Dear “Papa” John Schnatter:
I read you were having some trouble selling pizza this football season, losing some money. You know another tough way to make money? Being a black quarterback who thirty-one white owners (and one Pakistani-American owner) refuse to hire.
I have an idea. You know what would make your pizzas taste better? Kneeling on them.
On second thought, kneeling may not help. Your pizza, that is. But I invite you to try it. Kneeling, that is.
When a car pulls into that blue handicap spot in the grocery parking lot, what do you do? Do you watch and wait and evaluate whether the party who emerges from that car has sufficient woes to justify his or her decision to park so close?
May I venture that, for most people who park in handicap spots, they are not happy about their status. They do what they need to do, and it matters — more than you know, more than they admit — what you think of them. So ignore their apparatus and summon up your kindest, most generous thoughts, lest you be the one who needs that handicap spot.
I yearn for the days when my blog may once again turn its attention to something other than the disaster that is Donald Trump. I cannot begin to tell you how ashamed I am that this man, the leader of my government, presumes to speak for me. His words and actions embarrass me to the marrow.
The trope “Ugly American” originally described those Americans who traveled overseas and imposed their arrogant expectations of service, privilege and obeisance upon the peoples and places they visited. Trump has managed to bring the Ugly American home, modelling for us how Americans can be ugly to each other. This he has nailed.
Photo Credit: AP/Evan Vucci