The Devil Went Down to Georgia

The devil went down to Georgia, was lookin’ for a poll to steal
He was in a bind with a judge assigned
And co-defendants ready to squeal.

The devil scowled for a mugshot, gave a weight far south of real
A bail bond signed, a great nation declined
Lost to lies and a spiteful zeal.

The devil went down to Georgia, rewriting the Art of the Deal.
Nearly lost his mind while Fani had him confined
Time to start planning the appeal.

Seinfeld was a show about nothing that was quite entertaining. Trump’s Georgia surrender was a show about a very big something, but in the end it wasn’t very entertaining. As I mentioned yesterday, while Trump may one day go to prison, American news consumers are already there. The latest image to be forever burned into our collective psyche: The mugshot seen around the world; a scowl movement dropped from history’s ass. Some see a criminal. Some see a hero. I see an Imodium ad. And Trump? He saw a grifting opportunity. (Some people see the same thing in every ink blot.)

+ Susan Glasser in The New Yorker: The Harsh Glare of Justice: “There was no real news in this, of course, since he was indicted earlier this month. But that did not stop the breathless hours of coverage—the scenes of his plane slowly rolling down the tarmac, the extensive motorcade ride through Atlanta, his self-reported and highly suspect description of himself as six feet three and two hundred and fifteen pounds. The big reveal of the evening was his photo, in which he wore a navy suit and red tie. He glared straight into the camera for his big moment; the trademark Trump glower—eyebrows raised, vaguely menacing, closer to a scowl than a smile—is one he has cultivated for years. In the White House, his aides called it, simply, the Stare.” (In this staring contest, whoever looks away first, wins.)