The Romance of the Dear Leaders Suffers a Setback

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Today's word out of Vietnam is that the world's two grandest Dear Leaders, Kim Jong Un of North Korea and Donald John Trump of the United States, failed to reach any substantive agreements during their "summit" in Hanoi yesterday.  Trump, who announced after the first summit in Singapore, that he and Kim had "fallen in love," has yet to announce any change in their relationship status after the collapse of this week's talks.

Trump is reportedly already in the air and headed home.  If his goal was to score some big points on Kim and wrangle a chance at winning the Nobel Peace Prize, he failed miserably.  But, if as many believe, the entire purpose of the trip was to draw attention away from Michael Cohen's testimony before Congress, well . .  . mission accomplished!

But even while Trump's futile efforts in bargaining with Kim Jong Un in Hanoi did provide an interesting counter-point to his former lawyer's remarks, the headlines generated by Cohen far surpassed those that Trump stirred on the world stage.  In fact, many of the news sources were so focused on the rich dirt that Cohen was dishing about Trump, that the "summit" in Vietnam was relegated to a secondary, or below-the-fold, status.  Add to that the embarrassment of the failure of the talks with the North Korean leader, and the result was definitely not the stuff that goes into winning an international peace prize.

But at least Trump managed to be out of town when Michael Cohen's stuff hit the fan!

Perhaps for their next summit the Dear Leaders could set a few achievable goals - like swapping tips on hair care or which clothes have a "slenderizing" effect.  They might even talk about putting a Trump Tower in Pyongyang and plot how to get their mutual buddy, Vlad Putin, to pay for it.  After all, there should be a way to profit off of world peace!

And "promise" rings might be a nice gesture!

A Racist, Cheating Conman Goes to Nam, Finally!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

There are two big stories in the news this morning, and they are intertwined.  Our Dear Leader, Donald John Trump and his entourage of relatives and mindless sycophants, are in Vietnam for a summit with North Korea's Dear Leader, Kim Jong Un.  And meanwhile, back in the United States of America, Trump's former personal lawyer and "fixer," Michael Cohen is spending three days giving testimony - under oath - to Congress.  Some skeptics, noting Trump's past use of distraction as a tool in fighting his foes, are suggesting that the Vietnam summit was planned to draw attention away from what many expect will be testimony of a sensational nature by Cohen.

This is actually the second day of testimony for Cohen.  Yesterday he spoke to members of the Republican controlled Senate in a closed hearing.  Today he is appearing in an open hearing in the Democratic controlled House.  White House spokesman, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, a known liar, is telling all who still listen to her that Michael Cohen is a known liar, and that what he says about her boss, Trump - also a known liar - will be lies.

Cohen's prepared testimony which he will present to members of a House investigative committee was leaked to the New York Times yesterday.  It includes a statement in which he refers to Trump as "a racist, a cheat, and a conman," epithets that are likely to be under appreciated by Trump and his inner-circle of racists, cheats, and conmen.  But there is plenty of delicious stuff in what Cohen plans to tell Congress, and sharp questioning by committee members may unearth even more.

I'm not familiar with Michael Cohen's prepared remarks - except for the much ballyhooed line about Trump being "a racist,  a cheat, and a conman" - and none of that is much of a news bulletin, but I did come across one more nugget from the statement that I found intriguing.

VoteVets.org, a left-of-center political lobbying group composed primarily of military veterans, put out an email this morning in which Cohen quotes Trump as saying (apparently of his youth) "You think I'm stupid, I wasn't going to Vietnam."  The VoteVets email is also critical of Trump over his derogatory remarks about the late Senator John McCain, a war hero of sorts, as well of Trump's raging desire to have a grandiose - and expensive - military parade to honor himself.

So Trump wasn't stupid back in the sixties, but now, safely out of harm's way, he is headed to Nam, not as a muddied and bloodied foot soldier, but as a royal potentate wrapped in the golden aura of his power and superiority over almost every man, woman, and child on the entire earth.

All hail Donald Augustus!

My life has a couple of parallels to that of Trump.  I am a little younger than he is, and I also managed to avoid going to Vietnam.  I did, however, serve four years in uniform, in the Army, back when Vietnam was in the process of winding down, and many years later I worked an entire decade in direct service to the U.S. military as a civilian social worker.

Like Trump, I also got around to seeing Vietnam many years after the war had ended.   A friend and I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) on Christmas Eve in 2011 and spent more than a week working our way north while absorbing the sights of the country.  Our trip ended in Hanoi where we attended an enormous street party on New Year's Eve - one that hosted several thousand celebrants - and we flew out of the country on New Year's Day.

Juxtaposing our trip over Trump's current big adventure a couple of thoughts come to mind.  Hanoi, especially Old Hanoi, is an interesting city and well worthy of visits by tourists, but Hanoi in general still lacks the commercial vibrancy of Ho Chi Minh City.   I suspect that Trump and his group would have felt far more comfortable in the glitzy and noisy hubbub of the former Saigon.

Hanoi does offer some compelling curiosities, but they are ones that Donald John would be well advised to ignore.  The prison - or what is left of it - where John McCain spent several years of his young life is located in downtown Hanoi and open to the public.  There is a memorial of sorts to McCain inside of the building, and the aging senator even returned there for a visit, but Trump, a vociferous McCain critic, would have no conceivable justification for visiting there.

Another Hanoi site that would be a difficult view for American government officials would be the military museum in Hanoi, a sprawling collection of hardware and mementos of the Vietnamese wars with France and the United States.  One of those exhibits is the actual tank that knocked down the gates of the presidential palace in Saigon on the day that South Vietnam finally fell.  A photo of Trump admiring the big military tank would not sit well with many of the folks back home, particularly those whose loved ones were dragged into that foreign war.

Another place in Hanoi where most tourists go - and Trump likely will not - is Ho Chi Minh's modest home on the lake with the adjacent mausoleum that houses his stuffed remains.  The body of Ho is on display under glass just as the stuffed remains of V.I. Lenin are displayed beneath the reviewing stand at Red Square.   And while a visit to the memorial of the person whose military defeated the French and ultimately the Americans would on its face be inappropriate, it would also be a stretch to imagine Donald Trump paying respects to anyone other than himself.

So, one must suppose that Donald Trump - when he is not busy being outfoxed by Kim Jung Un in their summit meetings - will be spending a lot of time in his hotel room.  It is doubtful that Vietnamese cuisine will satiate his hunger, and special arrangements will likely be made (on the taxpayer's dime) to fly in crates of American fast food.  One must also suppose that he will be trolling the internet with a vengeance keeping up with events back home - and banging out enraged and misspelled tweets as challenges to Michael Cohen's testimony.

Wouldn't it be great to have them both - Cohen and Trump - testifying under oath!

Trump has finally made it to Vietnam.  Perhaps one day he will also be hauled before Congress or a judge to answer for his illegal and abhorrent behavior toward others.

Come on Mueller - make America great again!

Pa Rock Is Rolling in It!

by Pa Rock
Money Maker

Being retired and on a modest fixed income, it's a rare day when I actually make some money, but last week the stars aligned and I managed to hit a couple of good licks.

In the first instance I didn't actually bring in any money, but through obstinance and the sheer brute force of my sparkling personality I did save six hundred dollars.  It happened the the local pharmacy.

But first a bit of background.

I am insurance poor.  Being in my early seventies I have Medicare - and I purchased the optional Medicare Part D which covers (poorly - thank you G.W. Bush) prescription drugs.  I also have a complete Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance plan which I took with me when I left my last job with the U.S. military.  (The BC/BS plan cost me almost exactly as much to maintain as a Medicare supplement would have cost, so I kept it and use that as my supplement.  When Medicare or Medicare Part D hits me with a co-pay, which is almost always, BC/BS will generally cover it.  I don't remember paying any actual medical bills since retiring five years ago, and the most I ever pay on drugs is two or three dollars - and even then I complain - loudly!)

So imagine the reaction that the pharmacy staff got last week when they told me that due to a beginning-of-the-year deductible that I still owed just over $600 on a prescription that I had to have.  It wasn't pretty!  The poor girl at the window assured me that she had ran it by both insurance companies and that the total was correct.  I called my Part D provider from the lobby of the pharmacy, on speaker phone because I don't like the feel of the cell on my ear, and, and after going through fifteen minutes of rigmarole and hearing commercials telling me how great the insurance company was, I got on the line with a lady who assured me that her company had done all it would do, and how if I had no insurance at all, those 90 little pills would have cost me $1,500!   That, of course, made me even madder!)

I cancelled the order for the life-extending drugs and stepped next door to get a shingles shot, and while I was in that office, the original sales clerk stepped in and said that she had just run the order again, for grins I suppose, and that this time it had rung up without a co-pay.

Jackpot!  I grabbed my pills and ran for the door before her computer had time to belch up different ending to the story.

That was on Friday.  The next night I won the lottery - well, $624 anyway.  (A total that would have barely covered the original estimate for the pills - and would have royally pissed me off if I wound up feeling that a pharmaceutical company had stolen my hard-earned lottery winnings!)

The Missouri Lottery has a game called "Lotto" which draws every Wednesday and Saturday nights.  I have bought one Lotto ticket a day for years, and on the drawing nights I have either three or four entries.  Missouri Lotto tickets have two rows of six numbers each.  A person who matches all six numbers on any row wins the grand prize, which is never less than a million dollars.  A person matching three of the six numbers wins a free ticket, and those matching four of six wins a percentage of that week's take - usually around thirty dollars.  Those matching five of six wins a bigger percentage, but I have never worried about that because those odds (for 5 of 6) are something like 15,000 to one.

I win free tickets three or four times a month, and the thrity-something dollar prize no more than once or twice a year.

Last Wednesday I won a free ticket for matching three numbers.  I had told the girl who works the counter where I buy my tickets, that free tickets are inherently unlucky because I had never won anything with one of those.

But that changed early Sunday before daylight when I was checking my Saturday night numbers at the computer.  As I looked at my "free" ticket, I immediately noticed that it had some of the winning numbers.  At first glance I saw three, then four, and then my eyes bugged out as I realized that my free Lotto ticket had matched five of the six numbers.  If I had gotten the other number right - a 6 instead of a 17 - I would have won $1.4 million!

But, hey, hand grenades and horseshoes.  Right?

Later in the morning I took my winning ticket to town and learned that this week's prize for 5 of 6 was $624.  I was one of thirteen people across the entire state to hit 5 of 6, and no one had done better and taken home the grand prize.  I also found out that I would have to mail my ticket in or take it to a state lottery office - in Springfield or Jefferson City - because local retailers could only pay out prizes up to $500.  Then after calling the state lottery office, I learned that winners of any prize of $600 or more also had to fill out a W-9 and pay taxes on their winnings - a fact which more closely aligns with the story of my life.

But that's not a problem because Pa Rock pays his taxes proudly - he is not a freeloading Trump!

The Bluebirds of Crappiness

by Pa Rock
Farmer in Winter

A couple of days ago I mentioned the two young bluebirds who  were frolicking about in my backyard, apparently doing their aerial mating dance while looking for a place to build their nest.  The lovebirds took a particular interest in my fourteen-year-old Saturn Vue which sits outside on the driveway.  The male bluebird, in particular, enjoyed walking along the top of the passenger door at the base of the window - as well as climbing all over the passenger mirror as he admired his reflection.  During his antics he deposited quite a bit of bluebird poop which streamed down the door and made for a most unsightly vehicle.

Yesterday there was a bit of a break in the chilly weather, so I went to town and drove my old car through the automatic car wash - the one where the driver sits lazily and lets the big car wash machine do all of the work.  Later, back at home, I was disappointed to notice that some of the bird poop remained on the door and mirror, so I went out and rewashed the door and mirror by hand - like I should have done to begin with.  (You are never to old to learn!)

The old Saturn Vue was shining like a new penny!

Then - of course - late this morning when I went out the back door to take my two chickens their brunch, I discovered that the precious little bluebirds had been back - and that they had apparently eaten something which gave them a terrible case of the runs!

Expect to see the following posted on my Twitter feed:

"Hillbilly curmudgeon seeks easy, mouth-watering recipe for bluebirds!"

If you can't beat 'em, eat 'em!

Now where did I put that bucket and sponge?

Monday's Poetry: "The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Just as I think winter is about over, Alexa tells me to expect some freezing rain next weekend.  Will it ever end?

The lingering of winter, however, does provide an excuse to slip in one more cold weather poem.    Robert W. Service, the Brit who did so much to preserve the rowdy days of the Alaskan gold rush through poems and ribald verse, preserved many of the characters of that colorful time in his works. Blasphemous Bill, the central character in today's selection, may have not existed as a single person, and is more than likely a careful crafting based on an assortment of sourdough prospectors whom the poet knew.

The characters created by Robert W. Service could literally fill a small Alaskan city, even today - and what an interesting place that would be to inhabit!

Robert W. Service was quite prolific as a poet and storyteller, and his works have done much to preserve a rugged era of U.S. and Canadian history.  "The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill," although a humor piece, also gives a clear insight into the hard lives of the prospectors - as well as the lengths to which one undertaker would go to honor a commitment.

Enjoy!

The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
by Robert W. Service

        I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,

        Whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of death he die —

        Whether he die in the light o’ day or under the peak-faced moon;

        In cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive, mucklucks or patent shoon;

        On velvet tundra or virgin peak, by glacier, drift or draw;

        In muskeg hollow or canyon gloom, by avalanche, fang or claw;

        By battle, murder or sudden wealth, by pestilence, hooch or lead —

        I swore on the Book I would follow and look till I found my tombless dead.

        For Bill was a dainty kind of cuss, and his mind was mighty sot

        On a dinky patch with flowers and grass in a civilized boneyard lot.

        And where he died or how he died, it didn’t matter a damn

        So long as he had a grave with frills and a tombstone “epigram.”

        So I promised him, and he paid the price in good cheechako coin

        Which the same I blowed in that very night down in the Tenderloin).

        Then I painted a three-foot slab of pine: “Here lies poor Bill MacKie,”

        And I hung it up on my cabin wall and I waited for Bill to die.

        Years passed away, and at last one day came a squaw with a story strange,

        Of a long-deserted line of traps ’way back of the Bighorn range,

        Of a little hut by the great divide, and a white man stiff and still,

        Lying there by his lonesome self, and I figured it must be Bill.

        So I thought of the contract I’d made with him, and I took down from the shelf

        The swell black box with the silver plate he’d picked out for hisself;

        And I packed it full of grub and “hooch,” and I slung it on the sleigh;

        Then I harnessed up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day.

        You know what it’s like in the Yukon wild when it’s sixty-nine below;

        When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue snow;

        When the pine-trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood,

        And the icicles hang down like tusks under the parka hood;

        When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,

        And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a red-hot spit;

        When the mercury is a frozen ball, and the frost-fiend stalks to kill —

        Well, it was just like that that day when I set out to look for Bill.

        Oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush me down on every hand,

        As I blundered blind with a trail to find through that blank and bitter land;

        Half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild, with its grim heartbreaking woes,

        And the ruthless strife for a grip on life that only the sourdough knows!

        North by the compass, North I pressed; river and peak and plain

        Passed like a dream I slept to lose and I waked to dream again.

        River and plain and mighty peak — and who could stand unawed?

        As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the foot of the throne of God.

        North, aye, North, through a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes,

        And all I heard was my own harsh word and the whine of the malamutes,

        Till at last I came to a cabin squat, built in the side of a hill,

        And I burst in the door, and there on the floor, frozen to death, lay Bill.

        Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, sheathing each smoke-grimed wall;

        Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice gleaming over all;

        Sparkling ice on the dead man’s chest, glittering ice in his hair,

        Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy stare;

        Hard as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread.

        I gazed at the coffin I’d brought for him, and I gazed at the gruesome dead,

        And at last I spoke: “Bill liked his joke; but still, goldarn his eyes,

        A man had ought to consider his mates in the way he goes and dies.”

        Have you ever stood in an Arctic hut in the shadow of the Pole,

        With a little coffin six by three and a grief you can’t control?

        Have you ever sat by a frozen corpse that looks at you with a grin,

        And that seems to say: “You may try all day, but you’ll never jam me in”?

        I’m not a man of the quitting kind, but I never felt so blue

        As I sat there gazing at that stiff and studying what I’d do.

        Then I rose and I kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing round about,

        And I lit a roaring fire in the stove, and I started to thaw Bill out.

        Well, I thawed and thawed for thirteen days, but it didn’t seem no good;

        His arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if they was made of wood.

        Till at last I said: “It ain’t no use — he’s froze too hard to thaw;

        He’s obstinate, and he won’t lie straight, so I guess I got to — saw.”

        So I sawed off poor Bill’s arms and legs, and I laid him snug and straight

        In the little coffin he picked hisself, with the dinky silver plate,

        And I came nigh near to shedding a tear as I nailed him safely down;

        Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh, and I started back to town.

        So I buried him as the contract was in a narrow grave and deep,

        And there he’s waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads sweep;

        And I smoke my pipe and I meditate in the light of the Midnight Sun,

        And sometimes I wonder if they was, the awful things I done.

        And as I sit and the parson talks, expounding of the Law,

        I often think of poor old Bill — and how hard he was to saw. 

Aunt Crabby Speaks for Me!

by Pa Rock
Tweetist

This summer I will have been on  Twitter for ten years, during which time I have posted or "retweeted" nearly 30,000 pithy little messages.   Twitter is an entertaining medium that can be quite addictive.   Most people only "follow" (agree to receive tweets from) others whose views align closely with their own, thus it also serves as a loud echo chamber.

One Tweeter whom I have followed for the past several years is "Aunt Crabby," a supposedly elderly lady from the St. Augustine, Florida, area who has a raging hatred of Donald Trump - and a computer.  She boasts that sending Trump packing is the last item on her bucket list.  Aunt Crabby has over 220,000 followers, and her tweets often make it into national opinion columns.

Aunt Crabby, with her irreverent attitude and salty language is, according to her tweets, also politically active in her community and gets involved in door-to-door political canvassing.  She is earnest in her endeavors to expose GOP hypocrisy and bring down Trump.

Today Aunt Crabby posted the following tweet (in two parts) on welfare in America, remarks which I felt went directly to the hypocrisy of politicians and others who rail about the unfairness of behaving charitably toward the poor.  She said this - and she speaks for me and undoubtedly many others:

"You want the government to 'stop giving poor people free stuff'?  But you don't care about the $70 billion a year we spend on subsidizing Wall St. Banks, the $38 billion in subsidies given to Big Oil Companies, the $2.1 trillion that Fortune 500 corporations are stashing abroad to avoid paying US taxes, and the $153 billion a year we spend to subsidize McDonald's and Walmart's low-wage workers?
Stop being a hypocrite."

We all know that these types of corporate welfare and fraud are occurring on a grand scale.  Yet, as angry Americans, we find it somehow easier and so very much satisfying to vent our outrage by demonizing the poor.

We suffer, and the only way we can bear that suffering is to know that others are even worse off than we are.    It is also much easier to blame high taxes on things we can see, such as a poor person using a food benefits card at the local grocery, than on things we can't see like billions of dollars in foreign aid going to a despotic leader in some faraway land.   We blame those who are at hand, the poor among us,  and then we rig the system to make sure that their lot in life will never improve.

A truly Christian nation would be focused on improving the lives of its people who are in need - and not hellbent on keeping them down.

We used to b better than that.

The Bluebirds of Happiness

by Pa Rock
Spring Whisperer

Winter this year has been unrelenting.  The sun may break through for a few hours, but soon we are right back in the cold and drizzle.  According to the several groundhogs who reside under Rock's Roost, winter should be winding down as an early spring prepares to settle in, but that just is not happening.  Today, just to keep things interesting, it is not only cold and drizzly, but we are also steeped in fog.

Spring, wherefore art thou?

Well, in all honesty, spring did peep through two days ago, albeit briefly.   I was puttering about the kitchen preparing a quick breakfast for Rosie and myself when I heard the excited chirpings of some springtime birds coming from the backyard.  I quickly glanced out the window and was delighted to see a pair of young bluebirds flitting around each other and singing as they engaged in a bit of feathered foreplay.

Later, when I went back to the window I saw them exploring a couple of the old birdhouses that I have up in the backyard.   Even though the houses that I have up are not official bluebird boxes, they did seem to appeal to the little birds, especially the one that is painted fire engine red.  I guess there is no accounting for taste!

My Kansas City son phoned at noon just as I was preparing lunch for me and Rosie.  I talked to him while standing at the kitchen counter, and was again staring out of the window.  This time the little bluebirds were exploring the exterior on my car.  The mother bird was climbing around on the windshield wipers, and I feared she might be thinking about building her nest in the well beneath the wipers - an action that would result in me having to walk to town for the next several weeks until the baby birds were ready to leave the nest.

The young daddy bluebird was fascinated with the mirror on the passenger side of the car.  He kept walking along the base of the passenger window and then hopping onto the mirror.  I finally figured out that he was focused on his own reflection.  As the little rascal hopped along the base of the passenger window, he also relieved himself numerous times which resulted in streamers of bird poop running down the passenger door.

Yesterday my little bluebirds were nowhere to be seen, nor have they reappeared today.  I am hopeful that they find someplace safe to build their nest, high above the maddening cats, and that The Roost is home to bunches of baby bluebirds when spring finally arrives!

And when the weather breaks good for a few hours - or hopefully days - I will take my car to town and wash it.  But for the time being I will take pride in the fact that is has been joyously decorated by a pair of happy bluebirds!

Domestic Terrorism: The Real National Emergency

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This past week a military officer, Coast Guard Lieutenant Christopher Paul Hassan, was arrested in his small basement apartment in the Maryland suburbs of our nation's capital.  When agents of the federal government kicked in his door, they discovered not only a large cache of weapons and ammunition, but also writings that documented his extremist right-wing views as well as a "hit list" of journalists and Democratic politicians.

Hassan, a former Marine, was currently serving at the Coast Guard Headquarters in Washington, DC.

In some of his documents Hassan had railed against the "liberalist / globalist" ideology which he said is destroying "traditionalist" peoples - especially whites.  He also said that he was looking to Russia with "hopeful eyes" or to any land that despises the West's liberalism.   Hassan's writings argued that violence would be necessary to counteract the "liberalist" ideology, and he predicted that "much blood will have to be spilled to get 'whitey' off of the couch" and presumably into the fight for a white nation state.

In addition to his bizarre writings and the stockpiling of arms and ammunition, it is also believed that Lt. Hassan was trying to develop ties to the American Neo-Nazi movement.

While Donald Trump continues to falsely report that the number of illegal immigrants from Latin America is on the rise, and that much of America's drug trafficking occurs across our southern border - other types of crimes really are increasing.  The Southern Poverty Law Center, which meticulously tracks both individual hate crimes as well as extremist movements, says that hate crimes against minorities in the United States are definitely on the rise, and that there has also been an increase in domestic terror attacks based on white supremacist ideology.

A lot of the hype against immigrants is just that - hype - jingoistic garbage stirred up by Donald Trump and Fox News to create a climate favorable to their purposes - a phony emergency being orchestrated by a squad of shameless con artists.  But domestic terrorism, on the other hand, is real, and it poses a threat not only to individual lives and a way of life, but it also undercuts the very basis of a stable democracy.

Donald Trump wails and shouts his moral indignation at a group of shoeless Central Americans walking north in the hope of being granted sanctuary in the United States.  He calls them "animals" from "shithole" countries.   But when a group of Nazi's carry torches and injure and even kill people in Charlottesville, Virginia, he puffs about the "fine people" on both sides of the issue.  And then when an actual domestic terrorist is caught with a big stockpile of arms almost within walking distance of the White House, a man whose list of enemies closely mirrors the same people whom Trump openly touts as his enemies, our leader is silent.

Domestic terrorism is a blight on our society and a real threat to our democratic processes.   The fact that it does not even merit a mention from our Commander in Chief tells us and the rest of the world that Donald Trump's political agenda is focused solely on maintaining his power, prestige, and position - and it has nothing at all to do with maintaining the spirit and principles that made the United States a worldwide beacon for democracy.

Trump is in it for himself, and if he senses that his best interests will be served by staying silent about domestic terrorism, then that is exactly what he will do.

Our real national emergency continues.

Why the Brits Don't Like Trump

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A few days ago one of my favorite relatives forwarded some observations by British writer Nate White on why the British don't like Donald Trump.  My relative had received it from a friend of hers - and both ladies thought that I would enjoy Mr. White's thoughts on our great, orange, American embarrassment - and I certainly did - so much so, in fact, that I have chosen to share them with the people who occasionally stop by this blog to get wound up for the day.

There is a lot of wisdom here.  Please enjoy!


A Brit's Take on Trump
by Nate White

“A few things spring to mind…

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.

For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever.

I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.

But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. 

And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.

And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.

Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.

Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.

He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat.

He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think

‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’

Trump is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.

After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; 

He is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. 

His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.

He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

‘My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.”

Wonder Wheel

by Pa Rock
Film Fan

Last night while clicking through Amazon's Prime offerings on my streaming device, I came across a movie that sounded promising - and I was not disappointed.

Wonder Wheel, a 2017 movie by Amazon, proved to be an evening of fine entertainment.

Woody Allen wrote and directed film that depicts life along New York's famed Coney Island in the early 1950's.  It has four central characters, and in true Woody Allen style, the movie offers a very introspective look into their lives as they tangle and then unwind.

Justin Timberlake plays Mickey, a hunky lifeguard whose entry into college was aborted by the outbreak of World War II.  Now a Navy veteran who has traveled the world, Mickey is back in New York and enrolled in college where he hopes to develop the skills and insight to become a successful playwright.  Mickey, in true Woody Allen fashion, narrates this tragic tale.

Ginny (Kate Winslet) is a waitress who works down the beach at Ruby's Clam House.  A few years earlier she had been rescued from a bad marriage by Humpty (Jim Belushi), one of the operators of the carousel at the beach.  Humpty has provided a home and stability to Ginny and her budding adolescent son who is a chronic fire-starter.  Ginny, an ex-actress of minor repute, is growing bored with her life and feels that she is just "playing the part" of a waitress.  She is rescued from the malaise of middle age when she meets Mickey the lifeguard and begins a torrid affair during the few brief moments that they can arrange to be together.

At that point (and actually the first scene of the movie) Carolina (Juno Temple) makes her appearance at Coney Island.  She is Humpty's adult daughter whose life had been sidetracked several years earlier when she gave up the idea of going to college in order to marry a mobster.  Eventually that life unraveled, and she gave evidence against the mob to prosecutors.  Now she has come to Coney Island, penniless, to hide out with her father.

And then one day while walking down the street, Ginny and Carolina, run into Mickey, and Ginny reluctantly introduces the two young people - and Woody Allen goes full Shakespeare - and stars begin to cross!

Mickey, who is out to experience life and has been "around the world," is immediately captivated by this blond sprite who has been "around the block."

There is no way that it will end well.

Wonder Wheel is a magical excursion to Coney Island as it was back in the day.  Woody Allen has captured the fun and intrigue of a place that was undoubtedly part of his misspent youth, and he distills those memories into a cinematic masterpiece - along with a soundtrack that tugs at the heartstrings of those of us of a certain age.  The story is compelling, and the cast amazing.

Overall, it was an evening well spent.

(Aside:  Although Juno Temple and I have never met, I am on reasonably good terms the writer and the director of one of her previous movies.  In 2011 Juno played the lead in The Brass Teapot, a film written by my son, Tim, and directed by Ramaa Mosley.  I was at it's world premiere at the Toronto Film Festival in 2012 where I met some of the cast, but Juno was not there due to other work commitments.  Pa Rock, however, remains a fan!)

Guns Can and Do Cause Crime

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I've undoubtedly told this family anecdote in this space before, so if you are already familiar with it, bear with me - because I am using it to lead into a current news story that you may not have heard.

Years ago my while my father was on a vacation in Florida, somebody tried to break into his house.  My dad, who was elderly at the time, lived in a fairly new house which he kept reasonably secure, and the would-be thieves were apparently scared off after breaking a window or doing some other damage  to the house that did not result in entry.  When Dad returned from his respite in the sun and discovered the burglary attempt, he was predictably upset.  I remember asking, in somewhat of a state of bewilderment, what he had in the house that thrives could possibly want, and he replied,"My guns."

Dad always kept several guns in the house, including one in a drawer on his bedside table.  If somebody broke in, he thought that he could go Full Rambo and and protect himself and his stack of "Gunsmoke" tapes.  What he was actually doing by having guns and ammunition at the ready was providing an incentive for people to break in - and, if he was able to pull a gun and challenge a burglar, chances are the old man, well into his eighties, would have been the one getting shot.

But our culture - and the NRA - bury us in the nonsense that having guns make us safer.  Thousands and thousands of accidental shootings in America each year would argue otherwise, but still Americans cling to their guns like toddlers with pacifiers.

Every day there are stories of children accidentally shooting other children or family members because a gun was left unsecured in a home.  This week there was a sibling-on-sibling shooting not too far from where I live, only these siblings were adults.  It happened in the small town of Boss, Missouri (population 288 and declining) on the eastern edge of rural Dent County.

Coincidentally, Dent County is the home of our area Congressman, a Republican named Jason Smith who has himself pocketed NRA donations.

The Dent County sheriff's office responded to a call this past Sunday from the mother of the two men who reported a shooting at one of their homes.  When deputies arrived they found 42-year-old Phillip Tinker dead from a gunshot wound inside of his home.  Th sheriff's officers then proceeded to the nearby home of his brother, Dennis Dyer, who was suspected of being the shooter.  As they surrounded that home, they saw smoke coming out of the structure and heard gunshots.  A body believed to be that of the brother was found inside, an apparent suicide.

But, as Paul Harvey used to tell us, there was more to the story.  What could have possibly stirred up enough anger between these two brothers that it resulted in a murder-suicide?  It turns out they were arguing over a gun!

I guess now the gun will go to Mother.

And it is undoubtedly tacky to make this observation, considering two people have died, but that gun has probably cost Donald Trump and Jason Smith two sure votes in the 2020 election.

Guns, you see,  have consequences.

Monday's Poetry: Recycling "The Return to the House at Pooh Corner"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Last week after finishing the book that I had been reading for several days, and with the realization that my bi-monthly literary magazines (Alfred Hitchcock Mysteries and Ellery Queen Mysteries) were both due to arrive within a few days, I headed to one of my numerous crammed bookcases and pulled out a volume that looked as though it could be consumed cover-to-cover in a few hours.   As I pulled the slim volume from its packed shelf, I was a little more than pleased to see that it was The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne with decorations (illustrations) by Ernest H. Shepard.

(Impromptu Vocabulary Builder:  Did you know that "bi-monthly" has two meanings:  once every two months or twice each month?  I find that very disconcerting, and I expect that if someone had tried to explain it to Winnie the Pooh, the poor bear would have found a nice sunny spot to lay down and rest his brain.   My mystery magazines come once every two months.    If they came twice a month, I would not have time to read anything else!)

The House at Pooh Corner is actually the second volume of stories that Milne published about Pooh and his friends who lived in an around the Hundred Acre Wood, the sequel to the original Winnie the Pooh.   The original volume was meant as an introduction of all of the beloved characters, and this volume is their good-bye, for as it ends Christopher Robin has grown to the point that he is preparing to leave home for reasons that are beyond the grasp of Pooh and the others.

There are ten stories in this volume, with the title piece, "The House at Pooh Corner," serving as the opening tale.  In it Pooh and little Piglet have a discussion about their friend Eeyore, the morose little donkey, and work themselves into a state of concern because Eeyore is the only one of their friends who does not have a house.  They set off to the Hundred Acre Wood with the good intention of building a house for Eeyore as a surprise.  On one side of the woods they come across what Pooh regards as a large pile of sticks.  He and Piglet take those sticks and carry them to the other side of the wood and use them to build a rickety shelter for the donkey.  Pooh decides to name the place after himself, "Pooh Corner," and the new house there will be Eeyore's home.

Meanwhile, poor luckless Eeyore actually has built himself a home, out of sticks, but he returns to it that very day to discover that it has been stolen!  It's lucky for him that Pooh and Piglet have a new home for him that is ready and waiting!

This book contains a fair amount of simple poetry - songs that randomly pop into Pooh's head - and it is also a masterwork of philosophy, one which implies that given enough time all things will work themselves out.  Just about any crisis can be managed with a nap or a jar of honey.

I used "Return to the House at Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins in this space just over a year ago, but spending a day or two with Pooh and his friends has planted the song squarely in my fuzzy little brain, so I am sharing it again.

I heard on the radio the other day that Loggins wrote this song when he was only 17-years-old, and obviously not too far beyond the youthful world of make-believe.  His words are a pleasant way to slip back into the Hundred Acre Wood.

Return to the House at Pooh Corner
by Kenny Loggins 

Christopher Robin and I walked along
Under branches lit up by the moon
Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore
As our days disappeared all too soon
But I've wandered much further today than I should
And I can't seem to find my way back to the Wood 

So help me if you can
I've got to get back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
You'd be surprised
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh 

Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
He came to me asking help and advice
From here no one knows where he goes
So I sent him to ask of the Owl if he's there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear 

Help me if you can
I've got to get back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
You'd be surprised
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh 

It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives
After all's said and done I was watching my son
Sleeping there with my bear by his side
So I tucked him in, I kissed him and as I was going
I swear that the old bear whispered "Boy welcome home" 

Believe me if you can
I've finally come back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
What do you know
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin
Back to the ways of Christopher Robin
Back to the days of Pooh

Our Youth Are Our Future: Give Them the Reins!

by Pa Rock
Septuagenarian

While most of us exhibit a certain amount of discomfort in discussing our own mortality. the bottom-line truth is this:  we all have an expiration date.  At some point our bodies will quit functioning, forever, and our surviving relatives or friends will be tasked with the unpleasant chore of disposing of our remains and dividing up our accumulations.   And other peoples' lives will presumably go on without us.

We all expire - and regardless of what our expiration date turns out to be, one certainty is this:  each day that we survive, we also move one day closer to reaching that expiration date.  At some point it is all over, and the older we get, the closer that day is.

The average life span in the United States in 2016 was 78.69 years.  Remember that.  That same year the average life span in the United Kingdom was 80.96 years - over two years longer than their American cousins, Canada was 82.30 years, and the Japanese boasted a life span of 83.98 years - more that five years longer than the average life of a resident of the United States.   (Apparently universal access to health care does make a difference!)

But this posting isn't about the advantages of allowing people to access health care.  This is a commentary on age - and particularly the role that age plays in public service and politics.

Donald Trump is the oldest person to ever be elected President.  At seventy-two (now) he is well into his elderly years.  He enjoys eating fast food, is physically out-of-shape, and has been officially diagnosed as "obese."  With Trump's proclivity for intemperate living, the Grim Reaper may claim him before Mueller does - and while that reality might not upset everyone, the people who elected Trump to serve a four-year term may feel savagely cheated if they wake up one morning and find a wimpy Mike Pence and Mother moving their stuff into the White House.

The Democrats could easily take advantage of Trump's age and physical shortcomings by nominating someone far younger and more dynamic to run against him in 2020 - and they have many good candidates and potential candidates who fit the bill, people like Kamala Harris, Julian Casttro, Amy Klobuchar,  Cory Booker, Beto O'Rourke, Kirsten Gillibrand, and Pete Buttigieg.

But the Democratic Party also has several old war horses who should be out enjoying life in the pasture, but instead feel that they are somehow owed one more Run for the Roses.

Joe Biden (currently 76) is reportedly very close to announcing his candidacy.  Biden, who has been running for President for over thirty years, somehow feels that 2020 might be when all of the magic will come together and place him in the Oval Office.  Bernie Sanders (77) is also gearing up for another run and has reportedly already recorded his announcement.   Billionaire Mike Bloomberg (77), a fierce anti-gun advocate, has been dancing around the edges of an announcement for months now, and Hillary Clinton (71) seems to be trying to get some traction as a potential nominee.

And, as I have said many, many times before - they are all too damned old!

Take that, Dead Horse!  And that!  And that!  And that!

The Democrats have lots of real choices in this election cycle.   Let's choose someone who will stand out as a contrast to Trump - intellectually and physically - someone with the potential to survive eight full years before they reach their expiration date!   It's time to move forward - into the future - and it's our youth who will take us (or at least themselves) there!

Amazon Versus NYC: A Tale of Jobs and Bribes

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

New York City either took a big economic hit this past week, or it made a laudable stand for human rights and fairness - depending on one's perspective.  Amazon.com, the internet's monster retailer, came out a couple of days ago and announced that its plans to put a new Amazon headquarters in the Queens borough were being cancelled, a decision that will cost the city about 25,000 potential jobs.  Surprisingly, not everyone in Queens was sad to see Amazon change its plans.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the fiery young congresswoman who represents much of Queens, viewed Amazon's change of plans as a victory for the little people, the ones who would have likely been physically displaced and had their lives upended when Amazon arrived in their neighborhoods.  She was also opposed to the $3.4 billion or so in government subsidies (over time) that the giant internet retailer was being offered by government entities to locate there, something that Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts, referred to as "bribes."

Governments call these bribes "incentives" and they play an integral part in luring large businesses to locate in their states, counties, or cities.  And the expanding businesses shop through these incentives as a part of their selection process.  The incentives are expected - sort of like silent demands.

New York Governor Andrew Cuomo, a Democrat, is fighting mad about the loss of 25,000 potential jobs for his state.  NYC Mayor Bill DeBlasio, also a Democrat, isn't happy either, but he regards Amazon's change of plans as their loss, much more so than New York's.  In DeBlasio's view, the giant corporation just blew a chance to be part of the greatest city on earth.

(A related aside:  Several years ago the country's largest retailer at the time, Walmart, made a decision to open its first store in rural McDonald County, Missouri, the southwest corner county of Missouri which shares borders with Oklahoma and Arkansas.  The long border with Arkansas, in fact, is with Benton County, the home of the Walmart, Inc.   

But before Walmart would open a store in McDonald County, it demanded several concessions from the locals.  The corporation insisted that the county build a special road to their new store, bring utilities to the site, and provide plenty of streetlights - and there was undoubtedly more to their non-negotiable demands.  Walmart was going to bring a helluva lot of business to the remote county, and it was also going to swell the county's sales tax collections.  Walmart was going to make money for McDonald County, and, in return, they wanted some of it back - in advance.   

The arrival of Walmart, like a cancer diagnosis, also caused some once healthy local businesses to soon die off.)

Amazon.com is headed by Jeff Bezos, the richest human on earth.  It is a profoundly successful business enterprise and its accountants are undoubtedly world class because the huge corporation, which reported profits in the billions of dollars in 2017, paid no federal income tax for that year.  And, with the Trump tax cuts for the rich in 2018 they actually made more money off of the real American taxpayers.

Sweet deal - and then the company wants New York to pay for privilege of hosting its new headquarters.

Elizabeth Warren is right.  Those requested government incentives are bribes, plain and simple, pay-to-play demands by modern day robber barons and common thugs in tuxedos.

If capitalism is so great, why would a successful business feel entitled to government supports.  Do Walmart  and Amazon have socialist leanings?  If they can't make it on their own, then perhaps the Walton and Bezos families should shovel some of their obscene profits back into the companies.  Americans support these multi-national corporations by making purchases - and if Walmart and Amazon have successful business models, that should be enough.

Businesses that demand bribes in order to exist are seriously flawed - and so are government entities that willingly pays those bribes!

Donald Trump IS the Emergency!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Back when Joe Arpaio was Sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona, a personal fiefdom which didn't reach within a hundred miles of the U.S. border with Mexico, Old Joe nonetheless would always begin demonizing immigrants whenever he wanted to stir up his rubes and increase political donations or get them to the polls.   One of Old Joe's favorite gags was to rant and rave about the Sonora desert south of Phoenix being strewn with headless bodies, and although he never explained why those decapitated corpses had lost their heads, the implication was that it had something to do with illegal drugs or human trafficking.  The enemy was at the gates and racing through - and only crusty Old Joe could stop them!

I lived in Phoenix for five of the Arpaio years and had the personal pleasure of voting against him twice.    During those five years if ever a headless corpse was discovered in Arizona, it did not make it into the Arizona Republic or any of the area's many local news sources.  Old Joe, you see, was (and undoubtedly still is) a profound and quite happy liar.

Donald John Trump is also a profound and happy liar, and he, too, has learned that vilifying immigrants is a sure-fire way to stir support - money and votes - from the rubes.  Trump built his base in the last election by playing to people's fears, and one of the most successful fears he cultivated was that of foreigners.  Not just any foreigners - because Trump himself has had two foreign-born wives - but particular fears of brown-skinned immigrants (animals) from "shithole" countries - and Muslims.

One way that Trump managed to focus his not-overly-bright base was to rail about immigrants coming across our southern border - people he characterized not only as "animals," but also as gang members, rapists, drug traffickers, and job-stealers.   And while he shamelessly inflamed America's racist passions, he conveniently forgot to mention to his army of God-fearing border protectors that his own businesses had hired many of these immigrants to work at Trump properties.

Trump said that America was in danger from these (mostly imaginary) hordes of invaders, and at some point during his campaign of misinformation and fear-mongering, he gave his supporters a solution that they could understand.  When he became President he would build a big damned wall and keep those dirty Mexicans out.

Then, through a colossal karmic joke, Donald Trump was elected, something that surprised even him.  He began implementing his racist agenda through a travel ban that barred visitors from several major Muslim countries, and increased official harassment at the southern border - including his odious family separation policies.  But somehow Trump never got around to building his wall - at least not during the first two years of his administration when Republicans had complete control of Congress.  The golf course beckoned - almost daily!

When the Republicans lost control of the House with last November's elections, Trump suddenly got fired up again about his wall - a fight to again stir his rubes and reenergize support for his flagging presidency.  This time when Trump was demonizing the "invaders" from the south, he added a new component.  Muslim prayer rugs had been found littering the desert - those heathen Muslims were sneaking in, too!   That was just too much, and a big, beautiful wall was now an absolute necessity!

The prayer rugs, like Old Joe's headless bodies, never existed.  Oh, there might have been the occasional discarded poncho that some scared immigrant had used for a bed roll, but "prayer rugs" make much better stories than ponchos and blankets.   The rubes believe that the voice of God flows across Trump's lips, and they continue to buy his lies as gospel.

Now Donald John Trump, after failing to get the amount of money that he wanted for his vanity wall through a government shutdown and through negotiations with Congress, said that he will sign the new appropriations bill - one that does not fund his wall with the amount of taxpayer cash that he has requested.   But he will also declare that a "national emergency" exists at the border, and he will take the funding that he needs from other sources.

The headless bodies and prayer rugs don't exist -they never did.  Those are facts - and the Trump administration shows a distinct discomfort in dealing with facts.  Here is another fact - there are nine U.S. congressional districts along the 2,000 mile southern U.S. border with Mexico, and all nine of those congress people, Democrat and Republican alike, are opposed to Trump's border wall.   If our southern border was actually in crisis and a true emergency existed, wouldn't it be likely that members of Congress from that area would know about it and would be fired up and demanding action?  Instead, they want nothing to do with it!

And if the members of Congress who represent our southern border don't want Trump's wall, chances are their voters - the people who actually live and work in the shadow of the border with Mexico - don't want it either!

There is no damed emergency along our southern border, but that is not to say that we are safe from foreign threats.   Robert Mueller and his team of investigators are preparing a report that will hopefully shed some light on a true threat to our democracy - a substantial threat cultivated and funded by Putin's Russian.

America is currently under the thumb of a despotic individual who lies incessantly and has trouble speaking in coherent sentences.   He appears to be making a personal profit off of his office and holds his financial information secret - and he also appears to make rash and impulsive decisions without consulting advisors - decisions which don't always appear to be in the best interests of the United States of America.

Now, as all of these other concerns begin to clarify, Donald Trump, the great distractor, is yelling "Look over here - there's an emergency on the border!"  There is an emergency alright, but it's not at the border.

Our emergency is Donald John Trump, and it's high time the country recognized its peril and took action!

The very concept of democracy hangs in the balance!

The Courage of Parkland

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Today, as many, many Americans know, is the first anniversary of the horrific school shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.  As a nation we have endured an almost endless stream of deadly school shootings since the 1980's, but the the shooting at Parkland stands out and attaches itself to our national memory and conscience for multiple reasons.

First, with seventeen deaths, it was not the most deadly school shooting in US. History (thirty-two died at Virginia Tech and twenty-seven - mostly primary school students - were gunned down at Sandy Hook), but it was one on the more deadly school shootings in our history - with a body count that exceeded Columbine.

Second, the shooting at Parkland happened on Valentine's Day, forever forging a link to one of our more joyous and festive holidays, an emotional incongruence between hearts and flowers - and murder and mayhem.

And third, the shooting at Parkland has remained in our consciousness because a group of very angry student survivors have refused to let us forget that it happened.  They didn't want a week's worth of "thoughts and prayers" before being forced to fade into the background noise of daily life in America.    The Parkland students wanted to help bring about an end to school shootings - and they wanted to be heard.

Those young people developed an agenda - one focusing on the elimination of easy access to guns, and they worked tirelessly to spread their message to the American public - and particularly to state and national legislators as well as to other young people - those who were going to school each day with the threat of school shootings forcing its way into heads like never-ending migraines.  The young people from Parkland stood up to the NRA and other "gun rights" organizations.  They went toe-to-toe with well-paid and seasoned gun lobbyists, they were relentless in bringing public pressure to bear on legislators.    They also organized and conducted coast-to-coast voter registration drives with a focus on young, first-time voters.

Another part of the students' agenda was to deny "fame" to school shooters, and they have been persistent in their demands that the media not provide the oxygen of publicity to those crazed individuals who see shooting up schools and killing kids as their ticket golden ticket to achieving a place in history.  Last week USA Today had an article which mentioned the Parkland shooter by name, and a couple of survivors immediately published a petition on-line decrying the article - and began heaving controversy toward that national publication.   The newspaper learned, as many politicians already knew, that you cross these "kids" at your own peril.

A few of the students from Parkland became better known than many national politicians - young people like Emma Gonzalez, Cameron Kasky, and David Hogg - and have even taken their activism to international levels.  Miss Gonzalez is closing in on two million Twitter followers, and Mr. Hogg inflamed "gun rights" activists to the point that some gun ranges were using a photograph of him for their targets.  Right-wing journalists have also tried to ingratiate themselves with the NRA by attacking these civic-minded young people as some sort of un-American fanatics.

In the past year Parkland has become synonymous with courage.  The students who were at school that day, hiding in closets and darkened classrooms, showed courage as they texted their goodbyes to family and friends while listening to the sounds of gunfire echoing down hallways - and many also took a courageous stand by returning to the school when it reopened.  Many showed courage by becoming active in the gun control movement locally and nationally - and forcing a complacent citizenry to actually think about guns and the actual harm they cause, instead of just mindlessly mouthing slogans.

The courage of Parkland is having an impact.  The face of the House of Representatives changed dramatically with the election last November, due in at least some measure to an increase in youth voting - and the new Congress appears ready to begin enacting sensible gun  reforms.  One of the first items into the legislative hopper will be a bill calling for universal background checks.  Is it too much to ask that some attempt be made to weed out insane people and career criminals from the gun-buying public?  What is the argument for allowing certified lunatics to buy guns?

Other areas that hopefully will soon be address include universal registration (like we have for cars), mandatory liability insurance for gun owners (again, like we have for car owners), and a prohibition on semi-automatic and automatic weapons - like the ones favored by mass shooters to maximize body counts - and weapons with no relevance to the "sport" of hunting.

Getting America to stand up to the gun lobby and enact sensible gun control measures will be a long and difficult haul, but thanks to the courageous nature of the young people from Parkland, we are nearer to that goal than we were a year ago.

And for that we should all be thankful!

Russian Doll

by Pa Rock
TV Junkie

For those of you who have not yet seen the new Netflix series Russian Doll, consider this your official challenge to do so.   The first season is just out - eight, thirty-minute episodes - which could be easily binged in an afternoon.

Russian Doll is one of the most original shows that I have stumbled across.  The central character, Nadia (the Russian doll), is a young and very hip computer game programmer living in New York City.  The first episode begins as she is emerging from the bathroom of a friend's apartment in the midst of a birthday celebration in which she is the guest of honor.  Nadia leaves the apartment in search of her cat, "Oatmeal," and, later that evening is hit and killed by a car as she darts into the street to reach the runaway cat.

Moments later Nadia comes to standing at the sink in the friend's bathroom.  As she leaves the bathroom, she finds that she is back at the party at the very same point in time at which she exited the room earlier.  A few more accidents ensue as Nadia starts figuring out that she is stuck in some karmic time loop, one that always begins with her death and ends with her back in the bathroom at the party.

Yes, it sounds a bit like Groundhog Day, but this show is at best a distant relative, one who has grown up in a whole different world from Bill Murray's weatherman.

Nadia is a strong-willed and very brash independent woman who, although significantly scarred by a well-meaning but psychologically abusive mother, is succeeding in conquering life on her own terms.  She regards this sudden time loop phenomenon as a personal challenge and sets out to figure out why it is happening to her as a first step in getting it to stop.   One evening she is on an elevator which suddenly begins to fall.  All of the other passengers in the elevator begin going crazy with fear, except one young man and Nadia.  She casually informs him that they are all going to die, and asks him why he is not panicking.  He replies, calmly, that he has died many times.

When Nadia comes to in the bathroom of her friend's apartment moments later, she sets out to find the mysterious stranger.

I have heard the expression that certain dialogue "crackles," and that is a perfect word to describe the fast paced humor and action in Russian Doll.  The dialogue of the characters, in particular, leaves one with the sense of an electric line that has been severed and is whipping around on the ground like a crazed snake.  It bites, and pops, and shocks with abandon.  This show is very, very funny - in an irreverent and adult way.

Russian Doll stars Natasha Lyonne as Nadia, the off-the-wall central character, and Charlie Barnett as Alan, the young man who is trapped in the very same time loop as Nadia.   The show's creators and writers are Natasha Lyonne, Amy Poehler, Leslye Headland, and Elizabeth Ashley - and together these four ladies have come up with a dynamite concept and a rollicking good television show.

The following is a snippet review that I borrowed from a contributor calling himself "bluesinab" at the Internet Movie Data Base (IMDB).  I thought that he (or she) captured the essence of Russian Doll more succinctly than I ever could:

In semi-typical fashion it started a little slow in interest for me but I watched the first episode and said,"Ok, one more..." And then of course you get the obligatory, "Well, I HAVE to see what happens next.." which is followed by, "Well, who the hell is THIS character?" And then of course the reaction of, " Oh Hell Naw!" Which proceeds the ever popular, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?" But then you get the "Oh I got this" episode. Only to be smacked by the " Whoa.... didn't see THAT coming" show. Which all is summed up with "More please.."

And that about says it all.  I haven't enjoyed a show this much in a long damned time - and I highly recommend it for your viewing enjoyment!

Fascists Target Singles

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

One of the United States two major political parties is becoming more diverse and dynamic, while the other is not.

This year four female Democratic senators have already announced their intentions to run for President, a female serves as the Democratic Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, two black individuals have entered the Democratic presidential race and a third appears likely to enter as well, and one openly gay male Democratic mayor is in the race.  One prominent Hispanic politician is running for President - as is another candidate who speaks fluent and beautiful Spanish. Two female Democratic members of the House of Representatives are Muslim and another two are Native Americans, and a couple of other prominent politicians identify as Democratic Socialists.

The Republican Party remains largely an enclave of starchy white men wearing suits and ties - and bearing guns, Bibles, and pockets stuffed with cash from lobbyists.

This strong diversity factor is not going unnoticed by the general public, and much of their thinking on the matter was reflected back in the serious beating that Republican politicians - particularly those running for Congress - took at the polls last November.

Republicans, being the party of exclusion, chose to face down this political reality, not by trying to become more inclusive themselves, but by clinging to their hate and bigotry and demonizing all of the "others" who were finding acceptance from the Democrats.  Donald Trump is currently on a bender about "socialists," while Mike Pence saves his best fire for "gays."  And most of the party faithful follow Trump's lead on painting immigrants as diseased criminals - "animals" from "shithole" countries - bent on overrunning America and taking all of the good jobs.

Democrats support policies of growth and change, while Republicans strive to maintain privilege.

Bryan Fischer is a right-wing radio jockey who has a program on American Family Radio.  He is also a regular noise on social media.  This week Fischer has posted some exceptionally virulent remarks about Democratic senator and presidential candidate Cory Booker of New Jersey.  Booker, who, until he was elected to the Senate six years ago, served as mayor of Newark where he became nationally known for his quick response to constituent concerns - often responding immediately to tweets from residents from his city with replies that help was on the way.  Booker also once famously ran into a burning building and saved a woman's life.  People in Jersey like Cory Booker - and with good reason.

But Cory Booker has a couple of negatives, especially from a GOP perspective.  He is black and he is a never-married forty-nine-year-old male.  Barack Obama proved - twice - that a black man can be elected President of the United States, so tackling Senator Booker on that front might seem pointless, but a few of the fight-wing extremists - like Bryan Fischer - are focusing on Booker's other "vulnerability" in trying to give the candidate a mortal wound during the early days of the campaign.

Last week, Fischer, tweeted this little gem in response to an article on Senator Booker in Politico which asked the question:  "Is America Ready for a Single President?"

"Is America Ready for a Single President?" The better question: is America ready for a homosexual president? If Cory Booker turns out to be gay, he is disqualified. Cannot have a man who engages in sexually deviant behavior in the White House.

After receiving an assortment of responses which basically accused Fischer of "being in the closet" himself and charged him with speculating on something that was none of his business,  the erstwhile mudslinger came back with this addendum:

"Booker's sexual proclivities are in fact my business if he wants to be president of the United States. He will be compromised on every public policy issue that deals with homosexual behavior, including transgenders in the military and discrimination against Christian bakers."

I guess he does not regard Donald John Trump as a "compromised" leader because Trump's documented multiple sexual indiscretions - including being spanked with a rolled up newspaper by a porn star - have all been with women, while the ones Fischer imagines regarding Booker could have been with men.

Just for my own edification I took a tour of Bryan Fischer's Twitter account, and, not surprisingly, I found it to be a crazy quilt of . . .  well . . . crazy!   He posited questions like "Can a Christian vote for a Democrat?", and told of his fears that migrants along the southern border were bringing in flesh-eating bacteria.    Fischer believes that global warming is a hoax - and cites cold weather in the Midwest over the past couple of weeks as proof of his non-scientific beliefs.  He also thinks that there was no Trump-Russia conspiracy, government is too big,  and a wall should be built along the southern border.   Fischer was - and still is - a strong supporter of Alabama's Judge Roy Moore, he is staunchly anti-Muslim, pro "life," and doesn't like socialists.

But a porn star beating Donald Trump's fat, married, white ass with a newspaper is just fine with Bryan and Jesus.   (Never mind that Jesus was a seriously dark-skinned, socialist, confirmed bachelor who lived primarily in the company of men.)

Bryan J. Fischer, like many of his ilk, cannot be sidetracked by facts.  He is on a mission to define the world according to his biased beliefs.

Choosing a President is a complicated process that should not be constrained by the rigid moralities of small-minded and intolerant people like Bryan Fischer.  If Donald John Trump, a man who has had multiple wives and mistresses can serve in the office, then certainly a single man should have the same opportunity.

This is America, after all, and it needs to mean something of value.  This American voter would choose the values of Cory Booker over those of Donald Trump and Bryan Fischer any day of the week - and twice on Sunday!

Give 'em hell, Cory!