Quote by Raine:

Quote by wickedpam:
Morning

SNOW DAY!!! I don't know what got into the Big Boss but he thought ahead and shut us down for the day. I 100% approve!

I'll be out shoveling the sidewalk if anyone needs me

Is he a dolt fan?

this could be why:

It's a snow day at the White House, with Pres. Trump's schedule cleared due to the weather. https://t.co/eXeFhoFthJ pic.twitter.com/opaqbKsQrV

— ABC News (@ABC) March 21, 2018

Quote by Scoopster:
Rachel Maddow's landed an interview with James Comey, scheduled to air on April 19th.

Quote by Raine:

Quote by wickedpam:

He's a Repub but not sure he's a dolt fan. He's actually been a bit better about this kind of thing since his dad passed away about 2 years ago.

Aww. well that's good.

Glad you didn't have to get a hotel room!

I’ve paid $15 for a tasting of five wines. The wine, as Washington Post wine critic Dave McIntyre has written, is “pretty good.” Though certainly not all of it. The sparkling blanc de blancs and the mildly oaked chardonnay are the most promising; the “meritage” Bordeaux blend and the cabernet sauvignon are fruit bombs and sort of meh; and the CRU dessert wine that’s aged in Jack Daniels barrels is a sweet-toothache disaster.

I’m having trouble concentrating on the wines because the big screen above the tasting bar is playing a series of videos. The volume is muted, but there is sweeping footage of the vines, glamorous images of weddings, and shots of the winemakers. Every once in a while, Eric Trump pops onto the screen — arriving at the estate in the Trump helicopter, touring the grounds or talking to the camera. I recall that Eric and his siblings have been put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Trump Organization. When the videos end and switch to the next, you can see the video file names. One of them clearly reads “DJT edited out.”

[...]

The guest rooms are all named after U.S. presidents from Virginia, and I’m staying in Monroe (there’s also Washington, Jefferson, Madison and so on). The rooms at Albemarle Estate are even more over-the-top than at the other Trump properties: an ornate gold-trimmed bed with the same crownlike headboard as in Scotland; shelves with such knickknacks as a leather satchel, an old pipe and a pewter goblet. Gold accents, such as a gold soap dish, glisten throughout the bathroom. And the branding, even for a Trump property, borders on absurd. Here, besides the robe, the slippers and the toiletries, I get TRUMP mouthwash and a TRUMP hair comb.

[...]

We walk through hallways plastered with gaudy wallpaper that looks like a Roman toga hanging on a curtain rod, and we gaze out the big windows at the faux-Classical sculptures and faux-English hedges and fountains in a garden that appears as if it were dreamed up by a mafia don pretending to be a British aristocrat. We wander down a grand hallway that looks like a Jersey McMansion version of Versailles imagined by Donatella Versace, and our guide shows us busts of Jefferson and Washington. “They’re working on busts of all the Virginia presidents,” he says.

Someone asks, with a chuckle, “Is one of Trump next?” The manager smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Later, in the theater, we see framed photos of Trump with celebrities like Sylvester Stallone, Christian Bale and Michael Douglas — as well as Trump on the covers of a Billionaire magazine from 2004 and a Forbes 400 “Richest People in America” issue from 2003. It doesn’t seem impossible that a Trump bust is forthcoming.

Quote by Scoopster:
Okay I'm done for the day..

Thank god, Zuckerberg has finally addressed the data breach: pic.twitter.com/ZPotYaL5Vk

— pixelated boat [ASMR] binaural ~4 hours~ (@pixelatedboat) March 21, 2018

Quote by BobR:
This is a scathing travel essay by a writer who visited 5 tRump hotels. An excerpt describing the luxury boutique hotel at his winery in Virginia:

I’ve paid $15 for a tasting of five wines. The wine, as Washington Post wine critic Dave McIntyre has written, is “pretty good.” Though certainly not all of it. The sparkling blanc de blancs and the mildly oaked chardonnay are the most promising; the “meritage” Bordeaux blend and the cabernet sauvignon are fruit bombs and sort of meh; and the CRU dessert wine that’s aged in Jack Daniels barrels is a sweet-toothache disaster.

I’m having trouble concentrating on the wines because the big screen above the tasting bar is playing a series of videos. The volume is muted, but there is sweeping footage of the vines, glamorous images of weddings, and shots of the winemakers. Every once in a while, Eric Trump pops onto the screen — arriving at the estate in the Trump helicopter, touring the grounds or talking to the camera. I recall that Eric and his siblings have been put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Trump Organization. When the videos end and switch to the next, you can see the video file names. One of them clearly reads “DJT edited out.”

[...]

The guest rooms are all named after U.S. presidents from Virginia, and I’m staying in Monroe (there’s also Washington, Jefferson, Madison and so on). The rooms at Albemarle Estate are even more over-the-top than at the other Trump properties: an ornate gold-trimmed bed with the same crownlike headboard as in Scotland; shelves with such knickknacks as a leather satchel, an old pipe and a pewter goblet. Gold accents, such as a gold soap dish, glisten throughout the bathroom. And the branding, even for a Trump property, borders on absurd. Here, besides the robe, the slippers and the toiletries, I get TRUMP mouthwash and a TRUMP hair comb.

[...]

We walk through hallways plastered with gaudy wallpaper that looks like a Roman toga hanging on a curtain rod, and we gaze out the big windows at the faux-Classical sculptures and faux-English hedges and fountains in a garden that appears as if it were dreamed up by a mafia don pretending to be a British aristocrat. We wander down a grand hallway that looks like a Jersey McMansion version of Versailles imagined by Donatella Versace, and our guide shows us busts of Jefferson and Washington. “They’re working on busts of all the Virginia presidents,” he says.

Someone asks, with a chuckle, “Is one of Trump next?” The manager smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Later, in the theater, we see framed photos of Trump with celebrities like Sylvester Stallone, Christian Bale and Michael Douglas — as well as Trump on the covers of a Billionaire magazine from 2004 and a Forbes 400 “Richest People in America” issue from 2003. It doesn’t seem impossible that a Trump bust is forthcoming.

Mostly, though, I’ve been overwhelmed by a relentless, insistent, in-your-face mediocrity: the scolding “Notice to Guests” in my room at the Trump MacLeod House & Lodge in Scotland, warning that I will be charged punitively if I take the lint brush, shoehorn, coasters or other Trump-branded amenities; the strange card displayed in my room at the Albemarle Estate in Charlottesville explaining that “Countryside stink bugs” will “occasionally be found” inside and the jar of stale chocolate chip cookies I’m told was the only food available later at night; the eerie near-emptiness and peeling paint of the Trump International Hotel & Tower in Panama, touted as the tallest building in Central America. And it’s this mediocrity that’s the most disquieting.

Quote by Mondobubba:

Quote by BobR:
This is a scathing travel essay by a writer who visited 5 tRump hotels. An excerpt describing the luxury boutique hotel at his winery in Virginia:

I’ve paid $15 for a tasting of five wines. The wine, as Washington Post wine critic Dave McIntyre has written, is “pretty good.” Though certainly not all of it. The sparkling blanc de blancs and the mildly oaked chardonnay are the most promising; the “meritage” Bordeaux blend and the cabernet sauvignon are fruit bombs and sort of meh; and the CRU dessert wine that’s aged in Jack Daniels barrels is a sweet-toothache disaster.

I’m having trouble concentrating on the wines because the big screen above the tasting bar is playing a series of videos. The volume is muted, but there is sweeping footage of the vines, glamorous images of weddings, and shots of the winemakers. Every once in a while, Eric Trump pops onto the screen — arriving at the estate in the Trump helicopter, touring the grounds or talking to the camera. I recall that Eric and his siblings have been put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Trump Organization. When the videos end and switch to the next, you can see the video file names. One of them clearly reads “DJT edited out.”

[...]

The guest rooms are all named after U.S. presidents from Virginia, and I’m staying in Monroe (there’s also Washington, Jefferson, Madison and so on). The rooms at Albemarle Estate are even more over-the-top than at the other Trump properties: an ornate gold-trimmed bed with the same crownlike headboard as in Scotland; shelves with such knickknacks as a leather satchel, an old pipe and a pewter goblet. Gold accents, such as a gold soap dish, glisten throughout the bathroom. And the branding, even for a Trump property, borders on absurd. Here, besides the robe, the slippers and the toiletries, I get TRUMP mouthwash and a TRUMP hair comb.

[...]

We walk through hallways plastered with gaudy wallpaper that looks like a Roman toga hanging on a curtain rod, and we gaze out the big windows at the faux-Classical sculptures and faux-English hedges and fountains in a garden that appears as if it were dreamed up by a mafia don pretending to be a British aristocrat. We wander down a grand hallway that looks like a Jersey McMansion version of Versailles imagined by Donatella Versace, and our guide shows us busts of Jefferson and Washington. “They’re working on busts of all the Virginia presidents,” he says.

Someone asks, with a chuckle, “Is one of Trump next?” The manager smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Later, in the theater, we see framed photos of Trump with celebrities like Sylvester Stallone, Christian Bale and Michael Douglas — as well as Trump on the covers of a Billionaire magazine from 2004 and a Forbes 400 “Richest People in America” issue from 2003. It doesn’t seem impossible that a Trump bust is forthcoming.

I'm reading the whole thing right now, so far this is my favorite quote:

Mostly, though, I’ve been overwhelmed by a relentless, insistent, in-your-face mediocrity: the scolding “Notice to Guests” in my room at the Trump MacLeod House & Lodge in Scotland, warning that I will be charged punitively if I take the lint brush, shoehorn, coasters or other Trump-branded amenities; the strange card displayed in my room at the Albemarle Estate in Charlottesville explaining that “Countryside stink bugs” will “occasionally be found” inside and the jar of stale chocolate chip cookies I’m told was the only food available later at night; the eerie near-emptiness and peeling paint of the Trump International Hotel & Tower in Panama, touted as the tallest building in Central America. And it’s this mediocrity that’s the most disquieting.

Near the old casino floor, I walk by a large man wearing a Trump-Pence T-shirt, reclining on a leopard-print fainting couch tagged for $125. “Comfortable?” I ask.

“Yeah, not too bad,” he says. “But the really comfortable ones are over there. The ones where you lay all the way back.” He points a few feet away. “See, that one. Sit on that.”

Quote by Raine:
Every single one of these essays this far has mentioned Russia.

This WaPo piece is brilliant.

Quote by Raine:

Quote by Mondobubba:

Quote by BobR:
This is a scathing travel essay by a writer who visited 5 tRump hotels. An excerpt describing the luxury boutique hotel at his winery in Virginia:

I’ve paid $15 for a tasting of five wines. The wine, as Washington Post wine critic Dave McIntyre has written, is “pretty good.” Though certainly not all of it. The sparkling blanc de blancs and the mildly oaked chardonnay are the most promising; the “meritage” Bordeaux blend and the cabernet sauvignon are fruit bombs and sort of meh; and the CRU dessert wine that’s aged in Jack Daniels barrels is a sweet-toothache disaster.

I’m having trouble concentrating on the wines because the big screen above the tasting bar is playing a series of videos. The volume is muted, but there is sweeping footage of the vines, glamorous images of weddings, and shots of the winemakers. Every once in a while, Eric Trump pops onto the screen — arriving at the estate in the Trump helicopter, touring the grounds or talking to the camera. I recall that Eric and his siblings have been put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Trump Organization. When the videos end and switch to the next, you can see the video file names. One of them clearly reads “DJT edited out.”

[...]

The guest rooms are all named after U.S. presidents from Virginia, and I’m staying in Monroe (there’s also Washington, Jefferson, Madison and so on). The rooms at Albemarle Estate are even more over-the-top than at the other Trump properties: an ornate gold-trimmed bed with the same crownlike headboard as in Scotland; shelves with such knickknacks as a leather satchel, an old pipe and a pewter goblet. Gold accents, such as a gold soap dish, glisten throughout the bathroom. And the branding, even for a Trump property, borders on absurd. Here, besides the robe, the slippers and the toiletries, I get TRUMP mouthwash and a TRUMP hair comb.

[...]

We walk through hallways plastered with gaudy wallpaper that looks like a Roman toga hanging on a curtain rod, and we gaze out the big windows at the faux-Classical sculptures and faux-English hedges and fountains in a garden that appears as if it were dreamed up by a mafia don pretending to be a British aristocrat. We wander down a grand hallway that looks like a Jersey McMansion version of Versailles imagined by Donatella Versace, and our guide shows us busts of Jefferson and Washington. “They’re working on busts of all the Virginia presidents,” he says.

Someone asks, with a chuckle, “Is one of Trump next?” The manager smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Later, in the theater, we see framed photos of Trump with celebrities like Sylvester Stallone, Christian Bale and Michael Douglas — as well as Trump on the covers of a Billionaire magazine from 2004 and a Forbes 400 “Richest People in America” issue from 2003. It doesn’t seem impossible that a Trump bust is forthcoming.

I'm reading the whole thing right now, so far this is my favorite quote:

Mostly, though, I’ve been overwhelmed by a relentless, insistent, in-your-face mediocrity: the scolding “Notice to Guests” in my room at the Trump MacLeod House & Lodge in Scotland, warning that I will be charged punitively if I take the lint brush, shoehorn, coasters or other Trump-branded amenities; the strange card displayed in my room at the Albemarle Estate in Charlottesville explaining that “Countryside stink bugs” will “occasionally be found” inside and the jar of stale chocolate chip cookies I’m told was the only food available later at night; the eerie near-emptiness and peeling paint of the Trump International Hotel & Tower in Panama, touted as the tallest building in Central America. And it’s this mediocrity that’s the most disquieting.

My imagination is that his shirt has cut off sleeves:

Near the old casino floor, I walk by a large man wearing a Trump-Pence T-shirt, reclining on a leopard-print fainting couch tagged for $125. “Comfortable?” I ask.

“Yeah, not too bad,” he says. “But the really comfortable ones are over there. The ones where you lay all the way back.” He points a few feet away. “See, that one. Sit on that.”

I’m not a golfer, but I’ve been to enough golf clubs to know that the 19th hole at the Dunes isn’t really all that impressive. Not that there’s anything particularly wrong with it (with the possible exception of the haggis bonbons, which are wrong in several ways). Mostly, it’s just sort of crushingly average.

Quote by Mondobubba:

Quote by Raine:

Quote by Mondobubba:

Quote by BobR:
This is a scathing travel essay by a writer who visited 5 tRump hotels. An excerpt describing the luxury boutique hotel at his winery in Virginia:

I’ve paid $15 for a tasting of five wines. The wine, as Washington Post wine critic Dave McIntyre has written, is “pretty good.” Though certainly not all of it. The sparkling blanc de blancs and the mildly oaked chardonnay are the most promising; the “meritage” Bordeaux blend and the cabernet sauvignon are fruit bombs and sort of meh; and the CRU dessert wine that’s aged in Jack Daniels barrels is a sweet-toothache disaster.

I’m having trouble concentrating on the wines because the big screen above the tasting bar is playing a series of videos. The volume is muted, but there is sweeping footage of the vines, glamorous images of weddings, and shots of the winemakers. Every once in a while, Eric Trump pops onto the screen — arriving at the estate in the Trump helicopter, touring the grounds or talking to the camera. I recall that Eric and his siblings have been put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Trump Organization. When the videos end and switch to the next, you can see the video file names. One of them clearly reads “DJT edited out.”

[...]

The guest rooms are all named after U.S. presidents from Virginia, and I’m staying in Monroe (there’s also Washington, Jefferson, Madison and so on). The rooms at Albemarle Estate are even more over-the-top than at the other Trump properties: an ornate gold-trimmed bed with the same crownlike headboard as in Scotland; shelves with such knickknacks as a leather satchel, an old pipe and a pewter goblet. Gold accents, such as a gold soap dish, glisten throughout the bathroom. And the branding, even for a Trump property, borders on absurd. Here, besides the robe, the slippers and the toiletries, I get TRUMP mouthwash and a TRUMP hair comb.

[...]

We walk through hallways plastered with gaudy wallpaper that looks like a Roman toga hanging on a curtain rod, and we gaze out the big windows at the faux-Classical sculptures and faux-English hedges and fountains in a garden that appears as if it were dreamed up by a mafia don pretending to be a British aristocrat. We wander down a grand hallway that looks like a Jersey McMansion version of Versailles imagined by Donatella Versace, and our guide shows us busts of Jefferson and Washington. “They’re working on busts of all the Virginia presidents,” he says.

Someone asks, with a chuckle, “Is one of Trump next?” The manager smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Later, in the theater, we see framed photos of Trump with celebrities like Sylvester Stallone, Christian Bale and Michael Douglas — as well as Trump on the covers of a Billionaire magazine from 2004 and a Forbes 400 “Richest People in America” issue from 2003. It doesn’t seem impossible that a Trump bust is forthcoming.

I'm reading the whole thing right now, so far this is my favorite quote:

Mostly, though, I’ve been overwhelmed by a relentless, insistent, in-your-face mediocrity: the scolding “Notice to Guests” in my room at the Trump MacLeod House & Lodge in Scotland, warning that I will be charged punitively if I take the lint brush, shoehorn, coasters or other Trump-branded amenities; the strange card displayed in my room at the Albemarle Estate in Charlottesville explaining that “Countryside stink bugs” will “occasionally be found” inside and the jar of stale chocolate chip cookies I’m told was the only food available later at night; the eerie near-emptiness and peeling paint of the Trump International Hotel & Tower in Panama, touted as the tallest building in Central America. And it’s this mediocrity that’s the most disquieting.

My imagination is that his shirt has cut off sleeves:

Near the old casino floor, I walk by a large man wearing a Trump-Pence T-shirt, reclining on a leopard-print fainting couch tagged for $125. “Comfortable?” I ask.

“Yeah, not too bad,” he says. “But the really comfortable ones are over there. The ones where you lay all the way back.” He points a few feet away. “See, that one. Sit on that.”

Yes, absolutely.

Quote by Raine:

Quote by Mondobubba:

Quote by Raine:

Quote by Mondobubba:

Quote by BobR:
This is a scathing travel essay by a writer who visited 5 tRump hotels. An excerpt describing the luxury boutique hotel at his winery in Virginia:

I’ve paid $15 for a tasting of five wines. The wine, as Washington Post wine critic Dave McIntyre has written, is “pretty good.” Though certainly not all of it. The sparkling blanc de blancs and the mildly oaked chardonnay are the most promising; the “meritage” Bordeaux blend and the cabernet sauvignon are fruit bombs and sort of meh; and the CRU dessert wine that’s aged in Jack Daniels barrels is a sweet-toothache disaster.

I’m having trouble concentrating on the wines because the big screen above the tasting bar is playing a series of videos. The volume is muted, but there is sweeping footage of the vines, glamorous images of weddings, and shots of the winemakers. Every once in a while, Eric Trump pops onto the screen — arriving at the estate in the Trump helicopter, touring the grounds or talking to the camera. I recall that Eric and his siblings have been put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Trump Organization. When the videos end and switch to the next, you can see the video file names. One of them clearly reads “DJT edited out.”

[...]

The guest rooms are all named after U.S. presidents from Virginia, and I’m staying in Monroe (there’s also Washington, Jefferson, Madison and so on). The rooms at Albemarle Estate are even more over-the-top than at the other Trump properties: an ornate gold-trimmed bed with the same crownlike headboard as in Scotland; shelves with such knickknacks as a leather satchel, an old pipe and a pewter goblet. Gold accents, such as a gold soap dish, glisten throughout the bathroom. And the branding, even for a Trump property, borders on absurd. Here, besides the robe, the slippers and the toiletries, I get TRUMP mouthwash and a TRUMP hair comb.

[...]

We walk through hallways plastered with gaudy wallpaper that looks like a Roman toga hanging on a curtain rod, and we gaze out the big windows at the faux-Classical sculptures and faux-English hedges and fountains in a garden that appears as if it were dreamed up by a mafia don pretending to be a British aristocrat. We wander down a grand hallway that looks like a Jersey McMansion version of Versailles imagined by Donatella Versace, and our guide shows us busts of Jefferson and Washington. “They’re working on busts of all the Virginia presidents,” he says.

Someone asks, with a chuckle, “Is one of Trump next?” The manager smiles and shrugs his shoulders. Later, in the theater, we see framed photos of Trump with celebrities like Sylvester Stallone, Christian Bale and Michael Douglas — as well as Trump on the covers of a Billionaire magazine from 2004 and a Forbes 400 “Richest People in America” issue from 2003. It doesn’t seem impossible that a Trump bust is forthcoming.

I'm reading the whole thing right now, so far this is my favorite quote:

Mostly, though, I’ve been overwhelmed by a relentless, insistent, in-your-face mediocrity: the scolding “Notice to Guests” in my room at the Trump MacLeod House & Lodge in Scotland, warning that I will be charged punitively if I take the lint brush, shoehorn, coasters or other Trump-branded amenities; the strange card displayed in my room at the Albemarle Estate in Charlottesville explaining that “Countryside stink bugs” will “occasionally be found” inside and the jar of stale chocolate chip cookies I’m told was the only food available later at night; the eerie near-emptiness and peeling paint of the Trump International Hotel & Tower in Panama, touted as the tallest building in Central America. And it’s this mediocrity that’s the most disquieting.

My imagination is that his shirt has cut off sleeves:

Near the old casino floor, I walk by a large man wearing a Trump-Pence T-shirt, reclining on a leopard-print fainting couch tagged for $125. “Comfortable?” I ask.

“Yeah, not too bad,” he says. “But the really comfortable ones are over there. The ones where you lay all the way back.” He points a few feet away. “See, that one. Sit on that.”

Yes, absolutely.

Twas a wonderful read.