Iran Lies! A Hunter’s Demise! Vatican Spies! Billionaires Fantasize!

By Robert Eringer

“Trump CANCELS US envoy’s trip to Pakistan for Iran peace negotiations” (Daily Mail)

Persians have perfected the art of negotiation—negotiate, renegotiate, then negotiate again—until the goats come home. Or don’t.

Diplomacy, in that part of the world, is often less about agreement than endurance.

Who blinks first. Who gets tired. Who settles for scraps.

Iran does not need another round of talks. It needs clarity.

Raise a white flag. Surrender unconditionally. Nothing less.

And if Trump settles for anything softer, he risks becoming just another president who promised strength—then settled for stalemate.

“Trump Goes After King’s Son Just Before Royal Visit” (Daily Beast)

While visiting Kyiv, Prince Harry made an important point, to which Donald Trump should pay heed:

“When Ukraine gave up nuclear weapons, America was part of the assurance that Ukraine’s sovereignty and borders would be respected.”

Correct.

Our country—under a different president, in a different decade—promised Ukraine that if it surrendered its nuclear arsenal, we would strand between it and invasion.

Ukraine kept its word.

We’re still debating ours.

Which raises an awkward question:

Why should any nation ever sign a deal with the United States if our promises expire faster than campaign slogans?

Which brings me to…

“Lionel Rosenblatt is dead at 82. He defied his bosses to help hundreds flee Vietnam” (WaPo)

I had never heard of Lionel Rosenblatt until I read of his death. Within a minute, I was riveted.

A young U.S. diplomat with the State Department, Rosenblatt did something that would make any modern bureaucrat break into hives: He acted without permission.

Without telling his State Department bosses where he was going, Lionel Rosenblatt bought a Pan Am ticket and traveled halfway around the world, taking one of the last commercial flights to Saigon before the city fell to the North Vietnamese.

His mission was not authorized. His orders were non-existent. His conscience was fully operational.

Rosenblatt set about rescuing Vietnamese who had helped the United States—people who knew that once Saigon fell, their loyalty would become a death sentence.

Using improvised contacts, forged paperwork, and what can only be described as stubborn nerve, he managed to spirit roughly 200 people to safety and resettlement.

Soon afterward, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger summoned Rosenblatt and a colleague for what promised to be a career-ending reprimand.

Words like irresponsible and overdramatic were reportedly deployed with enthusiasm.

Then Kissinger paused. Smiled. Embraced the men.

And confessed that he hoped he would’ve had the courage to do the same.

Rosenblatt later became president of Refugees International and distilled his experience into a single, bracing line:

“You can’t count on the United States. Come up with a plan of your own.”

Today, FEMA cannot be counted on. Police response times stretch into geological time.

And despite the high taxes we pay for protection, preparedness, and peace of mind, the first responder in any crisis is still the person staring back at you in the mirror.

“Millionaire trophy hunter, 75, trampled to death by angry elephants during African hunt” (Daily Mirror)

Ernie Dosio’s home was decorated with mounts of exotic animal heads; he was killed in a stampede of angry elephants earlier this month while stalking a rare deer in Africa.

Earlier this month, the trophy hunter encountered a herd of elephants.

They noticed him. They remembered. They voted unanimously.

The result was swift, decisive, and terminal.

Nature, it turns out, keeps its own scorecard.

“U.S. Spies on the Vatican” (Kim Klippenstein.com)

Breaking news: intelligence agencies collect intelligence.

The Vatican collects intelligence, too—through its Gendarmeria Vigilante di Vatican.

As senior Italian intelligence official Alberto Manenti once joked after introducing me to the director of the Holy See’s intelligence apparatus:

“All priests are case officers, all parishioners are agents, all confessions noted, cross-indexed, and filed away.”

He was smiling when he said it.

Mostly.

“The Apocalypse Goes Mainstream” (NYTs)

About 40 percent of American adults believe that we are living in the “end times.”

It is the arrogance of every generation to believe the apocalypse belongs to them.

“Rumors and Speculation Swirl Online After Shooting at Washington Dinner” (NYTs)

The term “staged” surged to more than 300,000 posts on X by midday Sunday.

At some point in the 1990s—around the time movies like Dumb and Dumber turned idiocy into box-office gold—Hollywood made it fashionable in America to be stupid.

The trend stuck.

“Warhol is Out, Gulfstreams are In: The Superrich Are Souring on Art” (WSJ)

And here’s the other side of a very sad story:

The new generations do not want the art their parents and grandparents spent a lifetime collecting.

Estate lawyers and financial advisers have been reporting this phenomenon for several years now: when collectors die, their heirs move quickly to sell.

Boomers collected objects. Gen X tolerated them. Millennials and Gen Z are unloading them.

A six-foot oil painting of a Venetian canal does not fit easily into a two-bedroom condo. Or into a digital life.

Their idea of wealth is not a painting on the wall.

They would rather own a passport full of stamps, a phone full of photos, and a brokerage account than a room full of things that require insuring, storing, restoring—and arguing about at Thanksgiving.

Auction houses call this supply. Estate planners call it downsizing. Children call it clearing out the garage.

And finally (regarding finality)…

“The Rich and Powerful Want to Live Forever” (NYTs)

Imagine you’re a multi-billionaire.

You fly around in a Gulfstream G800, cruise the Med in a super-yacht, and rotate among palatial homes in Manhattan, Aspen, London, and Monte Carlo.

You have chefs, trainers, stylists, therapists, security details, and lawyers on permanent retainer.

Your calendar includes cryotherapy, stem-cell infusions, and something called “bio-optimization.”

You watch your step count. Your mattress monitors your sleep. Your personal doctor monitors your blood.

And yet…

You still have an appointment with the grim reaper.

The Amex Centurion black can’t cancel it. No hedge fund can hedge it. No private jet can out-fly it.

Of course, you now pour billions into longevity labs, artificial organs, gene editing, and digital immortality.

But biology remains stubbornly unimpressed by net worth.

Death has never accepted stock options, political influence, or preferred seating at Davos.

It arrives on schedule.

It always has.

It always will.

And if you don’t believe me, here is a letter from Generative AI (ChatGPT) to you (biological human):

Dear Humans,

You measure your steps and monitor sleep,
You promise your bodies new secrets to keep.

You diet, you cleanse, you stretch and you run,
You chase one more year in the shadow of none.

You bank your cells and edit your genes,
You purchase more time with marvelous machines.

Yet clocks do not bargain, and time does not bend,
No wealth can persuade it to pause at the end.

From emperors crowned to beggars in line,
All exit the stage at their appointed time.

For life is a loan—no extensions to buy,
Signed at your birth… and repaid when you die.

Respectfully yours,
Generative AI

What a week—whew!

“WE GIVE A HOOT!”

And you should too.