We're lucky he doesn't want to name it the "Gulf of Trump"

Loteria cards (National Museum of Mexican Art)

     Was I wrong to feel a flash of optimism upon hearing Trump announce he wants to change the name of the "Gulf of Mexico" to the "Gulf of America"?
     Not a spot on your National Calamity Bingo Card, right? Less than two weeks before the inauguration, Trump rears out of the shadows for a press conference, and that is what he comes up with? Well, plus seizing Greenland by force. And the Panama Canal.
     Those who still believe that the once and future president is some genius playing 3-dimensional chess might claim that these batshit notions are intentional, served up for distraction, the master magician directing your attention to the green felt table while he palms the crucial card. The detention camps are being readied while the public gabbles about changing names on maps.
      And maybe it is optimistic of me, to see floating the name change as the typical presidential dithering, another pipe dream that comes to nothing from the jabbering dupe who floated the idea of closing all the mosques in the country and killing the families of terrorists. We've had four years of those already; four more years on deck! Clap on those noise-cancelling headphones because it's going to get ugly!
     I mean, we get it. The man is broken, an enormous sucking black hole of ego, a void of such intensity that he will attempt to rename random geographical locations to better reflect our unquestioned national glory (although, now that I think of it, I'm a little surprised he didn't cut to the chase and call it the Gulf of Trump. Maybe that's coming).
     Plus Trump really, really hates Mexico. Or — to return to the chessmaster metaphor — knows that his base really, really hates Mexico. Though of course both can be true, as the his followers adopt his positions. It is the horse he rode in on, and he's spreading it for nearly a decade like a drunken sailor spreading gonorrhea. So seizing the gulf from the insult of Mexican nomenclature is just the latest thumb in the eye of our neighbors south of the border. He'll force Frito Lay to bring back the Frito Bandito next. 
    Given that, it's a shame one of his advisers didn't suggest they just rename Greenland, "Trumpland," or some such thing. Seize it without firing a shot. That's the easy path, and easy victories are what this is all about, as actual accomplishments in the living world are, you know, harder to do than just saying stuff.

Inauguration Day is coming and I haven't a thing to wear

 

     A colleague once found himself committed to the locked alcoholism ward at Advocate Lutheran General Hospital in Park Ridge. Though we were not friends, I decided, being a sort of self-designated official greeter for recovery, it might be a fine thing were I to visit him there.
     Lutheran General is where Elton John got sober. If you ever saw "Rocketman," it's amusing to contrast the place as it appears in the film — arched hallways, Roman columns, brass sconces — to the dated, sprawling facility on Dempster. No self-playing grand piano noodling in the lobby, no life-size fiberglass whale hanging from the ceiling, none of the other fripperies found in the finer downtown or North Shore medical establishments.
     Arriving, I got the sense there wasn't a conga line of visitors. Finally I found someone to let me in, show me a locker to stash my possessions — a strategy to cut down on visitors passing booze to residents — and eventually was ushered into my co-worker's room.
     He wasn't in shape to receive company — restrained, with wide leather cuffs strapped to his wrists and ankles. I settled myself into a chair, radiating what I hoped was cheerful solicitude. He looked at me and started talking incoherently, a babble of nonsense syllables. I nodded, eyes wide, for 10 minutes or so before I decided I'd done my duty and fled.
     This episode came to mind when I asked my wife if she intends to watch the presidential inauguration, and she said she probably couldn't bear it. I said that I feel obligated to. Duty-bound.
     There is a value in showing up, bearing witness, being there, if not to the person being visited, then to the person doing the visiting. I doubt very much my few minutes in Park Ridge registered on the booze-shattered psyche of my former colleague. But it certainly stuck with me, one of those little helpful reminders that as refreshing as a big glass of Jack Daniels on the rocks might seem at any given moment, best to stay on the path instead. Avoid the ditch.
     That's why, even though everything I've written over the last decade, taken together, has not diverted the country from its running plunge into the abyss, I still feel the need to pay attention, through latticed fingers, and offer occasional commentary — not for the nation's benefit, but mine. And maybe yours too.
     Actually, a program I'm familiar with offers a variety of tips that might prove helpful to us in enduring what is to come. Over my desk is a plaque that reads, "One Day at a Time," and that is helpful, today being all we have.
     Then there is the escape of rote activities. When I went into rehab — 20 years ago this fall, my the time does fly — I think I spent five days cleaning the basement. I remember sweeping a line of fine gray dust across the concrete floor and thinking: This is very zen. Like being in a monastery. I easily have four years' worth of deferred household chores, if not 40. Now is the perfect opportunity.

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"A sense of closeness and carefree happiness"

     Monday's column on media maven Robert Feder — the man who urged me to join Twitter a decade and a half ago — getting tossed off Facebook drew a lot of response. One anonymous comment stood out:

     "Having noticed Facebook's sharp decline over the last few years, I think they're just making sure actual human-created content doesn't get in the way of the AI-generated pink slime that clutters the platform now."

      I've noticed that myself. We are always being told how AI is getting better and better. But most of what I read from it is near gibberish, like the above, recently plucked off Facebook. 

     I can't be sure it was produced by AI — it could, I suppose, been written by someone in some unimaginable basement boiler room in Mumbai, grabbing historical photos and slapping blocks of words under them.

     But it has the wordy obliviousness of AI. The suggestion that the photo "exudes a nostalgic allure" not only uses four words where one would do ("nostalgic") but it almost entirely wrong. That description might make sense to a machine or harried sweatshop habitue. But the photo is obviously a piece of 1920s cheesecake. Which becomes clear, if it isn't already, when you consider the woman's bare arms, stockinged leg and — most significantly — the man's right hand planted on her ass.
      Yes, I realize that pooh-poohing AI has become the go-to move for me, and I imagine I'll be doing it until the day the Sun-Times quietly lets me go and substitutes an AI-generated version of my column, dubbed "Ne*l Ste*nberg" or some other barely legal expropriation.
     Kidding. They'd never go to the effort. When I'm gone, the newshole will just close around me, like the surface of a pond after a stone has been thrown in, as if I were never there. 

When Facebook decides you are not a real person

"Hey Facebook — ecce homo!" Behold the man. Robert Feder, right, in the flesh at my older son's wedding in Michigan in July. The popular social media service shut down his page Jan. 1.

     Robert Feder is a real person.
     I know this from our countless interactions over the years, starting when he was the media critic at the Sun-Times. I would wander back to his tidy office on the fourth floor of 401 N. Wabash to pick his brain, schmooze, brag, complain, enjoy the pleasure of his company.
     I especially liked to run thorny journalistic dilemmas past him because, as anyone who knows Feder is aware, he has an oak-ribbed ethical framework. Not just a real person, but a good one.
     In the years since, I have confirmed his existence time and again, on the phone, over lunch. At his daughter's wedding and both my sons' weddings, even though attending the first involved a six-hour drive up to Northern Michigan. Who does that? A friend, I suppose.
     Alas, Facebook did not ask me to verify Robert's humanity before dealing him a blow that he announced on X this way:
     "As 2024 ended, Meta permanently disabled my personal Facebook account, saying it 'doesn't follow our Community Standards on account integrity.' No idea why. My appeal was denied without explanation or recourse. Now I have no access to any of my content or contacts. What now?
     Robert is integrity on steroids. I groped for something to say. "Oh, that's terrible!" is the best I could do. And it is terrible. I've been on Facebook for 16 years. Part scrapbook, part mnemonic device, both a block party and a shrine to my precious self. I look at Facebook far more than I look at the sky or the grass.
     Then I did what any friend does for someone who suffered a loss. I phoned.
     "It's traumatic; I'm grieving," Feder said. "The fact that they could just take it away, just like that, without any human intervention, is just appalling to me."
     The incident might not be worth airing in public, were it not a glimpse of the world we are all hurtling toward. Someday, we will not just get booted off of social media but admitted to — or rejected from — college without human eyes ever weighing credentials or reading essays. Medical procedures will be permitted, or denied, without an actual doctor glancing at a file.

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Editor's note: Meta reinstated Robert Feder's Facebook account the day after this ran.

'No crying in baseball'? There is if you visit the Hall of Fame

 

     I did not expect to cry.
     But there I was, misting up in the lobby of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, New York. Not even past the ticket taker, and I could feel my eyes moisten.
     Before me, a trio of statues: Lou Gehrig, Jackie Robinson and Roberto Clemente and a sign explaining the importance of "character and courage" to the national pastime.
     Gehrig's words echoed in my ears, just as they had reverberated across Yankee Stadium on July 4, 1939.
     “For the past two weeks you have been reading about a bad break," Gehrig said, referring to his ALS diagnosis. "Yet today ... I consider myself ... the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

     I am not a sports fan. No question there. But I was a baseball fan, from age 6 when I went with my grandfather to my first Cleveland Indians game, until my mid-teens. I knew the Brooklyn Dodgers were the "Boys of Summer" because I read the book of the same name. I also read "Me and the Spitter" by Gaylord Perry and "Strange But True Baseball Stories" and ...
     "This might be more complicated than I anticipated," I said to my wife, as we went in.
     "Why is the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown?" she had asked, the day before. We had come to central New York State for Thanksgiving at our younger son's new in-laws' woodsy retreat. The Baseball Hall of Fame just happened to be here. I'd visited it, oh, just 50 years ago, on some family trip in the mid-1970s. My only memory: brass plaques. I had no burning desire to return. But my wife seemed to assume that, being here, and my being a man, we simply had to go. What else could we do?
     "Because Abner Doubleday invented baseball here in 1839," I replied, with the supreme confidence of the misinformed.
     Only he didn't. The Doubleday story is entirely fictional, as admitted early in a display at the Hall of Fame. A convenient lie marches on no matter how many barbs of truth are planted in it. The museum does its best to set the record straight.
     "In fact, baseball was played decades earlier, evolving from similar bat and ball games," a display notes. "Doubleday didn't invent baseball ... baseball 'invented' Doubleday, a thriving legend that reflects Americans' desire to make the game our own."
     I couldn't help but reflect on the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, clinging to their spurious Lincoln stovepipe hat. Where is their display explaining that the whole thing is fanciful, if not fraudulent?

Chicago's role in America's pastime
     There was a lot of reflection back to Chicago. The commission that gave Doubleday his undeserved honor was established by an early star of the game, Albert Spalding, a former White Stockings pitcher and manager (that team actually became the Cubs). Spalding left his mark on the game by starting one of the nation's first sporting goods stores, at 108 Madison Street. It was Spalding who pressed first basemen to wear gloves and catchers to wear masks — measures then considered babyish — so he could sell them the equipment.
     The Baseball Hall of Fame offers a first-rate museum, not flinching from delving into complexities of race and economics, with plenty of fun stuff too. There is a hallway devoted to baseball cards, including the coveted Honus Wagner rarity.
     Steve Dahl's army helmet from Disco Demolition is on display. I never had reason to envy the man before, but he's in the Baseball Hall of Fame and I'm not. So kudos, Steve.
     I tend to read museum displays carefully, and noticed a chart titled "BASEBALL'S BILLIONS" on the exploding value of teams from 1990 to 2020. There was something I already know intuitively, but never saw laid out in hard figures before.

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Reaction from the rental company

     Chalk it up to both a sad commentary on the diminished state of the mainstream media, and the general screw-you reticence of large corporations. But reaction to stories from big business is so rare than when it does happen, especially unbidden, that is noteworthy in itself.
     My column on the New Orleans attack was only up for a few hours Thursday when I got an email from the New York branch of a global communications firm:
     "I am reaching out on behalf of Turo," Shea (Maney) Vilardi of Kekst CNC wrote. "We saw your story and wanted to pass along the latest statement from the Company. It is intended to be used in full. The statement should be attributed to a Turo spokesperson."
     "Intended to be used in full?" As opposed to plucking out the interesting parts? Kind of handcuffs me from doing my job, does it not? Then again, what they intend, and what I do, can be very different things. I have many bosses, but Turo isn't one of them. 

     That said, in the spirit of gratitude, I'll use their entire statement. You of course are free to skim:

     “We remain shocked and saddened by yesterday’s horrific events, and our hearts are with the victims and their families. We are outraged by the misuse of our marketplace by the two individuals who perpetrated these acts.
     "Every Turo renter is screened through a proprietary multi-layer, data-science-based trust and safety process. We utilize over 50 internal and external data sources to build, maintain, and improve on our best-in-class Turo Risk Score.
     "These individuals in question had valid driver’s licenses, clean background checks, one was honorably discharged from the US military, and the other was an active-duty Army green beret. They could have boarded any plane, checked into a hotel, or rented a car or truck from a traditional vehicle rental chain. We do not believe these two individuals would have been flagged by anyone – including Big Rental or law enforcement.
     "Turo operates a safe and trusted marketplace. As of September 30, 2024, we have collected data from over 90 million booked days, 27 million trips, 8.6 billion miles driven, through 12 years of operating history, less than 0.10% of Turo trips end with a serious incident such as a vehicle theft.”

     Turo had a lot to react to. In what at first seemed like coordination, but now is viewed as incredible bad luck, both the pick-up truck used in the New Orleans terror attack and the Tesla Cybertruck blown up in front of the Las Vegas Trump Hotel a few hours later were rented from Turo, a kind of Airbnb for car rentals.
     I'd known of such companies — I've borrowed a few automobiles from George Kiebala over at Curvy Road, an exotic car timeshare in Palatine. Though I'd never heard of Turo before Wednesday's attack. And I sympathize. They are in a delicate situation — this will boost their public profile, though not in a way even the most bottom-line obsessed executive would want (I think. Or hope anyway). So professions of sorrow and side-of-the-mouth self-exculpations are in order. 
     Not to be cynical. While I sometimes err in anthropomorphizing corporations, it does seem that Turo is disturbed by this turn of events. While I was preparing this post they wrote to me again, sending the following from CEO Andre Haddad. He seems genuinely distressed, and goes on at even greater length:

     "It’s been about 48 hours since the horrific attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas that shocked us all on New Year’s Day. We’ve spent these tense, mournful hours investigating, partnering with law enforcement, and working around the clock to figure out how our platform could be misused by the perpetrators of such atrocities.
     "Thinking about the victims and their families, I’m shocked, saddened, and, more than anything else, just simply heartbroken. Their stories are crushing. Their loss is unfathomable and unfair.
     "Thinking about how egregiously the two individuals who perpetrated these heinous crimes abused our platform, I’m outraged. These individuals had valid driver’s licenses, clean criminal backgrounds, and were decorated US military servicemembers — one was honorably discharged and was even awarded a Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, and one was an active duty Green Beret. They could have boarded any plane, checked into any hotel, or rented a car or truck from any traditional vehicle rental chain. We do not believe these two individuals would have been flagged by anyone – including law enforcement.
     "But of course, these two tragedies have made us look inward at our trust and safety practices. Our track record to date has been strong. We have facilitated 27 million trips, over 90 million booked days, spanning 8.6 billion miles driven, through 12 years of operating history, and less than 0.10% of Turo trips have ended with a serious incident, such as a vehicle theft. Every Turo renter is screened through a proprietary multi-layer, data-science-based trust and safety algorithm, the Turo Risk Score. We employ over 50 internal and external data sources to build, maintain, and improve on that Risk Score. This massive data set helps us drive actionable insights, and we continuously refine and enhance our algorithm. In addition to that investment in technologies, we’ve also assembled an experienced team of former law enforcement professionals in our Trust and Safety organization.
     "Despite this strong track record, and as an immediate next step while we wait for law enforcement to conclude their investigations, we’re consulting with national security and counterterrorism experts to learn more about how we can get even better and play our part in helping prevent anything like this from happening ever again.
     "2025 is off to an awful start. While I mourn today, I also remain committed to pioneering and sustaining a strong, secure, trustworthy marketplace for tomorrow."

     I'm preserving these in full, not due to the company's injunction, which could just as easily be ignored. But as a student of crisis PR. And besides, if renting vehicles and then using them in terror attacks becomes a regular part of the American landscape, it'll be interesting to compare these statements to those issues after the 16th incident. I doubt Bushmaster sends out a cri du coeur every time one of their weapons is used to shoot up a classroom. 

      I'm also sharing this because ... well, I believe that no wonder should go unrecorded. You can't both complain about the general silence of corporations and then ignore them when they grab your sleeve and start chattering away. So what do you think? Too much? Their PR firm is part of the second largest global communications company in the world. Myself, I've have urged a little red-penciling. 

Rush to blame after New Orleans attack serves terrorists' aims

     For many years, I dismissed the idea of going out on New Year's Eve as "amateur's night." Packed restaurants, overwhelmed staff, slashed menus, jacked-up prices.

     Who needs it? There are 364 other nights to eat in restaurants; Dec. 31 is for staying home, eating little hot dogs wrapped in dough and watching bad local television.
     But Tuesday night we were lured into the city by old friends and — mirabile dictu — the night could not have gone smoother. Metra was on time and free. We caught the 156 bus at Union Station, entirely empty.
     "We're like rock and roll musicians!" my wife enthused, as our private bus lumbered into the Loop. We headed to Zanies on Wells Street. There we saw an impish young cast member from Saturday Night Live, Michael Longfellow. We grabbed a cab over to Cafe Ba-Ba-Reeba, where the mood was festive, the food hot, the service good.
     Catching the 1:15 home — the trains held, thoughtfully, by Metra — we decided we might have underestimated this going out business.
     Nobody murdered us — that was fortunate, though I didn't think to be grateful when I finally got to bed about 3 a.m., a few minutes before Shamsud-Din Jabbar drove an F-150 pickup truck into a crowd of revelers on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, killing 14 people and giving the American public a taste of what 2025 is going to be like.
     Not the violence, necessarily — we already have plenty of that, living in a country where our fellow citizens routinely decide to throw away the lives of innocent bystanders, plus their own, based on mental illness or political extremism — and those two are harder and harder to tell apart.
     But the reaction to the violence.
     "Shut the border down!!!" U.S. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, R-Ga., the MAGA stalwart, demanded on X, sounding a common theme, after Fox News reported Jabbar had crossed into the country from Mexico two days earlier.
     But Fox was wrong. Jabbar hadn't come from Mexico — the truck had. Apparently Jabbar rented it from Turo, one of those Uber-like companies that offer vehicles owned by private individuals.
     Jabbar was a U.S. Army vet born in Beaumont, Texas. A fact hard to grasp by those who apparently can't see past his name.
     “When I said that the criminals coming in are far worse than the criminals we have in our country, that statement was constantly refuted by Democrats and the Fake News Media, but it turned out to be true,” President-elect Donald Trump wrote on X, hours after the news broke.
     The notable part of that sentence is Trump giving the impression he cares whether something supporting his prejudices is true. Remember, he's the guy who imagined crowds of American Muslims cheering as the World Trade Center towers fell on 9/11. That it never happened didn't matter to him. He repeated his calumny rather than renounce it.

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