrated because the price of coffee has gone up over 80% in the last year. Brazilians drink coffee all day long—it is as much a part of their national identity as samba or football. So, you can only imagine the political fracas over the cost of coffee, with each of the 28 political parties not in power attacking the one that currently resides in the presidential mansion. This, despite the fact that global warming and a series of storms destroyed a large portion of the coffee crop—factors that have nothing to do with politics.

Americans, on the other hand, are complaining about eggs. (That is no yolk—sorry, I have a disorder.) The price of eggs has nearly doubled to $7.09 from $3.70 last February. Of course, our national yolk is blaming the Democrats, despite claiming he would bring down egg prices on day one. The problem, much like the rest of the Yolk’s national agenda, is based on a big lie. The real reason egg prices have skyrocketed is avian flu, which is running rampant across the U.S.—but we can no longer measure it because Yolk won’t allow us to see that data.

The difference between our countries’ breakfast issues is that Brazil’s coffee crisis has an end in sight. New coffee plants will be planted, prices will come down, and there will be no ripple effect. The U.S. problem, however, will not go away. We have a government that does not believe in science, refuses to share data, and won’t fund the research necessary to prevent future crises. This means the situation will continue unabated for the foreseeable future. Worse, the ripple effect will hit everything made with eggs—which is, well, just about everything. And of course, the price of poultry will rise, because fewer and more expensive eggs mean more expensive chickens.

Which brings us to the Yolk-in-Chief’s platform of lower grocery prices—and, stand by for the big reveal—it was a lie. Shocking, I know. Even less shocking—though far more frightening—is that his followers will believe him when he inevitably blames DEI, the scientific elite, and the far left for the high price of eggs.

Sadly, the yolk’s on us for electing him.

My favorite author’s favorite catchphrase is:“There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” When you elect a fool you get what you have paid for.

Sadly, we are about to be reminded of that every time we sit down to breakfast.

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Brazil’s Heat: Hot Temps, Cold Shoulders for Trump

Posted on February 8, 2025 by 34orion

Boys and Girls, it is hot here in Brazil.

Not only is the temperature consistently above 90 degrees, even in the darkest hours of the night (thanks, global warming—oh right, that doesn’t exist because Donald Trump signed an executive order declaring it so…), but the mood of the Brazilian people is heated as well. They are angry at the U.S.

Last night, one of the leading stories on the nightly news was the return of undocumented Brazilians from the U.S. back to Brazil. The condemnation wasn’t about the repatriation itself but rather the callous manner in which the U.S. handled it. Returning Brazilians reported being handcuffed and denied food, water, or bathroom breaks for up to 12 hours. You wouldn’t treat animals that way.

Watch here:

It’s not that Brazilians dislike the USA or its citizens. I know a highly educated, beautiful Brasileira who actually married an American and seems happy—most days. But they are deeply suspicious of Trump because he reminds them of their own Trump wannabe, Bolsonaro. You remember him. He was President for a while, and then, after losing the election, he attempted the same coup as Trump by encouraging an invasion of the capital. Here’s the difference: almost immediately, Bolsonaro was convicted of election crimes and is now barred from running for office.

Brazilians love democracy. They fought for it for decades and have strict laws and a separate court system to ensure elections remain fair and that no one colors outside the lines. They see Donald Trump as an existential threat to their democracy. Let that sink in for a moment—a U.S. President is considered an existential threat to another country’s democracy. There is a lot of historical context behind that, including the CIA’s role in helping sustain Brazil’s former dictatorship, but weren’t we supposed to be the white hats, not the black hats?

The unintended consequences of this are multifaceted. Brazilians are now hesitant to travel to the U.S., meaning Disney World will never be the same. Because of cuts to U.S. aid, the Amazon—the lungs of the world—will likely face increased exploitation, giving the planet a metaphorical case of emphysema. And, in the name of “Make America Great Again” and defeating China in the global economy, we’ve effectively cleared the playing field for them. China is heavily invested in Brazil, with multiple initiatives, not the least of which includes a $690 billion loan.

Making America great again has, in turn, made China great in Brazil—which would only be tolerable if it improved the quality of Chinese restaurants here in Rio. (Don’t ask. It’s awful.)

American exceptionalism—our place in the world—was built on our willingness to fight for democracy and uphold our ideals globally. We were willing to sacrifice our best and brightest so the world could be a better place for all its inhabitants. Donald Trump has dimmed that light so much that, from here, it’s hard to see it at all.

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Posted on November 9, 2024 by 34orion
A MINOR MEMORANDUM TO MY CHILDREN
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Posted on September 11, 2024 by 34orion

That morning twenty-three years ago began like so many others had for me.  I rose early, conducted my morning ablutions, walked the dog and was in a cab heading to my office at the Sporting News before 7AM.

You could not help but notice that it was an extraordinarily beautiful day. The heat and humidity of summer had been replaced by clear blue skies and crisp fall like weather. The type of day my mother used to describe as being “positively Swiss.” It was so beautiful that I hesitated for a moment entering my building so I could enjoy it before putting my nose to the grindstone.

At 8:15 I was convinced that the most exceptional thing that was going to happen to me that day was that my assistant had actually arrived at the office on time and had kindly brought me my second cup of coffee. I thought it was going to be a good day even when I heard an airplane flying low and fast over our heads and casually remarked to her that the FAA didn’t take kindly to aircraft flying so low over the city.

That plane turned out to be the first plane which had lined itself up with the neighboring Empire State building and was flying down 5th Avenue at five hundred miles per hour. We found that out when someone came running in to my office to let us know that the Towers were on fire. We ran to the southern windows of our 27th floor office tower. It was from those windows that we watched in horror the moments that changed us forever.

We saw the second plane hit with a burst of orange flame. We watched first tower crumble and fall. And the second.  We had no way of knowing or comprehending what we had just happened:

  • 246 people who had bordered their flights minutes before had cruelly died when their planes had been converted to missiles.
  • 2,606 innocently working at their desks had lost their lives in cloud of flame and dust.
  • 343 firefighters ran into the Towers and never emerged.
  • 60 police officers disappeared into the buildings never to be seen again.
  • 8 paramedics went to save lives and lost theirs instead.

I had no way of knowing that my childhood friend and neighbor Todd Rancke , the first boy I had met when I  moved to Summit was among the victims.

After making sure that my staff had a plan to get home, and my address in case they couldn’t I began my walk home. I remember seeing dust covered people, heads down, no doubt in shock, mechanically walking up town.

On Madison Avenue cars were lined up bumper to bumper but there were no horns indicating impatience of perceived slights, just the tramp of feet as pedestrians made their way home.

Cutting across the park, I saw groups of people huddled around boom boxes listening to broadcasts of the grim news of the day. Overhead, unbelievably, I heard the buzz of fighter jets patrolling the skies of my city. At the Imagine mosaic someone had already laid flowers. I remember thinking that the world of  Lennon’s lyrics

.

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too

Imagine all the people
Livin’ life in peace
You

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Never seemed so far away.

I got money from an ATM because cash comes in handy in a disaster. I shopped at an empty Fairway knowing the city could be cut off from food for days as they shut down all access to the city. I went home and turned-on CNN and waited for the waylaid and the dispossessed to arrive. They came. They went. And we watched endless loops of the Towers crumbling.

I remember the frustration trying to reach my parents on the phone. The collapse of the towers had knocked out a major switching station for AT&T and the cell phone lines were jammed. Only my Blackberry worked.

I will never forget how good it felt when I finally got hold of them hours later and tell them I loved them.  

The next morning, I rose early and went for a long run as I was training for the Chicago Marathon which was only weeks away. I ran south along the West Side Greenway. As I approached the Chelsea Piers, I could see the smoke rising from the pile and seeing the nearly mile long line up of Ambulances waiting to assist those who were beyond assistance. I felt I had to do something.

After my run was complete, I went to the American Red Cross HQ near my home and waited for 16 hours to give blood that we hoped would be needed. When I emerged, the wind had shifted and the smell from ground zero now engulfed the city. It was like no other odor I had ever encountered. It was of death, fire and concrete dust and I wondered if this is the smell of hell.

I won’t lie. I didn’t go to bed that night thinking about the lessons we had learned in the last couple of days. At that point I was just grateful for the fact that most of those I loved and cared for were safe and sound. However, in the twenty years that have passed I have thought a lot about that day and what it has taught me.

  • Be grateful for everything. Every day is a precious day and that I need to do all I can do to savor it.
  • You don’t own a day you only rent it so you need to do your best and accept the stuff you cannot change.
  • I have learned to open my heart bigger, to love all, and to accept all for their gifts.
  • I have learned not to denigrate when I don’t understand someone or how they manifest themselves but instead to try to understand their journey.
  • Hold all those that I love close to me. They are hot house flowers and could disappear in a moment…love now.
  • Opportunities come in all forms. Be ready when the butterfly lands on your shoulder.
  • Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. And if the worst happens to look for the best in people even if they have not earned that trust.
  • My family, my wife, my sister, brother, brother-in-law  nieces and nephews are my most precious gift. I do what I can everyday to make sure they know they are cherished.
  • Learn to love better every day. It is a skill that will never let you down.

I know we have not learned enough. The days of coming together to solve our common problems have seemed to have evaporated in fake news, invectives and mistrust.

I think about how together we felt as a country in the days that followed 9/11 and how it good felt when everyone had each other’s back. I lay much of the blame for that on our former President and his political allies who rallied to divide not to include. And to be blunt, I have grown intolerant of their bullshit. Last night’s performance of ad hominem attacks, weird tales of pet barbeques, and outright lies confirmed it.

September 11th should have taught us that we are all in this together. That you need to look out for your family, friends, and neighbors. That facts are facts. Cut the crap.   Do your part and get over yourself. Ask your neighbor if they need help. Say a kind word to everyone you encounter. Smile at strangers. Every person who died on that horrible day twenty years ago would do anything to be in your shoes.

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What DJT Said About The Congressional Medal of Honor is Important and Disqualifying

Posted on August 17, 2024 by 34orion

On Thursday, Donald Trump stated that the Congressional Medal of Honor, the highest military honor we bestow, is not as prestigious as the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

He said that the “Presidential Medal of Freedom is much better” because those who receive the Medal of Honor are often severely injured or deceased. He emphasized that recipients of the Medal of Honor are typically “in very bad shape because they’ve been hit so many times by bullets, or they’re dead,” contrasting this with recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, whom he described as “healthy, beautiful” people.

To be awarded the Medal of Honor, a recipient must go through the following process:

  • Recommendation by chain of command.
  • Command review.Chain of command review.
  • Service Branch Review
  • Department of Defense Review
  • Presidential Review.
    • Congressional Notification.

To be awarded the President Medal of Freedom the only requirement is that the President decides to give it to you.

In other words, there is no comparison. The Medal of Honor is awarded to those who have taken an oath to serve this country and were willing to, or did, sacrifice their life for their country. It is not a political award like the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Why would Donald Trump say such a completely senseless thing? The secret, I believe, lies in who he has given it to—one person in particular: Miriam Adelson, the billionaire Republican megadonor, whose political advisors were present at Trump’s press conference. He was reminding them that he had given her the most important honor the country can bestow, and she owed him.

Is it a surprise that, after the press conference, Adelson’s political aide Andy Abboud was overheard telling attendees at a campaign event at Trump’s golf club in Bedminster, New Jersey, on Thursday that whatever the GOP presidential nominee needs from Adelson, he’s going to get, according to Abboud and a person with direct knowledge of the matter?

This is what we have come to expect from Donald Trump—quid pro quo for his friends in the billionaire class, with little regard for what his words mean to those who fought and died for our country. They don’t matter.

Allowing a man as base, shallow, and transactional as him to be Commander-in-Chief would be a disservice to anyone who ever fought for this country.

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