CSotD: Response Time
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The GOP is convinced Trump's candidacy t'is but a flesh wound, as Kal notes, while Fitz explains the current status of the Sanders' campaign.
Consider this a rare Juxtaposition of Actually Getting It, as both cartoonists cut through floods of less perceptive commentary and get down to what's what.
I've resisted the bundling of the Trump and Sanders campaigns into a single narrative, but, as the Primary process winds down, there truly is a sense on both sides that the leaders are not in touch with the people. That it manifests as paranoid hatefulness at one end and unbridled optimism at the other is perhaps less relevant than the fact that neither party seems responsive.
The Republicans have sown their own whirlwind through a couple of decades of demogoguery and populist rhetoric, while the Democrats simply seem muddled in Beltway myopia, but, then, see the difference: The GOP is being overwhelmed by the results of stirring up fury, while, at the other end, the Democratic machine has blissfully gone on its own merry way, having never proposed an alternative to their selection nor accepted the one that was pushed upon them.
It's nearly as hard to believe that the GOP took so long to respond to the Trump insurgency as it is to believe that no other Democrat harbored dreams of the Oval Office. The easier explanation is that the GOP suffers from a complete lack of party discipline while the Democrats suffer from a hidebound lockstep that, as Fitzsimmons suggests, lacks heart.
Meanwhile, another common talking point I resist is the contempt for the mainstream media, but I have to say they have not distinguished themselves on either side in all this, donating millions in free promotion to the outrageous antics of Trump, while reducing the Sanders campaign to "crazy old man who can't possibly win" despite his decades of solid constituent support and legislative accomplishments.
Oh well. We'll get back to them in a minute.
Speaking of non-responsive
Steve Breen comments here on a case in San Diego where the father of a mortally injured child was unable to contact 911 in nearly 30 seconds, despite trying twice. If 30 seconds doesn't sound like much, count it out and imagine your kid dying as you waited for someone to even pick up at the other end, much less put you through the necessary questions before they dispatch help.
Apparently the problem there is not enough dispatchers for the number of people in the area, which seems like a math problem.
But, as with that same math problem in other areas, it's not figuring out how many dispatchers you need to do the job right, but, rather, figuring out how little money you can spend and still appear to be trying to do it right.
There are moments when some outrageous result of thoughtlessness shocks the collective conscience: The fire at Our Lady of the Angels in 1958 brought about changes in safety codes, particularly in requiring that existing buildings be upgraded rather than being allowed to coast by on "grandfathering."
I doubt this case will do that for 911 staffing, though perhaps if the coverage continues and expands, it will help. Which is to say, if nothing bright and shiny intervenes to distract everyone.
Out here in the sticks, we have a different issue around trying to save money on emergency dispatching: Small communities have moved to a centralized system where the 911 dispatcher is god-knows-where, and, more to the point, has absolutely no idea where you are, either.
I tried to call in a rabid fox a few years ago and got nowhere: The dispatcher demanded a street address and, when I said it was in a park, and named the park, and said what part of the park it was in, still wanted a number and street. A local dispatcher, of course, would have recognized the park name, but, after I finally convinced her to simply tell the local police where we were without a street address, I have no idea what she ended up saying to them, because, nearly an hour later, I finally found them two streets over, by which time the poor thing had staggered off to oblivion, the only good thing being that he was too far gone to live through the day, much less attack anyone.
I promptly put the number of the local police department in my phone, in case I ran into another situation where help was needed.
That's not the kind of solution we should accept.
Vaguely relevant connection
xkcd offers this perhaps not entirely accurate history of bicycle design, which I thought was pretty funny but which also reminded me of a column I wrote back at the dawn of time, or, in more specific terms, about 20 years ago, based, in turn, on a story from a century before that.
There was an odd little moment during my weekly curation of the 25-50-75-100-years-ago feature, when the 100-year-old newspapers were full of excited media chatter over bicycles, while the 75-year-old papers were obsessed with radio, which at that point was still something nerds assembled, not something you bought fully formed.
As with all compulsive fad coverage, it vascillated back and forth between "Look how cool we are to cover this!" and "Omigod we're all gonna die!" but, as noted, this particular piece fit in nicely with what was current in 1996: Coverage that vascillated between "Look how cool we are to cover the Internet!" and "Omigod, the Internet will kill us all!"
Presented for your consideration:
Now here are several moments of vehicular seduction:
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