Author: ness23456

Change…Who Needs It…

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In youth, change is not only welcomed but anticipated. Hoped for. Longed for. Can’t wait to get to 16 and drive, 18 and graduate, 21 and drink, meet someone, marry, raise kids, find a job. Slowly getting older is “change” too, but going from 35 years to 45 years was nothing but math, the addition of ten to 35. I admit to feeling smarter and wiser as the yearly number went up, but never was there a desire to stop it, slow it down, or deny it until…

If only…recent years, probably starting around 65, there’s been a desire for time to stop advancing, to at least slow down, let things settle. Don’t make me face something new every year. Don’t let things change. In any of the last ten years if you had offered to make time stop and existence be what it is at that moment be that way forever, I’m your huckleberry. (RIP, Val.)

From a peace of mind consideration, it is pointless to think that way…consciously. But it is the way the mind works subconsciously, below the daily humdrum of existence. The Big Beautiful Brain (BBB) does not want to age–or maybe BBB just doesn’t want us to know we are aging–until there’s nothing we can do about it, anymore. The statement implies maybe there is something we can do about it but—again—it is a falsehood our conniving, gray-mattered BBB uses to make the approaching end more palatable.

Ugh. Why is this mental masturbation happening tonight? These thoughts have been around the frontal lobe of BBB since the dawn of time with rationality leading to the conclusion, since nothing can be done, acceptance is the best practice.

But Sly Stone died recently. Sly and the Family Stone were a companion heartbeat from the 1960s and 70s. When the wonderful world of Youtube was discovered 50 years later, Sly’s music was one of the first “old friends” I looked for, right after Jackson Browne. Sly’s performing exuberance and powerful funkiness struck a chord in a very young man and was added to the cohort of musical heroes like Steppenwolf, The Isley Brothers, Bob Dylan, James Taylor, Jackson, Joanie, Cream, Jimi, Cat Mother and The All-Night News Boys, all of which are still “crankin” on Youtube. Go ahead, look. Monaural sounds played at 11 on a speaker whose dial numbers only went to ten 50 years ago, have been “remastered” and are now beyond stereo when listened to with ear buds so perfect and personal every instrument, “track”, flourish, chords, and comments can pour into the ears at anytime, anyplace.

The point? It’s hard to avoid contemplating life’s changes when music constantly reminds you of how things never stay the same. When listening to Sly and others today, it is the 50-year yesterday that is heard, and the 50-year yesterday life is relived however briefly. Any senior worth his Medicare Card will tell you reminiscing seldom leads to happiness in older people.

Ah, but…is change really that bad? Maybe. If we don’t pay attention to everything, it’s easy to see how we can think the only change in old age is bad change. We see death of friends, medical calamities, loss of vision, loss of vertical jumping ability, pharmaceutical protocols never imagined, skin texture changes, urination increases…

Okay. Took a break after trying to list bad changes in older life. It got depressing so I found Sly’s “Dance To The Music” on Youtube and listened at full volume without bothering my neighbors. Gosh, I love modern music delivery…a welcome, blessed change from the 70s.

Maybe change isn’t so bad…

(10 minutes later, after “Every Day People”) We have to embrace change and wonder at it since we really have no choice. If we rein in our rambunctious BBBs, we should be able to convince ourselves we will be able to listen to Sly and The Family Stone live, in heaven, if things go well.

Happiness? Meh…

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Happiness. Bah, humbug; Ai says: “Happiness is a complex and multifaceted concept with no single, universally accepted definition.” After listening to algorithmic crap for 5 minutes the Ai voice settled on a conclusion: “it’s a mental state where positive feelings outweigh negative feelings.” There’s an algorithm you can run for yourself. Get a piece of paper, make a T Chart (also called a “graphic organizer”, “two column chart” or “Pros and Cons”). List all your positive feelings under the Pro side and all your negative feelings under the Con side, then add them up, subtract for the difference, and find out your mental state at that very moment. Remember, if the Pros outnumber the Cons you are happy, no matter how you feel. Trust the process.

You wonder where “happy” came from? According to Ai it derived from the Middle English word “hap” which meant “good luck” and through the years the word meant something that HAPPENED (or could happen) to you not what you felt about the happening. (e.g. Winning the lottery is “hap” and how you feel about winning the lottery is “happy”.) There is no known reason or excuse how happy came to mean a feeling of being fortunate instead of the actual act of being fortunate. Fortunately for you I wasted my time looking this up so you can sit and feel fortunate you didn’t have to do it. Put that on your Pro side.

Much like all the different “theres(sic)” there are, happiness is often misused and even misunderstood. If you feel happy you read my post, for example, does that make you happy all day? For a second? For ten minutes? Ai is, again, no help. Happiness can be: “a momentary, specific emotion like the joy you feel when something good happens.” Or it can be “a broader, more enduring sense of well-being.” Ai does not offer a judgment on well-being-joy being better or worse than momentary-joy when contemplating if you’re happy or not. Thanks for nothing. But if you have to contemplate if you’re happy, logic says you must not be, and if contemplating makes you happy, do NOT look down at your navel…unless it’s an outie.

When collegiate philosophical course requirements conflicted with the happy-go-lucky (Yikes.)  lifestyle of a young man, I retreated to an area lacking external stimuli. The hopeful plan was quiet reflection and meditation would lead to a clearer understanding of why what I liked to do to be happy might not be what what I should do to find everlasting happiness and peace. It took 52 hours for the mental fog to part, revealing nothing more than the need for external stimuli.

What saved that particular young man from perpetual Naval Contemplation while looking for “life’s:answers” about happiness was contemporary literature. In James Thurbers’ “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” and collected works, he noted the need for humor and a “Sense of wonder” when understanding happiness. Wonder? Yes. Remember how you felt when you first saw Niagara Falls. Or the Cathedrals of Europe. Wasn’t the wonder, first, that made you happy? For some specific NY sports people, imagine how you’ll feel when the Buffalo Bills (for non Bills fans, insert your favorite team,) finally win the Super Bowl. There will be a dizzying sense of happiness, but isn’t it the result of wonder? They finally did it! Wonderful. Some would say the Bills not winning the Super Bowl is humorous, as well, but let’s not get Western New York angry.

As usual, the post has wandered off to the side of the metaphorical trail, but one last visit with Mark Twain ( a HUMORIST!) might help with Happiness: “There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.” Significantly, he adds: “To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.” Not much humor in either statement, but happiness? We all know what he means…

So happiness can be like your first love: you’ll know it when you feel it.

And if it never happens? The only answer to “never” is an incommunicative death, which is what waits for us all.

But there’s hope. Be patient and recognize it. Happiness will follow.

Can’t close without a thought from (honorary) Dr. Steven Wright. “Yesterday I was a dog. Today I’m a dog. Tomorrow I’ll probably still be a dog.” Take 5 minutes to think before you wonder what it has to do with happiness and why it’s The End.

PS John Lennon’s song “Happiness is a Warm Gun” has nothing to do with this post. Maybe later…

Really, Really Odd Things

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Diversity. Equity. Inclusion. How has one person been able to turn those words from the perfect definition of America into a litmus test for personal loyalty? DEI is the cornerstone of America. Think who originally lived here until we stole their land, moved them to reservations, and decided their culture was not good enough to be “included” in The New World. Manifest Destiny. Google it, young people. It is White Supremacy chronicled and defined.

Let’s think about a couple things:

1.What if the Native Americans (NA) had banned DEI in their own societies and forbid the intrusion of the WASPs(White Anglo-Saxon Protestants) who landed on the NA coast? What if NAs had been able to resist the WASPs, even deport them back to their “home” countries?**

2. What if the WASPS, once they took control of North America, had enforced strict no-DEI laws thereafter? No Polish. No Italians. No Irish. No Catholics. No Jews. No Hispanics. (New Mexico, Arizona, California, and parts of Texas would have to be “ethnically cleansed to get rid of “those people”. Where would America send them?) Understandably, native Africans would still be allowed. (Yes, sarcasm, unfortunately about a serious issue.)

When DEI is discussed now. it is about a xenophobic power issue: we want nothing but white people in charge, making decisions, controlling things. Thank, God the DEI deniers have decided to let people from all Western Civilizations to join in the select group. Poles, Italians, Irish, Catholics, some South Africans, you’re back in, guys. One can only imagine (again??) what sports would look like if we had historically denied DEI. I’ll leave that to your own thoughts, especially if any of your favorite players or members of your fantasy teams would be on a DEI “list” of some sort. DEI is also an instigator in music, food, and cultural activities we all enjoy. Piñata, anyone? Tango? Mardi Gras? Sweat lodges (saunas, now)? Modern Agriculture?

The new administration wants MERIT to be the deciding factor in American Life. Dictionary definition: “the quality of being particularly good or worthy, especially so as to deserve praise or reward.” I was going to skewer the current administration’s lack of using merit until I realized, just now, just here, that “Blind Loyally” is now a job skill! My bad for forgetting to include it in the list of traits needed to manage large Departments of the American Government, or positions of power in the same government. I’ve sadly lost legal standing to criticize Trump placing family members, news sycophants, and other loyalists in any positions he could. I’m sure our new FBI chief, for example, is up the job of doing what he is told to do. And who is a better, merit-based pick for head of the world’s greatest Army, Air Force, and Navy but a former news talking head who…who am I kidding. Nepotism? Affirmative Action? WTF.

We should all understand DEI is dead, and merit has been redefined as anything the hirer wants it to be. We’ll Make America Great Again any way we can, goshdarn it.

Last thought found accidentally by dictionary hopping; The Latin word for God is DEI. Are we denying God by denying DEI? Probably, but only if you are a splitting-hairs-type person who despises the application of DEI in America. As with most wonderfully romantic ideals of our nation, the problem is not DEI, but the political process of DEI. That might let DEI deniers off the “afterlife judgement” hook, but it really doesn’t. Modern American DEI (MAD, get the humor?), needs to reformed and enforced, not vilified and denied. Same for welfare, Medicaid, and other social support groups. Enhance them, reform, them, but do not eliminate them.

Posting needs to be reformed and enhanced, too. This type of polemic would need to be hundreds of pages long to reveal, research, discuss and settle the nuances of any subject. It’s hard to make that readable, let alone humorous.

So you just need to think about things…for now.

** Wonder if Native Americans ever thought of a wall…

Random Ramblings of No Regard***

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Bad news followed by good news on the medical front these past 30 days. Went from possible colon cancer after failed Cologuard test and subsequent “polypy”(sic) colonoscopy, to happy, clear pathology report 30 days after the whole mess started. I’ll never get those days back.

Then a routine dentist appointment yielded a “bump” in the sinus area above the teeth. Referral to a specialist had me waiting a week, but then 3d-imaging and sinus x-rays had the specialist wondering “Why are you here?”, a saying much more evocative than the “di rigor” (It’s Italian. Google it. Expand your linguistic horizon.) “you’re okay”, especially if you’ve already googled “sinus lump” and its strange, dangerous possibilities. Oh, it was the root end of my tooth. Normal bump. I mean, it should have been, but I’m not a dentist, so…Both false alarms had threatened the June 18th removal of the last defective hip. The final removal of the last of arthritis is on schedule. Until some more of the Big A visits. So the Big C and the Big A will only need watching after June. Discussions with like-wise afflicted cohorts have helped make the decision if anything else happens, no more treatments. Let it be.

The Trump-Musk feud is fun to watch until you consider how serious the issues are for all of us. Commenting on either is unnecessary but I will make this statement: Watch out for Big Tech. Specifically, our data in the hands of Big Tech. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. never delete records. There is a current conspiracy buzzing around a company called Palantir and what it plans to do with all the data “collected by DOGE” when DOGE went into the IRS, Social Security, and other government agency’s data banks, and “handed” the data to third parties like Palantir. They will know everything, so says the conspiracy.

And Ai WILL end the world as we know it. You can see Ai and its devil offspring, algorithms, being used already to torment us in Customer Service and Financial Services. When was the last time you called your credit union, bank, or credit card company’s “customer service” number and got a live, human being, even after the phone tree?** As an Aging Man, I’ve noticed the algorithms are even better at aggravation than real people, and getting an apartment, car loan, home, loan at age 73, by myself, is nearly impossible. Ai even makes it impossible to get a person to explain why. So get ready,

And if Ai puts a lot of people out of work, what will they do?  So glad I’ve aged out of that particular worry.

Reason has revealed I am the cause of the unusually terrible weather upstate NY has suffered since my return. Unprecented weather with tornadoes and a once-in-a-50-year snowfall winter “seemed” to have followed me here. My bad. But I will not assume any contribution to how bad NY sports teams are. We’re talking Championships, now, not regular season. The Bill’s fan motto is now “win one in my lifetime” which is really a question, not a hope. The Yankees had won at least one World Series in every decade of their existence. My moving probably coast them the 2010s, but the 2020  failures are their own. Jets. Ha. Orangemen? Eh. Giants? Nooooo. Knicks? Ugh and ughier(sic). Nothing really is expected of the Nets, but the Rangers last Cup win was over 30 years ago with the last appearance in the Cup finals 10 years and counting. This can’t be all my fault. The Bill’s were good but not good enough when I lived here and have resumed being The Big Tease in NY sports.. For my son-in-law’s sake the Bills better answer that motto question…and soon. And not in the negative…again…

Mets were purposely omitted: they stole Soto, so…

This post went the way of life these days. Medical questions being dismissed or answered and treated allows the mind to randomly ramble and wonder about…

S%*$. I missed Nap time.

** And when you do, do they do anything but repeat what the algorithm says?

*** Selected this title because Ai says it is “terribly clunky and redundant.” It made my day.

Truther(sic) Words Were Never Spoken

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Mark Twain is a personal idol and national treasure. He was born November 30, 1835, raised in the 19th Century and died in the early 20th, on April 21, 1910, but his observations are timeless. They defy the centuries. He recognized enduring human traits which were humorous on the surface, often dangerous to society, and funny. If you have the long view of life and believe living a good life will get you to a Good Place, Mark Twain is your prophet/guide. His life is one of triumph and tragedy as he lost 3 children to the illnesses of the times, and suffered some, himself, but his reported last words as he lay dying of a heart attack (which happened to people in those days) were “Give me my glasses.” He had more to write in the afterlife.

Most of us know Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, even though forcing a student to read something is not the best way to introduce authors and their works. Ai says the books are still being taught in “some Schools” but the subject matter can be “controversial”. Since talking about race is always controversial, Twain would be happy we are just discussing it, these days. Of course, he would point out we shouldn’t need to, anymore.

Unfortunately, our modern societal and political conversations are not about facts and truth. Pick any issue in America and you’ll find arguments, facts, and opinions to support either side, with both sides thinking the other is—at best—uninformed. My personal opinion is one side of the national debate is intent on obscuring facts and making opinion the determining factor for truth or fiction. But the opposing side doesn’t seem interested in sticking to the facts, either. Having truth be so “fluid” brings to mind this Twain Quote: “Never argue with a fool. Onlookers may not be able to tell the difference.”

I’ve written about the rhetorical skirmishes from my local paper’s opinion section, how writers pronounce themselves as know-it-alls, and lack humility. (Knowing and talking about humility, by the way, does not sound humble, does it. If there was any other way…) In speaking (figuratively) with these writers, this Twain quote often comes to mind: “The truth is no defense against a fool determined to believe a lie.” Please note in repartees with local writers I never profess 2 plus 2 equals anything, just that 2 plus 2 does not equal 5. So many political party supporters are intent on believing anything the party says. See my post about “Tribe over Truth”. An additional point is to reveal, slyly, not everybody you disagree with is wrong all the time. You agree?

But, alas, it is the fate of a semi-professional Devil’s Advocate and self-appointed Fact Watcher to learn there will always be a part of society unfazed by brilliant and cohesive skewering of a particular viewpoint. ((I honor myself un-humbly(sic), with the previous statement and arbitrarily assign myself the role of Twain in 2025. Just for this day, I promise.)) These “skewerings” are not meant to denigrate anyone or any viewpoint, but professional political statements from professional politicians are getting comical, as each one tries to satisfy what they think their tribe/party needs to hear the professional politicians say. (Hope you get the sublte, sophisticated, elitist sarcasm in the repetition of a phrase.)

This “adherence” to party dogma and debate (alliteration) leads to this post’s final Twain quote:

“It’s easier to fool people than convince them they are being fooled.”

Final declaration: Professional Politicians (Again?) have always tried to fool the voting public. Most of them do it on the fly, reacting to polling, upcoming elections, or current events. But some do it on purpose with carefully designed and artfully thought-out schemes, often involving years of planning and manipulation.

Which type did YOU vote for?

The Dawn of Man was when, again?

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Do NOT Ai (google) “The Dawn Of* Man”. The result isn’t pornographic or even humorous. Just lengthy. The exact time man “dawned” will never be known but it is fun to think about. Sometime in the past, somewhere where there were no cell phones, a hominoid stood up and said, in caveman language, “I am man.” It’s been a wild ride since. This post has elected to use “Man” as an asexual generic term referring to whatever it was(sic*) we were back in those days. Until fig leaves were found, we probably all looked similarly potato-ish* and hairy, until certain times when nature ordered us to procreate in the most attractive ways.

The idea of The Dawn of Man came up during a conversation with a friend of mine named Al. (Sidebar: the lowercase L and upper case I look the same on my qwerty. From now on Artificial Intelligence will be Ai, with a dotted “i”. Fixing first sentence, now.) Al’s name may or may not be his real name, but any friends reading this will know who he is. Al declined to engage in trying to imagine the time in history when we changed from walking hominoids closely resembling apes, to the eventual rulers/polluters of the world. His point is, well, he doesn’t have a point except that it’s a fruitless exercise and a native-born North Carolinian does not engage in fruitless exercises. When the Civil War was carelessly mentioned, he went off script, anyway, meandering around the Northern War of Aggression he still mentally fights to this day. His only contribution to my inquiry was to tell me he had to air fry some chicken, but then changed his mind to soup, adding “No one is ever going to know, anyway.”

The picture in my head of air frying soup lasted only a moment and the question of when man knew he was The Man, returned. Religion answers the question nicely, with titillating pics of Adam and Eve eyeing each other over a ripe apple. I can believe that because if God wanted it to be that way, that’s the way it would be. But I’m not sure God was that specific, in the early days. My guess is He was trying things out, seeing how they worked. Following this line of thought it’s easy to imagine Him looking at these two particular Hominoids* and saying “Yes, that’s it.” Then, maybe, a bolt of lightning into each brain and—voila—mankind is ready for dawning.

But the Robin Williams comedy lover in me sees a different scenario and it may not be that far from the truth. One hominoid kills a wooly mammoth in the middle of the summer with some shale-tipped spears and reckless abandon. He/She/Them knows the summer sun will rot the meat and comes up with the second, original idea: “I can’t eat all this today.”  He/She/Them thought this, of course, since there was no language and he/she/them had a third idea: “Give some to the others.” But how to express any of these thoughts? (PS the slate tipped spear was the first idea.) It’s my postulation that Sign Language was the first form of communication. Imagine our suddenly smart hominoid running back to the others and dragging them by the arm to the mammoth carcass. Mime may have been invented then, too. It makes sense. Our early ancestors were mimers.*

 We mark time in our history for those events we can chronicle and remember. How we got the ability to chronicle is the subject of many episodes of “Ancient Aliens”. But where the show sees alien encounters all around the world, the “evidence” is really proof of a higher power, a comprehensive, coordinated higher power. It feeds an often debunked but never forgotten evolutionary theory we are in an ant farm, and our lives are directed by the Ant Farm Owner. He/She/Them could make us do whatever he/she/them wants us to do. And somehow, they gave us just enough intelligence to contemplate free will versus fate. Genius.

So, the “Dawn of Man” is when we were dropped into the sand. And when we die (see last post) we get plucked out and thrown in the garbage bin. Unless our owner gives us a decent burial in a match box.

Make a movie about that, Stanley Kubrick.

Comments welcome, and sorry, Al for plopping your name in here.

         *Google grammar says all these are wrong. As if I care, anymore. I’m old.

Death as an Equation

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Several past posts have been about The D Word, but this post will be more objective, less emotional, almost dry, in discussing the impact of Death.

In youth, there was lots of death (sic). Pets died, farm animals died, insects got squashed, and fish got caught…and eaten. Very few of those deaths were looked at as Death (sic). Insects don’t deserve to live, anyway, and pets, well, pets came and went. Many dogs and cats wandered off the farm never to be seen again. Often, we’d find bones in the farm fields but never made any connection. At least the adults said there wasn’t any. The only emotional loss on the farm was when we shipped a favorite calf or piglet to the slaughterhouse, and as young’uns we didn’t actually knew what it meant at the time.

The facts of life don’t take long to be revealed, however, and around the eighth grade an emotion surfaced in talking about Death. What happened to Uncle Carl was defined as “passing”, per mom. It was her brother and a favorite uncle. He smoked cigarettes from packs rolled up in his tee shirt sleeves, drank, used hair product, and liked to lean on the hood of his convertible. In the 1950s and 60. He visited the farm regularly and called me “Sport”. When he stopped coming, it was weeks before I asked mom. She set me and my brother on the couch and announced “Carl won’t be coming anymore”, and as we kids pondered what we did wrong she added, “He has passed on.”

Death made itself known eventually, and we had some disagreements, but I came to understand and accepted it which was easy since my death was so far away. An early and now long-gone girlfriend said I was a great comfort at funerals. As a big, strong, quiet man woman liked to cry on me, no matter their age.

Now, an approaching Death needs to be an arbitrary factor in equations and discussions about End of Life. Input all known variables and solve for X. The word death meant nothing to the young mind and now means nothing to the old mind. In fact, Death, now, is simply the next event, the next inevitable stage of Life. Some of those were turning 13, turning 16, kissing a girl (thanks Cousin Debbie), buying beer, college, marriage, kids, marriage again, marriage again (Yes, sadly, not a typo), grandkids, and retirement. These were most of the major events looked forward to and anticipated. The first beer, by the way, was so bad, how could anyone drink it?

But beer might help with Death, if you think about it. I love beer, now, so maybe, after death…?

Naw. The equation aspect of death is a result of living. When someone near my age dies, and when someone older than me dies, there are two different equations: How much longer than the former have I lived, and do I have as much time left, as the latter. I’ve mentioned before, the age of Death and how it had to be determined for End of Life Financial Planning. Mine is 84, the age mom died. Dad died at 51, so…

The Death Equation became harder to solve when The Calamities hit. They skewed the values of certain parts of the formula, at one point even suggested a final solution, variables be damned. In sharing my experiences with friends/cohorts in my age group, it seems we all suffer something, eventually, and don’t know what to do about it. Sharing experiences has a warning implied, and several cohorts have learned of a new calamity thanks to the exposing of someone else’s old one. I learned about my new calamity, one I never would have suspected, from the reported trials of a friend in Florida.

Another friend has a better description of the equation: we are all old cars. Any car lover worth his clicking torque wrench knows there comes a time when it doesn’t make any sense to repair an old car. You fix one thing, and something else fails. Just let it go.

A recent afternoon text back and forth with a friend whose PSA is over 4 was about the worst calamity to get in old age. My choice: Cognitive Impairment (CI). Cancer, Arthritis, AMD, none seem as bad as CI. But later, as I thought about all this, I asked myself: what if I had Ci, would I not have Death to think about?

No one knows. Or at least has ever mentioned anything.

Maybe I’ll look up that Psychic I dated in the 70s…as long as she doesn’t mention marriage, again…

Random Facts That Might Be True

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“Poverty exists not because we cannot feed the poor, but because we cannot satisfy the rich.” This Facebook post makes an unverifiable statement. We can’t say if it’s true or not, but here are some numbers. Hopefully, all of them are true, or at least close to true, which is the best we can hope for these days. FYI: if they are true, it is actually the worst we should hope for, and we should do something about it. All numbers are from Google AI. In 2023, 36.9 million Americans live below the poverty line of $32,150 in income per year…FOR A FAMILY OF FOUR. $15,060 for an individual. (Of note, these people do not pay taxes so a “Tax Break” will not help them. Period.) If the reported $22,000,000,000,000 (trillion) of American-held wealth was divided evenly across 335 million Americans, each PERSON would get $60,000, and a family of four (4) $240,000. The ten richest Americans net worth increased by $365,000,000,000 (billion) last year alone. Poverty is more complicated than just money, but—come on—can we fix things or not? We’re Americans, for God’s sake, who pay Quarterbacks, Pitchers, Hoopers, and Porn Stars billions per year. Amen.

Donald Trunp recently “ambushed” the South African president with videos and pictures of atrocities “confirming” White Genocide in South Africa. Most of the “proof” Trump showed was from other countries and other times in Africa, but this isn’t about untruths. He used those untruths, however, to suspend his immigration rules to allow about 50 white South African farmers and their families—who feared for their lives–to legally emigrate(sic) to America. It is estimated 250 Palestinians die each day from activities in Gaza. Their immigration is restricted. Being the leader of the free world is a complex and thankless job.

Months ago, I posted about Quantum Entanglement (QE). If you don’t remember, go back or look it up on google. The Chinese recently proved the communication value of QE by having two particles communicate instantly over 1,000 miles. Instantly. Without any provable connection or equipment except monitors. Boom, goes the mind. Powerless, clean, faster-than-light communication.

And don’t get me started on hydrogen power…yet.

Animals and humans are threatened by climate change all over the world, but Penguins aren’t sitting around moaning about it, they are doing something positive: pooping. It seems (sic) scientists in the Antarctic studying Penguins, noticed when the wind shifted and blew aromas from the Penguin Poop Field (PPF) over the research facility, the weather changed. It is a large PPF. Keep in mind the change was noticed by very sensitive scientific equipment, not necessarily the scientists’ noses. Research revealed the Penguin Poop contains ammonia that binds with moisture in the air to form clouds. The clouds then block the sun’s rays from doing most of the things the sun’s rays do to humans. And penguins. In an entire life of watching and admiring adorable Penguins, never once did I consider they defecated. Or urinated. Or fornicated. They were always so adorable they were just stuffed animals, living forever on ice floes, dancing with their Happy Feet in sartorially splendid butler costumes. Now, they may save the world. Go Skipper!**

Back to immigration. It has been a known and researched problem since the dawn of America, with no comprehensive, bi-partisan solutions in sight. For younger people and those who do not read history, in 2013 the United States Senate was tired of the lack of resolution of the issue and its never-ending problems. The Senate organized a bi-partisan committee—called the Gang of Eight—to draft a solution, once and for all, John McCain, Charles Schumer, Lindsey Graham, and Marco Rubio (Yes, the Trump punching bag/loyalist) were notable participants. Their well-thought-out and debated draft legislation was the best 8 different political individuals could do and the Bill was passed by the Senate. America was halfway to a final reckoning with immigration reform, instead of “kicking the can down the road.” It failed in the House of Representatives, and we went back to each president doing it their own way. Obama, Trump, Biden, and Trump, again. Be human for a minute and imagine how this effected and affected a foreigner who wanted to emigrate (not immigrate) to the United States.

Our weather broke, yesterday and Spring arrived with an explosion of green and sunshine after 7 straight days of gray, rainy, cool weather. Mother Nature must have had second thoughts, so she corrected Herself by shoving dark, stormy clouds into our area for one last reminder of who is The Boss. I filmed a video of the sky with darkness, sideways rain and sleet on one side of the sky, with sunshine and blue sky on the other. Awesome!

** Google him

Please. Stop.

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I’ve written before about the “fun” of local “Letters to the Editor” in my local paper. It was fun for several months, but then…eh..it’s been awhile.

The problem is lack of growth, lack of progress. Read any comment section and you see this scene play out: Original, breathless statement filled with adverbs, adjectives, and snarkiness. Followed by breathless comments filled with adverbs, adjectives and snarkiness. Followed by more…snarkiness. (my grammar editor is “flagging” snarkiness as not spelled correctly. He/She/Them/It is wrong. Google it, yourself, and I’ve amended the grammar police’s dictionary. Oddballs.)

Maybe it is too much to expect immediate change in the tone and structure of public discourse, but is it that hard for people to see what I see? If you were asked for the sum of 2 plus 3 and answered 6, how many times would you do that before you wondered why people were correcting you, and gave a different, perhaps correct answer. (Hopefully, there is no undiscovered ethnic group/tribe where 2 pls 3 does equal 6.) Math is easy to see, isn’t it?

Past columns have talked about “Critical Thinking” (CT) and “Reading the Rome” (RR) and those expressed thoughts were not the work of a genius, or once-in-a-generation mind. (Unless you’d care to think of me that way. Your call.) They are the thoughts of an old man who paid attention. So, if all the writers and commentators are young, high school students, does the illogical repetitiveness of the stereotypical “Statement and Comments ad nauseum” (SCAN), indict our current educational systems? Yes. And the past systems. And the present systems. And commercial television. And contemporary music, And professional sports. And Capitalism. And the Free Market. Everything, Everywhere. All the time.

Huh. Finally. Nihilism explained. Maybe. Frederic Jacobi in the 18th century said Nihilism refuted the “belief in an unknowable true reality”. Uh-oh. No “true reality”? Sounds MAGAish but Nietzsche asked with God dead, where were we to find meaning in the world?

Okay, I’m off the google sidetrack, but it made clear the need for a True Reality. Trump and many others say January 6th was a kind of patriotic “celebration”. Others say it was an insurrection. All that is true, now, as the farther—in time—we get from 1/6/2021 the “less true” that day’s reality will be for both sides. Why?

As Americans we face constant MANIPULATION. Advertising. Politics. Societal norms. Rock stars have known thins for years and made a living singing about fighting it. “Another Brick in The Wall”, by Pink Floyd. “Monster” by Steppenwolf. “For What It’s Worth”, by Buffalo Springfield. In fact, find this song on YouTube from the late 60s. It clearly and precisely represents the entire point of this post. What does it say about us that a song from 1966 identifies our 2025 problems? I’m dropping the mic.

A nice thing about aging is the natural shedding of concerns for anything but our own medical and financial condition. It’s not up to the old people to save the world, we won’t be around long enough.

A bad thing about aging is the recognition nothing has changed. And sadly, may never change.

Music, again, and Jackson Browne in 1971:

“Oh, people, look around you the signs are everywhere. You’ve left it for somebody other than you to be the one to care.”

Another thing learned as an old man, the good we do and the things we learn in our youth fade with age, and there is no guarantee any following generation will feel the same. All empires decline and fall.

In reflection, this post reminds me of a recent medical test. The test is 90 per cent accurate reading negative results, but its positive results are only correct 50 per cent of the time.

Feels like symbolism for something, but it’s nap time, so…

Pets and Grief…maybe

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I can sunbathe from my second-floor balcony. I have not had a pet in over 14 months.

You may take a few minutes to try in–your own mind–to make a nice, human story from those two statements.

Okay. Times up. When sunbathing, I am not afraid to show my aging body but aware there may be some weak stomachs if too much skin is made available for public viewing. Fortunately, the sun shines into my apartment from the balcony at certain times of the day so there is a way to be secretly nudish (sic), appreciate the sun, and ensure innocent eyes don’t suffer retinal damage: keeping my balcony door open.

Sidebar: For the thirteen months I’ve inhabited a second-floor loft in Rome, NY, not one bug has been noticed at, near, or in my apartment. They do not even bang against the large windows or get caught in the screens, even when the windows are open and allow a beautifully breezy flow of clear, clean, upstate NY air. It is welcome relief from the south where bugs are frequently co-habitants and often big enough to be paying rent. An open window in the south is an invitation for a collection of creatures wondering if they can enter, and they often do, somehow. And in shifts with night-time arthropods arriving after the daytime hexapods retire after a long day. The arachnids (spiders) were welcomed, however, and their full webs were applauded each morning, until one decided–without invitation–to be a house pet. And one morning there was a praying mantis trying to unlock my car door, True story, he/she was huge.

So. One beautiful, unexpected spring day while sunbathing with the balcony door open and my physical form hidden from prying eyes (you know who you are!), it was with little fanfare and–certainly no invitation–that a big, fat fly buzzed into the apartment, zooming right over my astonished head and off into the very bowels of the previously insect free living space. You all know how they buzz, letting you know they are there, somewhere you can’t find them. Somewhere they are secretly doing what they do. Flies. Annoying little basta%$#s.

He/She/It was fat and fast, buzzing and zooming all over, but never back through the conveniently open balcony door. I chased It with a book, a broom, a towel, and eventually sat, exhausted, in the chair after an hour of high-level, video-game pursuit.

And it landed in my lap. I struck my lap hard with the palm of my hand as It flitted away, back to the kitchen area. It was during the ensuing respite from humiliation and physical exertion that I ruminated on the fact my solitary existence in the apartment was often a cause for loneliness as my dog, Charlie, and cat Maxine, were left behind in North Carolina, The Calamities making me unfit to be the animals’ parents until such time as chasing after them was a possibility. (But I could still type a long sentence.) Missed were the big, brown, loving eyes, of Charlie and the baleful stare of Maxine as she struggled with how to do away with me and still get fed. Like most pet owners, what is missed the most is talking with them. Just knowing they are there.

Long story short, I adopted the big, fat, uninvited fly as my new pet. I decided he was a male, but did not do any research to corroborate the fact. How would one do that, anyway? (google: do flies have sex.) Naming him was easy: Jeff, after Jeff Goldblum, the actor in the 1986 science fiction classic film “The Fly”. Technically, Mr. Goldblum’s first name is Jeffrey, so Jeffrey became my new pet. Not only did I talk to Jeffrey but I’m sure he talked back, in his own way. For example, he frequently joined me in the bathroom when I did my ablutions, keeping a discreet distance while resting in the tub, waiting. We played together, too, chasing each other around the apartment. Google the song “My Best Friend” by Harry Nillsson for an example of how close a man and his fly can become.

Sadly, when this story was told to local human friends, they all said the same thing: “Don’t ever tell anyone else this story.”

So here it is, in its mostly true form.

Epilogue: Our friendship lasted several warm, spring days, but when it got cooler things changed. Jeffrey was indifferent, lackadaisical and didn’t want to play anymore. One afternoon upon returning from an appointment, my opening of the apartment door revealed Jeffrey on his back on my kitchen counter, all six legs pointing to the ceiling. Even in the end he was considerate, dying in plain sight and easily brushed into the garbage. He’d given me the best of his 15-30 days on this earth. Oddly, the same friends who warned me about telling this story upbraided me for unceremoniously disposing of him. Was I supposed to give Jeffrey a funeral?

He was just a fly.