April in Halifax, or I'll Remember April

What? Where ... is that? And why are you there? What, exactly, will you remember?

Oh, but I didn't say I was here, or there. Or that I liked or did not like Green Eggs and Poutine. I'm not sure where I am. And it's only a title. As well one as another, as Molly Bloom hinted; as well that title as the more loquacious Senator Cruz or Lying Ted? Which One Is It? And Wby Not Just Call Him One of The Greatest Assholes of All-Time, Bigger Even than I Am, Though Not as Funny, Not as Entertaining, Not as Rich, So What's the Point?

Or the slightly tidier, Prince: How to Become and Remain a Great Artist Rather than a Stinking Celebrity

Or, going the other way, the more fulsome, TLC: Trump Loses to Clinton. Better to Realize It Now and Not Waste the Next Six Months As You Might Have Most of the Last Year 

If you enjoy the machinations of politics and its sensationally dramatic packaging by much of the media, if you are thankful, moreover, that it isn't all whipped up and finished within 45-60 days like it is in so many other countries—Canada, for instance—and are further thankful that there is plenty of private fortune to fund the extended-play, director's cut version, thereby keeping the better-looking, more telegenic and predictable journalists busy, economies in places like my home state of Iowa, and also New Hampshire, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, more flush than they otherwise would be, then by all means play on—

But if, like many, you find yourself saying, My God, I am so done with this, just tell me what I need to know to stay informed, so I can get back to working more, training more, reading Proust, monographs, motions, corporate reports, entertaining Craig, cooking wonderful meals for him, making sure he has coffee in the morning with a glass of water when he wakes up, rum or port to sip with his cigar, a television to watch sports on when he's done with his reading, his writing, his running around, well then by all means read the following, and be 100% guaranteed—assured—that come Wednesday of the first full week of November of this year, you'll look back and say, Wow, if only I'd bet my uncle Cecil $100 on each of these points (below), I'd be in so much better shape going into the all-important holiday season ...

Point #1: Trump is going to be the Republican nominee for president. Don't be surprised if he gets over the delegate hump with his win in California in June. Don't be surprised if the July convention ends up confirming the disaster, even if it ends up less exciting than many television series' finales. Don't blame Trump, blame the rest of them, and the wheat the GOP has sewed for a generation. Jeb was a schlub, Rubio a twerp, Carson better suited to inspiring sales for natural laxatives, Kasich won Ohio but remains alone, and kind of a bobblehead, and Rand Paul must have known that thriftiness across the board has never been popular with voters, half of whom at a minimum need to believe they're getting something for their contribution.

Point #2: Hillary is going to be the Democrat(ic) nominee for president. Sorry, all you impassioned Bernie supporters. You're going to have to take consolation in knowing that your guy was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to her rather than imagine what would have happened if the first Jewish Socialist from Brooklyn would have busted up the banks and made Manhattan affordable again. Maybe Hillary will pick Elizabeth Warren to be her running mate. Or maybe she'll pick her husband, and they'll be like Claire and Frank in "House of Cards," which everyone knows is about them anyway.

Point #3: Hillary Clinton isn't going to be brought down by the FBI or anyone else, not for her emails, not for Vincent Foster's death, not for the scandal the special prosecutor looked into and found nothing except that her husband had gotten a blowjob in the White House, not the cattle thing, not Iraq, or Libya, or screwing up the health care thing over twenty years ago now, none of it. She's going to win. But not until the 2016 General Election becomes more fun than "Celebrity Apprentice" on lots of Colorado dope. Needless to say, afterwards something like 40% of the country are going to be mad as hatters, which is understandable after eight years of the Muslim guy from Kenya whose name rhymes with The Terrorist Formerly Known as Osama.

Come November, you're going to say, Not bad for a guy who thought the Cubs were headed to the World Series back in 1969. Who figured the jury would convict OJ regardless of the glove. Who figured they'd find at least one or two weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Who thought AC/DC sucked back when he was a kid and still thinks they suck ...

And then there was Prince.

Cream shaboogie bop ...

Another deal entirely.

RIP