Personal Things. Look Away, if you can

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Older friends have been lamenting being older. Whenever I’m around these conversations…well…

But you can’t change life simply by ignoring it. It is true we change as we age. And especially if we want the impossible: to be left alone and never grow old.

Sadly, the only solution is to not be around “older friends.”

But younger friends…well…

This past Easter was spent with family around the table. Not one was within 20 years of my age. Conversations swirled around things and ideas I’d either never heard of or heard of over 50 years ago. The constant juxtaposition was astounding. It created a hole in the fabric of conversational time where my contributions appeared irrelevant, meaningless, unimportant, and so, unspoken. It was as if there was nothing to offer.

But…so what?

As a young man I never thought I was the center of the universe, but I did matter. Life progressed, things happened, and then life started to wind down. As the “winding down” happened, life was adjusted, tweaked, re-defined, but in small increments. It was healthy, like eating broccoli in small bites. Anywhere the body was, the body adjusted and found ways to exist with some measure of happiness. Purpose, fate, bad luck, God, none of it was ever questioned for a purpose or an expected explanation. The main reason for the acceptance of change was there was lots more time to live, lots more to accept, lots more to adjust to…years more opportunity for hope and improvement.

So, imagine the surprise when you suddenly realize there is no longer “lots more time to live”.

This isn’t about death. For us as young people, death is a far-off rumor with an import never understood until you can figuratively see the whites of its eyes, and the realization it is inevitable takes a little of the sting out of the realization it might be here. And we hope it’s happening is a peaceful event.

But…does it sound like fun wondering if Age-Related Macular Degeneration (AMD) will eventually make you blind and unable to curse the Yankees? Or if a small muscle in the anus (the sphincter) will stop working and make diapers a part of your old age fashion? Is “dribbling” in your future? (Look it up, but for the “non-sports” definition.) Will the bad kind of plaque (Oxford’s good definition: “an ornamental tablet, fixed to a wall in commemoration of a person or event.”) render all these worries moot? Cognitive impairment: a blessing in disguise? Who knew? Even worse, under a certain age who ever thought about it?

Death, then, is not feared as much as slowly, incrementally, dying.

As young people we may have accepted the inevitability of death, but did anything or anyone ever prepare us for the inevitability of “dying”, losing parts of ourselves as if on some sinister, sad, stupid schedule? And without “lots more time to live”?

Give me death when it’s my time but please, fate, stop chipping away at life. I’ll die in peace, without complaint, if God will let me, but if there are other plans, that “schedule”…I’d rather not know.

Crap. That means avoiding old folks who want to talk about it.

Eh. I can live with it. At least until the damn beta-amyloid builds up.**

** Hope you researched the correct “plaque”.

Trump! A little…

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It’s been a while since Trump soiled this spot. I’ve learned to ignore his frantic actions and words, but there is one last thing to say. Or add: he is the most insecure politician, ever. God knows why, but he needs unfettered affirmation from the press, his fans, and the American citizens. Ass kissing is a better description. Thank God, for Fox News personnel. But lately, wow, it’s gone to a new level. In his first term he made a mistake and put people in place smarter than him. He learned and now the only requirement to become a Trump Administration official is how plump you can pucker your lips to kiss his “224” pound butt. And he has physically surrounded himself with gold knick-knacks borrowed from his unlimited supply of shiny bits and bobs probably filling every corner of Mar A Lago. This particular activity should put to rest his “blue collar, working man” appeal. The saddest part is the loss of teamwork. Past presidents may have had some “yes men and women”, but those presidents had enough faith in themselves to listen to others…and learn. Think of the manager of a baseball team not wanting anyone on his team who was a better player than the manager. That’s the Trump Team, these days. If Trump were truly a genius (or a good baseball player), it might work, but he isn’t. The question of the century: how long is it going to take America to see the Emperor has no clothes? (If you are young and wondering “what the heck?” Google it.)

Eh, the Trump part went a little longer, sorry. But…America better wake up and wake up soon. Again, sorry.

I’m contemplating living arrangements…for the rest of my life. The Calamities of 2023 had me wondering if I’d ever see 2025, but, now, all is well. Back to as “near normal” as any 73-year-old cancer survivor can be. My North Carolina home, if I haven’t mentioned it, was sold by my ex-girlfriend last fall as I, in NY, pondered how much longer I might live. She took all the money and the pets and fled to California, out of reach.

So. I’ll be 73 in 2 months, homeless**, alone, and making a decision which would be so much fun if I were in my 40’s. Or 50’s. Anything but 70’s. A small bank account gives me enough flexibility to be free and make any choice…as long as it fits the budget.

North Carolina calls with its temperate weather and many friends willing to put up with me. Florida beckons, as well, with communities loaded with potential new friends. And I have always loved California. For one thing, it is a big enough state for two exes. New York is attempting to sway me, too, with a 60-degree sunny day today, not knowing I have already discovered the weather forecast and snow will be in the air later this week. In Mid-April. NY you never had a chance.

The saddest part is the lack of a partner. There is a point in even a loner/misanthrope’s life where the utility of a loving life partner makes sense. Someone to get the sliver out of the bottom of your foot. Someone to complain to who knows you’re not really complaining. It’s possible to find another, but it will take time to rebuild the rich history the dance of life rewards long-partners with, and there might not be enough time. Odd, but even as a young person there was never a “guarantee” of “enough time”, a thought never even considered in decades past. As young people, we never doubted there would be enough. Now, that time is a blessing, appreciated.

Life Partner? I was just interrupted by a text message. In reading it, the other messages on my text log were at my fingertips. Almost all were from medical personnel or offices. It looked so sad. Looks like the only people who message me are the ones who get paid…

Ah, it’s not that bad. As noted, it is a beautiful spring day. Driving to my work-out this morning, I even complained about “side-face glare” from the sun. It was inescapable. As if it knew every angle to get around visors, sunglasses, body parts, and car-body frames. After inventing new swear words and cursing the low-horizon, hydrogen-burning, retina-searing, center of our universe, the humor hit: hating winter but complaining about side face glare.

Isn’t life wonderful?

**Sorry for the clunky phrasing. I am not without a place to live, I am with out a home: my own, owned, truly mine, home. I rent. Using a hyphen (home-less) might have made more of a mess. Hyphens always do, those little bastards.

Death? Again? Noooo….

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I’m having lots of trouble sleeping. You? The mind races with thoughts about SAD, Trump, America, Social Security, Medicare, apartments, homes, health, and an ex-girlfriend whose hurtful actions can’t be forgiven

At age 73, shouldn’t another word be on that list?

As my mind raced last night that word popped into my head: Death. Wide awake and ruminating away about everything except…death (small d, this time, see the difference?).

The realization mortality was not part of my late night consternation festival kind of made me happy. Maybe, pleased with myself is a better description. Death is a constant companion in old age. When the news reports an actor’s death at 69, or the retired sports star’s life ends at 72, one can not help but think he, me, is lucky to be able to hear the news. Going to bed isn’t accompanied by the hope of waking up alive, but it is a subtext, especially if dying in your sleep is your preferred method of reaching the afterlife.

Sidebar: All morning a thought from last night has been escaping me. An important thought, I thought, but obviously not important enough for me to get out of bed and write it down. In the above paragraph it revealed itself, so I’ll share, plus many thanks to my slowing brain for not deleting the idea and making me work for it. The thought: When you die in your sleep, do you know you’re dying? Or is death just an eternal extension of sleep? Imagine being shot or stabbed, or suffering from a mortal illness. You spend at least a few moments knowing it is the end, don’t you? You may even spend minutes, hours, or days getting ready for the final breath…wishing things were different.

After reading the sidebar, it appears Death/death did enter nighttime, cranial ramblings, albeit, in a Dr. Steven Wright kind of way.

Of course, the whole point of this essay is how funny the mind works so this writing can be accepted as cogent.

Okay, I agree with myself except for the fact “cogent” refers to a well-stated “argument or case, one that is clear, logical and convincing.” So says the Oxford people. But I just read back through this jumble and can’t see anywhere a “case” or “argument” has been made.  For or against anything. Does that make the entire exercise pointless?

Let’s go with a “yes”, because an answer makes a case, makes an argument, and my inability to focus and write an essay sensible and informative suddenly becomes indisputable. I knock over your King.

With a re-read and hindsight, this gibberish fits the style of our modern news, anyway. I’m topical!

And relevant.

The real villain is SAD. “Seasonal Affective Disorder” is a real thing. A long, never-ending winter in Upstate New York is the cause. It’s been over 20 years since my life was “snowed under” by weather that saps the soul, steals the “joie de vive”, and makes an Independent Liberal long for Florida.

It won’t happen again.

My Two Brains

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For many years, now I’ve wondered if there are two brains in the body. You, too?

My vacation to the Warm South was meant to be a break from the Winter North, but also to test hopefully repaired, rejuvenated, and reclaimed physical abilities. It was during this testing, the “proof” of my second brain was finally revealed.

There have always been internal conversations–such as the infinitely confusing argument between doing good or doing bad–but I assumed those discussions were a normal personality abnormality, simple sophistry inspired by too much Devil’s Advocacy during young, formative years. It would go away with time and maturity, and the accumulation of wisdom. But the second brain discovered in North Carolina last week is different, it actually-,better tell the discovery story, first.

Sometime in the mid-morning hours of Thursday, March 27, 2025, I was in a Happy Place: a public tennis court surrounded by tennis players my own age. It was a time to celebrate recovery, patience, and give the beleaguered medical corporate establishment some credit for good work. The early moments were a time full of insults, name-calling, trash-talking, and too many hugs, all of which were greatly appreciated. Sadly, the second brain discovery happened only moments after actual physical activity was perpetrated. Yes, perpetrated. Perfect word for what happened. Look it up.

A now ex-friend hit a soon to be outlawed (hopefully) shot called a “Drop Shot”. For the un-tennis among you, the Drop Shot is a nasty trick played on mature, semi-immobile tennis players by younger, fully mobile tennis players. Given the abundance of gray hair and joint braces this morning, there was no expectation any one of us would ever have to face such a nasty play. I felt especially free from worry as I was recovering, attempting to resurrect my game, and open to any special treatment benefiting my progress. In a later post we will discuss whether or not there is honor among septuagenarians. (Full disclosure, it was our groups lone octogenarian who hit the shot, so I’ve no legal basis for claim, if so inclined.)

The beginning of the unappreciated drop shot was quickly seen by my Big Skull Brain (BSB), and  BSB immediately broadcast the signal to the entire body to move forward at a rapid pace to get to the falling tennis ball before it hit the ground. Perfect. Just right. So far.

But the next thing to hit the ground was me. The “ground”, by the way, in public tennis courts is painted concrete.

If you are at all familiar with the saying “got out over the ends of my skies”, then no more explanation is needed. For the rest of you, as my BSB issued commands, some other, smaller brain not only cancelled those commands, but did it with prejudice. As I lay writhing on the ground/concrete watching the yellow ball bounce next to my skinned knee, a comment between my BSB and the other, smaller brain was overheard. It went like this: “Move? Hell, no. We ain’t going nowhere.”

And thus a mystery was solved: we do have two brains. At least I do. A naïve, uninformed person may say the smaller brain is located in the penis of a male and it is hard to argue they’d be wrong. We will not attempt to locate the female smaller brain or even make the argument the females are equipped with one. Utter discretion. And maybe one is all they need, anyway

That NC morning’s facts are: one brain said “go” and the other said “no”. My big skull appeared to follow BSB’s directive and moved forward. Parts of the upper body followed, but reluctantly, as if the debate between big and small brain was already happening and non-brain parts were confused about which command to follow. The penis theory might be right because the lower parts followed the small brain directive and pretty much stayed in the same spot, leaving my big skull, and upper trunk to accept gravity’s invitation and topple over, risking major injury if no more action was taken. Fortunately, some sort of “emergency” system (a THIRD brain??) kicked in and my arms extended to absorb most of the impact. The upper body rescued itself and rolled over, saving the heart and lungs for later abuse.

It’s as if the small brain was punished for its incalcitrant (sic) actions as most of the medical carnage was done to knees and lower extremities. Take that, small brain. Aside: why do skinned knees take so long to heal?

You can understand how hurt BSB was, but it did a masterful job of pretending not to be hurt and graciously accepted every ounce of empathy.

It was a distracted drive home with the constant stream of debate between brains. I tried not to listen but did hear the word “insurrection” more than once.

The one, major positive about aging is the things you learn about yourself. One positive, now is—with a second brain—all the bad things done in the past are not entirely my fault…are they?

We Are the Experts!

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It’s been great fun since Trump took office, to read local letters to the editors in our local paper. Our city and county are relatively small, but we seem to have an inordinate number of experts and know-it-alls. Is it the same where you live? (I just started reading the local paper last year, when I moved to Trump Country.)

As a natural troublemaker and aspiring (since birth) Devil’s Advocate, parrying with local wits is enjoyable, entertaining, and often enlightening. My only responses are to those who write and profess, or hint at the fact they are smarter than everyone else. The local author who “knows how to solve the immigration crisis”, for example. Or the modest intellect who tries to support an idea using phrases and verbiage “copied” from what ever information silo they inhabit.

Intellectual Curiosity (IC) has been discussed here, before, and it is the root of all the merriment. Anyone who believes in Trump is an idiot. Don’t blow a gasket, yet, because anyone who believes in Biden was/is an idiot, too. Or Obama, Or Bush, Or Clinton. Or the elder Bush. Sadly, I can strike up a spirited and eventually personal debate about any one of them with certain letter writers. You can support them, but you shouldn’t adore them. They’re humans. And don’t give up your IC.

We need to start with the definition, the urban definition, of what politicians are: they are people who want you to hire them for a job. The “job” is not lawn maintenance, but a job where complicated, personal, and impactful decisions about the direction of the city, county, state, and nation (and world?) are decided. And the politicians are asking you to send them to an institution where it takes more than one person’s will to get something done. More on that in a later post.

We vote almost every year for one sort of politician or another and a majority of Americans just don’t vote. In the last election 77 million voted for Trump, and 75 million voted against Trump. According to internet sources, most of the “Voting Eligible Population (VEP)” of the United States, about 89 million people, did not vote. (Note: VEP 244,666,890** per US News. Do your own math.) More people DID NOT VOTE, than voted for either candidate.

A smart person can see neither party presented a candidate that appealed to at least half the population. So, what does it mean when we say we “hate Joe Biden” or we “hate Donald Trump”? Is it a rational hate or a tribal hate?

Got way off track, but the point is most politicians (if not all) spend most of their time trying to convince YOU to vote for them. And once you do, they tend to start looking ahead to the next election. It’s a mistake if anything ever gets down. When IC kicks in, you begin to question the whole system, and not in a good way. Maybe those 89 million people know something.

The solution? Outlaw “homogenous” voting. The two-Party system demands you vote with (or against) one party or the other…no matter the issue! Ever hear of “Majority and Minority Whips? Guess what they’re supposed to do. It really is a wonder the government has survived for 200 and some years.

Mixed in with all this nonsense are the experts and arm-chair quarterbacks who know all about everything. In a local locker room one time, two guys were commiserating about how bad America looks to other counties. “We aren’t respected anymore.” When I asked if either had ever been to another country, or had friends in another country, or could even name another country…silence.

While it is great fun to poke and prod the local geniuses, I’ve been fortunate to never have to express my own opinions. Sounds like a cop-out, right? But my own opinions are not party-oriented or any particular color. And I don’t truly know half of what I say about issues since I’m not personally in the middle of them. I just know what I think I know. I’m not sure, for example, why SignalGate happened, but know we’ll learn more from the fuss after an issue than we knew before, so pay attention. IC.

I am afraid to state my own beliefs, too, because they are too naïve. Too Jimmy Stewart, too “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” They are easy to make fun of in a world full of experts and internet snipers.

So, I’ll continue trying to pop other’s balloons and wait for the world to get its act together. It’s only been about 55 years, so far, but what else is there to do?

** Numbers for 2024. VEP includes all legal American citizen over the legal voting age. Note that only 160 million are “registered” to vote. A few VEPs might be way beyond that legal age, so…

Back from Vacation, days away, free from you know what…

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Then, my first trip to the news sites reeled me right back into the scrum.

The days were sunny, warm, and intellectually active in North Carolina. Except for the pollen and shady activity going on in the back parking lot of the hotel, it was a great week. Even the drive down and back was okay, far better than the mental struggle it usually is.

So, what harshed my mellow? Fox News. They ran a real, thoughtful, cranky story about a businessman in the south whose pole is too big. (Stop giggling.) And so is what he puts on his pole. Who says so, pink-haired, tree-hugging, liberal elites? Nope. The towns and cities he does business in around the southeast. The southeast. Not typical regulatory-maze country.

Jim, the businessman wants to show his patriotism by erecting giant poles with giant American flags on them. He says he has 100’s of thousands of square feet of American Flags he wants to spread around the country, to honor America, and show his thankfulness.

Jim and the eager beaver Fox news host are astounded that Jim is having trouble with various cities about the poles. And sometimes the flags. It’s a national story of interest, now. On Fox.

And there is the MAGA movement’s mentality in a nutshell. See, the cities and towns have local ordinances about how high your poles can be and–often–about how big the flags (or signs) can be, too. Again, this in in Tennessee, North Carolina, and other southern states Jim didn’t mention. Not your liberal snowflake, woke states.

The problem is that Jim doesn’t care about regulations. Rules are not for him. He’s a self-made man (very commendable, by the way) but for some reason he thinks that grants him the right to do what he wants. Fox’s, eager beaver kind of nods in agreement.

This wouldn’t be such a big deal but it’s Jim’s reasoning that sets him apart: he wants to honor America, not himself, by erecting larger than regulation flag poles and flying larger than regulation flags.

Let’s forget a better use of his money might be helping the poor in his communities. Or contributing to conservative causes and politicians. Or helping feed the hungry. Flags just flap in the breeze. (Unknown, but maybe he does do that kind of good work, too, in addition to his Flag Life.)

But isn’t it a better way to honor America, a better way to thank this country, isn’t it a better thing to obey the rules and regulations of the places you choose to work in, make money in, and live in? Wouldn’t respecting the local ordinances of the town folk be a better way to show your gratitude for America? Be a defender and believer and supporter of the community, not a troublemaker?

Jim needs to hear what he is saying with his words, a constant complaint about MAGA. He loves America, wants to fly flags, for America, honor America…but gosh darn it, no one is going to tell him how to do it. He’s doing it his way or legions of lawyers will become wealthy for no good reason.

It’s the theory of male exceptionalism (no caps on purpose) that dominates the right wing of our country. Rules and regulations are for normal people. Not us exceptional people. Wonder how many businesses in Jim’s home town researched the rules about flags/signs and did it the right way, the way the local citizens and government want? Or maybe they said, “screw it, we don’t need more flags, anyway.”

I like Jim’s idea about spreading patriotism around the United States. But why can’t he do to code? Why does he need to fight for a bigger pole, a bigger flag, than everyone else? Care to guess?

America is what it is because of Exceptional People (caps on purpose): War heroes, explorers, inventors, and the daily Exceptionalism by cops, doctors, firemen, teachers, et.al.

But America has lasted so long, done so well, because we are a nation of laws, regulations, and the stability laws and regulations bring. And Americans believe in law and order. I’ll bet a majority of American drivers obey the speed limit. We all know those exceptional drivers who don’t. Like them much?

Honestly, of all the things to take a patriotic stand on: the height of your flag pole?

Honoring your town and it’s laws is more patriotic than adding a few feet to your pole. (Typed with a straight face. Honest.)

Music. Jackson Browne. The Brothers Comatose. Serendipity.

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The last post about waking up in the middle of the night? Anxious? Distraught? Possibly even in despair? A lead-in to depression?

Ha.

A fortuitous click/flick on a Samsung phone yielded a Youtube video of The Brothers Comatose performing Jackson Browne’s “These Days”.

If you are at all unhappy with life, politics, a cruel ex-girlfriend, or calamities of any kind…find this video. As a strong, modern American, internally fortitudely (sic, for the entire sentence) secure man, I cried. After 10 plays, still crying.

Music has the power, seemingly the duty to save us from…everything. A good poem helps us. A good tune helps us. But a great song? It heals. Alters the mind. Makes life better. Not just better, but wonderfully okay, euphorically livable. Especially in old age.

I’ve written about Jackson Browne (JB) before, and how many males my age grew up with his music, his fantastically, emotionally pertinent music. You can hear almost his entire, 60 year, lifetime catalogue—done by him—performed differently in every decade since 1970. You can also hear most of his catalogue covered by DIFFERENT artists in every decade since 1970. A lot of the great 60’s and 70’s acts have such an emotional power for us, The Aging Man and Woman. For you, it might be someone else. Definitely someone else for you younger readers.

The power of this type of music is amazing, whoever it is, whenever you hear it. God’s gift to us.

“These Days” was written by JB when he was 16 and recorded by Nico in 1967. AI says the song deals with “loss and regret”. I’ve listened every decade, since.

The Brothers Comatose have covered “These Days” more than perfectly, more than respectfully. They turned it into a divine version so singularly apt for the time I accidentally found it, when it was needed most, as if their version was meant for me, alone, at this time in my life. Serendipity. Karma. Providence. (The Brothers Comatose did the same thing to Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon”, a performance I rely on, frequently, for mood settling and the overall restoration of good feelings.)

It is a hope that you, the individual, unique, one-of-a-kind reader, has something similar in your life.

One of the problems, however, is remembering you have this power to turn to in time of need. If I’d have listened to “Harvest Moon”  last night, for example, instead of memorializing my angst in writing, well…

Now I have JB, The Brothers Comatose, and the rest for comfort. How fortunate is that? Bring it on, Trusk…and the rest of life.

JB can be watched from the early days, when he was a young, handsome man, all the way up to now, age 76 in 2025. While interesting to view, does it make JB, himself, sad/happy/unsure to see himself age?

JB’s voice is gruffly pleasant to some, but not to others. It is intriguing, then to hear his songs covered by females like Bonnie Raittt, Linda Ronstadt, Nico, Allison Krause, and AJ Lee. They all—and others—have the power to add emotional depth to every JB song they perform. See Bonnie’s version of JB’s “My Opening Farewell”.

An interesting video, too, is JB and Gregg Allmann “outgruffing” each other on a live version of The Allmans Brothers’ “Melissa” from ten years ago. It is a spectacular live performance.

It’s 3 am and it has taken three hours to type this short post. Damn music videos. It appears there are many things in my life to be thankful for, many blessings to appreciate.

Calamities, Trump, deceitful girlfriend, and every single problem Old Age can throw at me, be damned. Oh, and death. Screw ‘em all.

My new motto? Devour Feculance. (Thank you, Mr. Milchick.)

And thanks to all the great artists who have accepted their gifts and shared them with us, the rest of the world.

America, the beautiful? The Great?

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I awoke in the middle of the night, alarmed, then saddened, then in a panic about America. It’s a place I’ve inhabited and loved and criticized, demonstrated against and then accepted, but always a country with the historic ability to survive the worst impulses of each new generation. We will survive.

But this time? I no longer see the Trump presidency as a 4-year pandemic we will recover from when the political system resets itself and heals its wounds.

In 12 months, or less, our democratic (Small “d”) political system will no longer exist. The Republican Party, historically a dedicated and patriotic foe of the Democratic Party, is already extinct.

Trump is putting in place Billionaire yes-men/women who will do whatever he wants. (If they aren’t billionaires when Trump appointed them, they may be soon.)  At the same time, he is destroying, neutering, and obliterating any person, department, or institution standing in his way. And he’s doing it at record speed, getting everything in place to defy the 2026 midterms.

His press secretary reveals the plan with every statement she makes: obscure, deny, deflect and counter attack every, single truth. Her job description? Truth will be what she is told to say it is. Trump put her in place to render the free press ineffective. That “free press” cannot handle someone who lies, distorts, and fabricates so much the press cannot keep pace. As the free press spins in circles over here, Trump does what he wants over there.

The Trump Plan involves a massive amount of snookery and public-facing deception. The sheer volume of lies and atrocious behavior will overwhelm the 260 million people who did not vote for him in 2024, and they will wear down, look away, and allow him to do what he wants. It’s a form of public, Chinese Water Torture.

Most Americans do not realize the extent of the changes already made. DOGE is not a government efficiency finder, but a money finder and re-applier. Stop spending money on Voice of America and spend that “saved” money on bribes to foreign countries to take back immigrants. Spend formerly legally appropriated money on illegal activities like flying “terrorists” back to any country receiving the Trump Bribes. (Why else would El Salvador accept hundreds of Venezuelan gang members?  And will these “terrorists” be released back into the world if Trump’s bribes stop? Is it possible our newly-muscled border watchers will see these terrorists, again? Are the deportees even terrorists/gang members? Do you know?

And the March 21, 2025 $20 Billion Trump just gave Boeing for the new F-47 Fighter? Here’s a transparent description of the total cost from Trump, himself: “We’ve given an order for a lot. We can’t tell you the price.”

DOGE? Attack!

Billionaires are buying into the Trump Agenda because they see lower taxes, less regulation, and ultimately the ability to do whatever they want, when ever they want to do it.

And this will go on for at least four years, or until The King dies of natural causes. Then, the fight for the crown will lead to more Un-American activities until a new king is crowned.

Is this what 77 million voters wanted?

Even today, after 2 months of the expedited plan, the average, Fox-informed American will say “Yes.”

So be it. As they like to say, “Elections have consequences.”

Recently, Stephen Miller was on Fox News calling one of his critics a “moron”,  a “degenerate”, and “stupid”. The lame stream, mainstream, legacy media Fox News presenter just giggled. Yes, Fox is lame-steam, mainstream media.

On the comedy side of things: as Trump, Miller, Musk, and related antagonists invent new monikers for all who disagree with them, Musk threatens lawsuits for someone calling him names. And Trump settles old grudges with the unlimited, emperor-like powers Trump says voters granted him. And the Supremes** will back him up.

Make America Grate Again.

Believe this if you can: I hope I’m wrong. Really, really, wrong. I fervently hope this post is just more of the Trump Derangement Syndrome, the mental condition a Minnesota Republican lawmaker wants to write into law.

Bet I’d be happier about things if I was deranged. For fun, look up the “Oxford Languages” definition for deranged. It will sound familiar…like someone we all know…

** Apologies to Diana Ross and the rest.

Somethings I Wonder About….

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Why on God’s green earth aren’t there more days like the ones in late March or early April when the sun comes out, the sky is blue, the weather warm, and the world is full of promise? God KNOWS, we could use them. Italics mine and on purpose. The squeaky wheel gets greased.

My weekly surrender of $5 to the insidious, flinty one-armed-bandits at Turning Stone Resort and Casino didn’t work out the way Casino management planned, this morning. I put my $5 bill in the slot, played my 40 cent bet,…and the machine exploded! When the dust cleared and sirens stopped, I’d won a total of $9.50. I cashed out my $14.50 and went to breakfast at Emerald in the casino. It didn’t ruin my morning, but the price of the NY Cheese and 3 Egg Omelet was no longer last week’s $12. It is now $15.12 cents with tax. Yes, I tipped well and the day is still the best one of the year…so far. A related, no-criticizing question: when will the price of eggs go down?

It is apparent the body is affected by weather, and as noted in the first paragraph, this morning is a good morning. The 72 going on 73 year old aches and pains accepted daily as a fact of life overslept this morning. They didn’t show up for work. It is always wonderful when days like this happen. Knock on wood so it lasts all day.

As a young man I chased a romantic ideal probably consistent with most young man. The result was several close calls but nothing like The Ideal. And, as with most young men, the “ideal” changed through the years so what I might like to find now, in a partner bears no resemblance to the younger hope. Please note we are not talking simply physical ideals. It was an early lesson learned that packaging is only part of the person. Do women learn the same lesson? Anyway, the thing generating wonder, here, is the thought of how many of the young who fell short of the young Ideal, would be perfect for the new, older Ideal. To put it another way: did the quest for an ideal at 20 lead me to pass by the one who would have been ideal at 72? The first thought is yes, and it makes me want to apologize to certain females. Sadly, some might not be alive. If a second thought surfaces, I’ll let you know.

There was a beautiful, little movie on TV yesterday called “77 Chances”. DirectTV has replaced YouTube TV as my main TV content provider and I was checking out the channels. My water glass needed filling while passing a “Christian” themed station, and the movie hooked me before I could change the channel. Look it up. It’s about “point of view”, mainly, and the movie made me a little happier for the time spent with it. No guns. No Ninjas. No heroes. Just people. Of note, if it matters, it is low budget, in a good way.

And that leads into the concept of heroes and the modern, American male/hero. I’ve said so often the MAGA movement is about insecurity, and we see it every day with the whining and blaming and spite suddenly integral parts of our governmental discourse. Long story shortened: there are many heroes on TV these days who are not insecure, who can take criticism without firing a shot, and who never lose confidence in doing what is right instead of just talking about it. John Wick. Longmire. Raylan Givens.  Edward Horniman. Colter Shaw. Heroes with empathy, not insecurity. Not sure about the actors, but kudos to the writers and actors for stylish, intelligent, charismatic, likable action figures.

Nap time…perchance to dream…

A Few of the Many Things I Don’t Understand

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Why do things fall from my hands so easily? It was much easier to pick them up when I was younger, so why didn’t they fall, then?

With a population of 340 million people, why do 77 million voters keep saying they “represent all of America”? Don’t the other 263 million people matter?

Where DOES time go? I’ve never heard anyone answer.

Could there be more than one “soulmate” in someone’s life? Follow up question (FUQ): How could a man get married a THIRD time without learning his lesson after the second?

Why does a person who does something stupid work so hard to deny it? FUQ (Yes, I know what it sounds like. Stop giggling.): Is it because they are stupid?

Why do we elect popular people for Prom King and President? FUQ: Are females just not popular? Are smart, intelligent, experienced candidates persona non grata? Like the television show, “Survivor”, are they too much of a threat?

A baseball player for “the other New York Team” will make $51 million dollars per year to play baseball. Is it a coincidence it is same amount as the entire annual budget for the city in Upstate NY where I live? Definite FUQ up: Could the player adopt the city and support us?

When someone says, “be cool”, do they have a specific temperature in mind? FUQ: Be “chill”? I’ve never been able to agree on temperature with anyone I ever lived with so…

Why do conservatives whine so much about “Main Stream” and “Legacy Media”? Isn’t Fox News Legacy Media? Fox is definitely “main stream”. Okay, Fox is lame. FUQ: Do Fox viewers know Fox was designed to be biased. On purpose. To counter other bias. Another FUQ: Do two wrong bias’ make a right? Do they offset? Should we be watching the cartoon network for news?

Why are sports teams so insensitive? March Madness is here. I predict two teams will fight like cats and dogs during a hard-fought, entertaining, exhausting game and when it’s over,…hate each other. In the old days (OD), in the YMCA gyms, we fought like cats and dogs and then went out for beers. Ah, the OD.

When did money take over the world? At least the American world. There are more ways to make money without making anything, now. They call it passive income. In the OD if you couldn’t shoe a horse, sew up as wound, or kill another man before he killed you, you were out of luck. Now, if you put some horse-shoeing income in a tax-deferred account, invest it in ETF’s, and sell high and buy low…huh. Maybe that is productive work.

Why does the body fall apart, wither, and die? FUQ: Is there any way to guarantee our mind won’t leave us before the body does?

Sorry about those two…

Why do all the people in old photographs look so unhappy? Was it their nature or the inconvenience of having to stay immobile long enough for the film to work?

Life must have been hard in the real OD. Thinking of how hard it would be, for example, to wipe your butt with a Montgomery Ward Catalogue page. Or a leaf. Maybe they never went to the bathroom. Ken Burns could make a documentary about defecation and urination. FUQ: How many people have died over the course of history?

Enough. It’s sad to write about some things…