A LOST WARSHIP

So, we learn that the Russian Navy’s Black Sea flagship RTS Moskva (121) has sunk while being towed toward Sevastopol, Crimea, after sustaining major damage in a fire Wednesday.  I have little doubt that the Kremlin chose not to say that the "fire" was caused by two of Ukraine's "Neptune" anti-ship cruise missiles striking the ship and causing fires that reached the vessel's ammunition magazines, igniting secondary explosions that made the ship a flaming, leaking hulk that finally succumbed to bad weather.  

My guess is that she was a constructive total loss long before she slipped beneath the waves.  It could hardly be otherwise if the entire crew was ordered to abandon the ship because "damage control" was both impossible and pointless.

I am, of course, not "rooting for the Russians" in this war. Russia's aggression, wanton destruction, and countless war crimes immediately perish the thought.  The only way this war will end properly is if Russia suffers such enormous losses that not even a monster like Putin will consider embarking on another such "noble cause" in the future.  

Even so, I felt a strange twinge of sadness hearing that the ship had gone down.  There is a finality to a major warship sinking that approximates a human death.  It's gone.  You can't bring it back.  In contrast, even a horribly damaged warship can be brought back if the hull is sound.  Consider the USS Belknap (DLG-26) after a collision with the Navy carrier John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1975. 

Word to the Wise Guys

From Ralph Bakshi's 1972 Fritz the Cat.

The most incoherent bit in The Atlantic's excerpt from Andrew McCabe's book, when he's describing his weird interactions with Trump and McGahn just after the firing of James Comey, when McCabe was the FBI's acting director, and Trump had this idea that he wanted to pay a formal visit to the Bureau, where he was convinced he was deeply loved, and McCabe wished he wouldn't, but was afraid to say so. Trump somehow doesn't believe his assurances:

I knew what a disaster it could turn out to be if he came to the Hoover Building in the near future. He pressed further, asking specifically, Do you think it would be a good idea for me to come down now? I said, Sure.

He looked at Don McGahn. The president said, Don, what do you think? Do you think I should go down to the FBI and speak to the people?

McGahn was sitting in one of the wooden chairs to my right. Making eye contact with Trump, he said, in a very pat and very prepared way, If the acting director of the FBI is telling you he thinks it is a good idea for you to come visit the FBI, then you should do it.

Then McGahn turned and looked at me. And Trump looked at me and asked, Is that what you’re telling me? Do you think it is a good idea?

It was a bizarre performance. I said it would be fine. I had no real choice. This was not worth the ultimate sacrifice.

What on earth is this about? Why would they be pressing him like this, to say something he's already said? Is it that they see his reluctance in his eyes? Or are we reading this—is McCabe reading this—completely backwards? Is McGahn actually begging McCabe to tell Trump no? Aware that it's a terrible idea, as anti-Trump emotions in the FBI rise to fever pitch, but afraid to tell the wicked old tyrant himself and looking for backup, which McCabe, equally frightened or just clueless or both, fails to provide? It's very odd. And then,

Keep your eye on the timeline, redux

Via boundary2.

Christopher Christie, in contrast, is not being wholly candid in his own superbly subtitled memoir, Let Me Finish: Trump, the Kushners, Bannon, New Jersey, and the Power of In-Your-Face Politics, as reported by Maggie Haberman:

On Feb. 14, 2017, Mr. Christie and his wife, Mary Pat, had lunch scheduled with the president. It happened to be the day after Mr. Flynn — whom Mr. Christie did not back for the national security adviser role — was dismissed for lying to the vice president about his contacts with the Russian ambassador during the transition. Mr. Kushner decided to attend.

As Mr. Kushner tucked into his “typical salad,” Mr. Christie wrote, the president said to him, “This Russia thing is all over now, because I fired Flynn.” Mr. Christie said that he started laughing, and the president asked why.

“‘Sir,’ I said, ‘this Russia thing is far from over,’” Mr. Christie wrote. Mr. Trump responded: “What do you mean? Flynn met with the Russians. That was the problem. I fired Flynn. It’s over.” Mr. Kushner added, “That’s right, firing Flynn ends the whole Russia thing.”

Which looks at first sight like evidence of Trump's attempts to obstruct the investigation, but that's not at all what the ex-governor meant to suggest, heavens no:

My Revolution

Image via Sodahead.

I was sort of clean for Gene in early 1968, you know. I'm that old!

I cut my hair and put on a tie (paisley, no doubt, and four or five inches wide), and did a little door-to-door in our little town, not proselytizing, that was not part of my instructions from the McCarthy campaign, just collecting information on preferences, but I was glad to be a footsoldier. It was a revolution! The youth of America were going to take over, at long last, and wash our country clean of corruption! I felt infinitely superior to friends lounging around listening to Iron Butterfly (as far as Iron Butterfly goes, I guess I still do), or Simon and Garfunkel: I can't hear the new Bernie ad without a garbled lyric coming involuntarily into my mind, expressive of a weirdly wrong sentiment for a primary campaign: