Welcome to Hack Mule Notebook #14.
Last week was pretty quiet—I spent most days working at my desk and hanging around the Leviathan. But time spent in the Leviathan is always a material-gathering exercise, and it paid off again this week.
I also had some time to ponder the news, from the election to Meghan Markle’s latest.
As Dickens said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
Well, he was half right.
As always, I love hearing what you think. Leave a comment, argue with me, or get a conversation going with the other readers.
Elevator Follies
I saw the woman in the floral caftan and red Chuck Taylors again this week. This time she was riding up with Myrna (her real name), a woman so annoying that I’ve seen more than one person exit the elevator and announce, “It’s OK, I’ll take the next one,” rather than riding with her.
Chuck Taylors stared at me and said, “So. Arm still in a sling. Try more whole milk. Vitamin D.”
Myrna nodded and said, “And calcium. People our age need calcium.”
Chuck and Myrna are both easily 20 years older than I am, so I smiled and said, “You do! Good plan!”
We rode to the A-level where a woman I’d seen earlier with a nasty little pug got on alone. Chuck Taylor woman said, “Oh, where’s your dog? Is her name Gigi?”
“Fifi,” Pug Woman replied.
Myrna said, “I thought you told me she was Mimi.”
“No, Fifi,” Pug Woman said.
“That’s not what I remember being told,” Myrna snarled.
“Well, I didn’t change her name to fool you!” Pug Woman said.
Chuck Taylor stared straight ahead. “Hmmm.”
Pug Woman pressed the button for the next floor and got off the elevator immediately.
“Good,” Myrna said. “She can go walk Gigi.”
Chuck Taylor looked at me. “What’s her dog’s name?”
“I have no idea,” I said.
“You were on the board!” Myrna scolded.
“On the co-op board, not on the Animal Control Board,” I said.
“It’s all the same thing,” Chuck Taylor said, snorting.
We stood in silence until the elevator reached the ninth floor.
“I’m getting off here,” Chuck Taylor said to Myrna.
“I think I will, too,” Myrna said, glaring at me.
Apparently that was supposed to be a devastating social rebuke, but I had a lovely ride up to the 14th floor by myself.
Electoral Collage
There are just two things wrong with this year’s elections: the Democrats and the Republicans.
Several of you have asked me to make some predictions about the outcome, but the fact is, nothing would surprise me. If polls are correct, the Democrats have the wind at their backs, but I’m always mindful that when people get into the voting booth, they don’t reliably vote the way they tell the pollsters they will.
So, who knows?
But as a communicator, I see bigger problems for both parties—and our country—that no one is addressing very effectively.
On the GOP side, it’s Trump. For the past decade, he has sucked up all the oxygen in the ionosphere, leaving Republicans stuck between the Donald and the deep blue sea: They can run on his coattails and hope that he carries them into office, or they can mount an independent campaign and hope the voters notice.
The former might have worked two years ago, but with Trump’s approval ratings plumbing depths lower than the Mariana Trench, it’s a gamble. The latter forces the candidate to run against the Democrats and Trump. Neither is inspiring.
On the Democratic side, things aren’t any better. From the highest-profile contest to the lowliest local races, candidates are crowing about “fighting Trump.”
But that’s a policy mirage—if you’re in a local race where the key issues are taxation and traffic, you’re tilting at windmills by mentioning Trump, not advancing good governance. Opposition is not a governing agenda.
Meanwhile, the rise of democratic socialists is pulling the Democratic Party ever further left, creating an ideological analogue to the rise of MAGA on the right.
Without a coherent political middle, there’s precious little room for compromise, consensus, or effective governance.
I should put Stealers Wheel on the Hack Mule playlist, because we’re stuck in the middle with you.
If I were advising either party these days—and I’m not—I’d urge them to dump the click-bait rhetoric and fear-mongering and focus on substantive, positive proposals.
They might find that people actually like them.
Ruthless Dictator
I jot down notes constantly. Whenever I see something that makes me wonder, sounds memorable, or impresses me in some way, I note it. Sometimes I note things I don’t care about just to amuse myself. I even dictate notes on my Apple Watch when in the shower.
In fact, I’ve gotten very good at dictation since I broke my arm. Unfortunately, Siri isn’t getting any smarter.
I was reviewing my Apple Notes the other day and I found a note that said, “Dan, a woman in my office, offered 4 million asthma voice overs.”
What? I don’t know any women named Dan, and I don’t have an office. I also don’t know why I‘d need an “asthma voice over,” much less 4 million of them.
I eventually looked at the timestamp to see if I could figure out where I was when I dictated it. The penny dropped and I realized it was supposed to say, “Dawn, a woman in the management office, forwarded the form online. That’s nice of her.”
Next week Hack Mule will decode: “Thank Gerald’s charger. Letter hammer soon fencing.”
Milestones
Still Missing: Amelia Earhart. The recent Purdue University-backed expedition to Nikumaroro Island in search of Amelia’s plane may have found nothing but a clump of trees, but it is giving rise to a new theory about her disappearance: Some researchers now believe she was eaten by crabs. Here in Maryland, crabs exist deliciously down the food chain, but the coconut crabs that inhabit Nikumaroro are three feet wide and able to chomp down at 3,300 newtons of force, which is about the same crunch as an adult lion. They’re such serious predators that they eat entire carcasses, which could explain why no remains have ever been found. Hack Mule will continue to investigate the theory that Amelia got Rangooned.
Almost Home: Karl Bushby is almost home after a 31,000-mile, 28-year trek from Punta Arenas, Chile, to his hometown of Humberside, England, where his mother resides. Although Bushby survived earthquakes, war, crocodiles, and crossing the frozen Bering Strait on foot, he’s a little uneasy about returning home to life with Mom. The 57-year-old also plans to keep the pushcart on which he has transported his belongings around the globe, referring to “we” when he mentions it. Hack Mule is not up nights wondering why this guy is single.
Still Dead: Magician Harry Houdini died 100 years ago this week, although Hack Mule has not been able to pin down the date. Some reports say he died October 30 from appendicitis. His fans like the spooky theory that he died on Halloween after an intestinal blockage. (Damn candy corn!) A new report suggests that it was November 1 after being punched in the gut by a McGill University student testing his strength. Sure. Blame Canada.
Inflicted On Us: Daylight Saving Time. If you’re wondering why your phone and the clock on your microwave are an hour apart this morning, we went off Daylight Saving Time overnight. From now until March 14, we have to live in a horrible world where morning people have the advantage and the rest of us are eating dinner at 10 pm. We at Hack Mule are very disappointed Congress has not abolished this nonsense.
Listening
“Houdini,” Dua Lipa. Had to hear it as I wrote the Milestones section.
“Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” Bobby McFerrin. Playing while I queued up at the Board of Elections’ drive-through ballot drop-off. (I voted for several of you!)
“Shambala,” Three Dog Night. Blasting from the phone of an elderly man who was singing along at Nordstrom.
“Cruel Summer,” Bananarama. This has been playing nonstop at Walgreens for at least three months. The clerk told me it never ends.
“(Can You Show Me) Something Beautiful,” Trombone Shorty & Lenny Kravitz. Apple Music randomly played this for me while I was waiting for an X-ray.
“A Bar Song,” Shaboozey. Waiting for my sandwich at Woodside Deli, Germantown.
“Hand Clapping Song,” The Meters. Inexplicably the audiologist’s office has Muzak. Loud Muzak. What a racket.
“Wave,” Antonio Carlos Jobim. Working remotely at Starbucks, Bethesda.
Listen on Spotify | Listen on Apple Music
Recollections May Vary, Part 2
Last week Hack Mule covered the news that the father of one-time cable actress and formerly royal wife-of Meghan Markle is facing accusations of child-sex crimes. Thomas Markle, Sr., has continued to deny the claims, while also pointing out that he has dementia.
Reminds me a little of the mob boss who wore pajamas to his arraignment to demonstrate his unfitness to stand trial. But that’s probably just me…
Meanwhile, the Daily Mail found a storage unit Markle once rented in Mexico supposedly loaded with family photos and illicit material. The newspaper wrote that it immediately reported the cache to the FBI.
That raises so many questions: Can reporters get into storage units just by asking? How did they know about the storage unit? Did they just guess what was in it? Why would someone write “Dark Web stuff” on a paper plate and tape it to a box of hard drives as the Daily Mail suggests Markle did?
Also, why report a storage unit in Mexico to the FBI? Were the Mexican police on vacation?
This story is so weird and tawdry that I’m torn between wondering what god-forsaken trailer park spawned these people and who might be setting this man up. It’s anyone’s bet.
And as she did last week, Meghan made it all even stranger this week. With investigations about child-sex crimes involving her father taking place in four countries, Meghan thought this was a great week to announce that she’ll be starring in a…children’s show.
That’s right, a children’s show. Meghan will be on Junior MasterChef Australia next year.
Let’s unpack that for a moment. Days after her family becomes embroiled in a scandal alleging terrible crimes against children, Meghan’s first impulse is to announce, “Yay! I’m going to be on a kids’ show!”
I’ve seen clients pursue horrible messaging, but I’ve never seen one say, “Hey, let’s capitalize on the interest in child-sex crimes and announce this now!”
It’s an effective way to keep her name on the front pages, but in terms of reputational disasters, it’s right up there with the Titanic hitting an iceberg on your desk and sinking into your file drawer.
Some commentators are speculating that Meghan announced her new gig now—nine months before the job starts—to draw attention to a positive story. I’m going to go a little more cynical: I think she announced it now before the show’s producers had a chance to cancel her contract.
Just a few months ago, rumors circulated that Meghan was set to join the cast of Netflix’s The Gentlemen. Online backlash was fierce, and the show’s producers quietly dismissed the idea.
Junior MasterChef Australia’s producers won’t have that opportunity. If they want to get rid of her now, they’ll have to go through the annoying process of dumping her publicly.
And Meghan will be both the victim and heroine yet again.
Can’t wait to see what happens this week.