Junk Fees, Joe? Let's Start with the Airlines

 

by Pa Rock

Plucked Passenger

 "Junk Fees" is a term referring to charges that some companies add to the purchase price of their product, usually late in the purchase process at a time when customers are less likely to back out due to sleaze ball practices by the seller.  The Biden administration has recently seemed to take an interest in going after this particularly shoddy way of relieving consumers of even more of their hard-earned cash, and they see it as one more element of a populist campaign that should be popular with voters without shutting down American enterprise..

Two weeks ago the Biden administration was able to announce that Live Nation and Ticketmaster were instituting new practices that would enable consumers to see the actual (complete) price of tickets up front at the beginning of the ticket-purchasing process, thus ending the old bait-and-switch routine that had been involved in concert ticket sales for literally generations.

And the administration has vowed that other companies in other fields will be following suit.  The whole concept of eliminating junk fees has, in fact, become a Biden campaign focus  for 2024.

Wonderful, wonderful!  Although my purchasing of concert tickets has dropped off sharply over the past few years, this member of the buying public still appreciates any serious efforts to rein-in prices and to protect consumers from unscrupulous sellers.

Now do the airline industry!

Why, oh why, must an air traveler in the United States of America have to pay extra to bring a modest amount of luggage.  I recently made a trip on a major airline and had to pay $30 to bring along one suitcase.  I chose to pack all of my stuff in one standard-sized suitcase and then check that bag so that it would travel in the cargo hold of the plane and not pose and obstacle or risk for myself and other passengers.  I did not choose to use a smaller suitcase that I could cram into an overhead compartment and take up space that could be used for smaller, personal items brought by other passengers.  

I also chose not to pay another special fee that would have allowed me to choose my seat, and instead spent two-and-a-half hours curled up in a ball in a middle seat between two large people.  (Okay, I am large, too - but that's not the point.)   I bought my ticket early and should have had a choice of seating then based on my early purchase - first in line - and not on a greedy sliding-scale of extra amenities at an extra cost.

Why can't airlines just determine a price for flying from Point A to Point B, a price where they could make a profit, and then stop nickel-and-diming the public with junk fees?

Traveling with one piece of luggage and at least having a chance at getting an aisle seat are not things that merit the picking of pockets.  They should be part of the basic, advertised ticket price.

Fix it, Joe - and Secretary Pete.   And when you are done with that, expand Amtrak so that fewer people get forced into the flying cattle cars that currently masquerade as an  "airline industry."

Going, Going, Gone!

 

by Pa Rock

Farmer in the Pit of Summer

The grass in my yard is turning brown.  I am sitting in front of the living room window watching it turn brown.  It is browner now than it was fifteen minutes ago.  Soon it will begin to crinkle and crunch under my feet when I walk outside.

That's the bad news, and it is almost entirely due to a devastating climate change that the earth is currently experiencing, a major change in weather patterns and related events, like massive wildfires, that are the direct result of centuries of man raping the planet of its resources while doing almost nothing that would be of longterm benefit to life on our fragile little biosphere.

As a result the earth is dying, in real time, and many of us who did not plan on being around when that happened are, nevertheless, gasping for clean air as we rush from air-conditioner to air-conditioner and frantically try to see some hope for a livable future, at least one which can sustain us through the rest of this summer.  We will worry about next summer later - that is the American way.

And while I typed that shard of doom and gloom, the grass in my yard just got a little browner - I watched it happen!

The good news is that while my yard in a deeper shade of brown, it is almost completely mowed and looks nice, even in brown.  I have had a troubled spring and summer with health issues, an my son stepped up and announced that he was taking on the responsibility of mowing - and I was so beaten down just trying to breathe that I relented and got out of his way.  Today most of the yard is freshly mowed, and the part that isn't doesn't look all that bad,  It should be finished in one more brief session.  

Add to that the fact that good neighbor, Rex, came by the last two days and did that early summer brush-hogging on the part that I never mow, and the place now looks catalogue-perfect.  

I carry water to the hanging baskets, a few tomato and pepper plants,  and the rosebushes every evening.  Tonight I will probably add the young dogwood trees to my watering routine.  All of those things remain colorful little ornaments scattered across a sea of brown lawn.  

The temperature is supposed to reach 102 degrees Fahrenheit where I live this afternoon, so I will wait until almost dark before I go out to water.

Did I mention that we have brought this hell upon ourselves - and that we continue to do so?

Hot-as-Hell Texas Eliminates Water Breaks for Workers

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Texas - as well as much of the southwestern United States - is undergoing a significantly hot summer with extreme temperatures reaching as far north as where I live in southern Missouri.  The heat, a direct result of climate change, is vicious.   Last year was the second hottest summer  on record in Texas, and it looks as though this summer could be even worse.

A couple of fairly significant communities in Texas - the cities of Austin and Dallas - established ordinances earlier this year that would force construction companies operating within their city limits to provide workers with a ten-minute cooling or "water" break every four hours.  But Texas businesses do not like being told how to behave, and they immediately approached their bought-and-paid-for Texas' legislators and requested a state law to override those community-based worker safety regulations.  The Texas legislature complied and passed a bill which not only nullified the existing regulations out of Austin and Dallas, but also made it illegal for other communities to pass similar safety measures.

Governor Greg Abbott, who generally works in air-conditioned comfort, quickly signed the new legislation which eliminated required water breaks for workers.

Civil rights groups are arguing that the new law in Texas that eliminates the mandatory water breaks will have a significant impact on Black and Latino communities, groups that are already disproportionately affected by extreme heat.  Current estimates are that six of every ten construction workers in Texas are Latino.

The Republican push for state-sanctioned cruelty rolls ever onward.

US Putin Caucus Suffers Embarrassing Setback

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Ever since Russia's brutal invasion of Ukraine in February of last year, there has been a minority of members of the US House of Representatives who have staunchly opposed all US aid to Ukraine.  This group, which ranged at times from just two negative votes upwards to almost sixty at other times, was consistent in the fact that all of its members were from the Republican Party.  

Former Republican US Representative Liz Cheney referred to the members who voted against US war support for Ukraine as the "Putin wing" of the GOP.   Others simply called those Republicans "Putin's caucus."   Recently fired Fox News host, Tucker Carlson, at times appeared to function as the national spokesperson for that extremist segment of Congress.  Losing Carlson's voice on Fox was undoubtedly a blow to the radicals, but it was certainly not as embarrassing as the kick in the ego that those members suffered this past Saturday when Russia's mercenaries, the Wagner Group, turned on Putin and began a military advance on Moscow - and the Russian head of state, Vladimir Putin, was seen by the entire world as a panicked leader.

During the early days of the Russian assault on Ukraine, the United States Congress quickly passed four bills designed to aid Ukraine in the struggle against. the invaders:

1.  The Russia and Belarus Financial Sanctions Act which kept entities owned by US financial institutions from circumventing US financial sanctions on Russia and Belarus.   The US House of Representatives passed that act by a vote of 418 to 2, with the two negative votes coming from Republicans Thomas Massie of Kentucky and Marjorie Taylor Greene of Georgia.

2.  The Ukraine Comprehensive Debt Repayment Relief Act which called for a suspension of Ukrainian debt payments during the war.  It passed the House by a vote of 362-56, with the 56 "no" votes all coming from Republicans - including Massie and Greene.

3.  The Isolate Russian Government Officials Act which called for excluding Russian officials from international meetings like the G-20 summits.  It passed the House on a vote of 416-2, with Republicans Thomas Massie and Marjorie Taylor Greene again casting the lone "no" votes.   And,

4.  The Russia and Belarus SDR Exchange Prohibition Act, a bill intended to block Russia and Belarus' access to International Monetary Fund tools.  That bill passed the House 417-2, with Republicans Thomas Massie and Marjorie Taylor Greene voting "no."

Some may have come to the conclusion that certain Republicans seemed to cast their lot with Putin based on Donald Trump's long-standing admiration of the Russian strongman.   Others may have used some other political calculus in justifying support of a giant autocratic country invading a smaller, struggling democracy - but oddly, all of the support for the Russian invasion seemed to be deeply rooted in the extreme right wing of the Republicans in Congress.  Liz Cheney called it correctly.

Saturday as I watched the drama unfold with Russia's own mercenary forces turning on their government and beginning the march toward Moscow, my thoughts circled around to the Putin caucus in the US Congress.  Putin was not the only political animal to be exposed as an empty suit this weekend, several members of the US Congress have also suffered an embarrassing political setback - or at least they should be embarrassed! 

Stand strong, Ukraine!   Most of America has your back!

The Trip, She Ended

 

by Pa Rock

Weary Traveler

Rosie and I arrived safely back at The Roost just north of West Plains, Missouri, at around one p.m. this afternoon following a nearly five-hour drive from the Kansas City area.  Mercifully, the drive was totally uneventful.

Rosie spent the past week with my son and his family in the Kansas suburbs of Kansas City where she learned to exert her Dominant Chihuahua over Jack, the playful Black Lab.  She did well, but was very happy when I finally showed up yesterday evening just as the sun was going down. (I should have been back three hours before the sun went down, but don't get me started on airlines, airports, and flying!  There will be plenty of time for all of that later.  When I do get started cranking that out of my system, after some serious decompression time, I will begin by sharing a letter that I am already composing in my head to Secretary Pete!)   My final flight anywhere will be a roundtrip to Oregon next month, and after that I will walk!

While Rosie was in Kansas City teaching Jack how to behave in polite society, I was in Goldsboro, North Carolina, enjoying all of the artistic commotion that comes with putting on a play.  I had already done "my part" by writing the danged thing, so basically all I had to do was sit and be entertained - which I did - and was.  I've said it several times in this space already, but the cast and crew of "The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom," did a superlative job of bringing that hillbilly comedy to life!  Thanks so much, Spotlight Theatre Company!

It rained, sometimes heavily, just about every time that I stepped outside in North Carolina, so I wasn't able to explore much.  Basically I just drove three streets:  Spence (where my hotel was located), Ash (which cut across town), and Central (the home of  the Paramount Theatre).   

I had read on the internet that when Andy Griffith lived in Goldsboro as a young adult in the 1940's and taught at the local high school, he stayed in a house at the corner of Audubon and Mulberry.  One afternoon as I was working my way across town on Ash, it quit raining for a few seconds and I noticed that I was crossing Audubon.  I turned right onto Audubon, but the street seemed to end in a couple of blocks, so I turned around and drove back across Ash heading the other direction - where I found Mulberry about two blocks beyond Ash.  The intersection of Audubon and Mulberry had two homes that could have provided a room to the young teacher, but neither had any sort of marker to commemorate that historical tidbit, and one of the yards needed mowing so badly that it made me homesick for my own yard back in Missouri.

That search for Andy's home was my only foray into pure tourism while I was in town.

(West Plains, where I live, was home to several entertainment and sports figures, and each has a street named after them - save one.  We have a very busy "boulevards" named after the likes of Porter Wagoner, Preacher Roe, and Bill Virdon - and even an "expressway" for singer/songwriter Jan Howard, but there is nothing in town to commemorate television and screen legend Dick Van Dyke who was born here to an unwed mother staying in town with relatives nearly a century ago.  Was it the circumstances of his birth that has kept the patriarchs and matriarchs of West Plains from recognizing their most famous son?  Enquiring minds would like to know?)

I'm rambling, of course, but what better place to do it that in my own "Ramble!"

It's good to be home!

Second Night, Another Success

 

by Pa Rock

Fool with a Keyboard

"The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom," a hillbilly comedy, completed its second night of a two-night run at the beautiful Paramount Theatre in Goldsboro, North Carolina, last night.  The audience, somewhat larger than the one which attended opening night, was enthusiastic and laughed in all of the right places.    One of the cast members remarked to me after the play that the audience's enthusiasm was instrumental in energizing the cast and making the presentation so successful.

The play was performed by the Spotlight Theatre Company under the direction of Janelle Donovan.  As the person who penned the original script, I could not have been happier with the overall production.  It was a thrill to see the fictional residents of Dead Man's Bottom come to life and strut their stuff across the stage in such a grand manner.

Thank you Janelle and the Spotlight players for doing such an exceptional job with the material and for  giving this old man a week that he will always treasure and remember!

My very best to you all!

Opening Night Success for "The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom"

by Rocky Macy

Theatre Goer

A very successful production of  "The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom," a hillbilly comedy, opened at the beautiful Paramount Theatre in the old town section of Goldsboro, North Carolina, yesterday evening.  The play was flawlessly performed by the Spotlight Theatre Company, a local dramatic group with several members who serve, or are married or related to people who serve, at the nearby Seymour Johnson Air Force Base.

Last nights' performance was the world premier of the play which was originally written by this tired old typist many years ago.  Having the pleasure of seeing it brought to life on stage, especially after such a long incubation period, felt like a wonderful reunion with old friends.   Watching Mean Nadine, Booger, Little Mammy, Big Pappy, Sheriff Potts, the Granny Woman, Preacher Payne, Harley O. Bandana, the revenuers, and Trapper Joe all become animated and tell their tales of life and love in the hills of rural America was an absolute pleasure for the old goat who wrote it so long ago.

The set was very well designed and constructed, easily the equal of  theatre sets built by groups with far more resources, and the lighting and sound were also of a professional quality.  Add to that a well rehearsed cast who knew their lines and hit their marks, and the result was absolutely exceptional.

I would like to sincerely thank the Spotlight Theatre Company for doing such a professional job with"The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom."  I enjoyed it immensely and am looking forward to tonight's final performance.                               

Some Thoughts on Writing

 

by Pa Rock

Fool with a Keyboard

A lady at last night's rehearsal for "The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom," a play which I wrote and which has its world premier tonight at the Paramount Theatre in Goldsboro, North Carolina, asked me about other things that I have written.  She had seen "Crimes in Desolation" which was performed by the same acting troupe here in Goldsboro at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base two years ago.  I told her that I had written a few other plays (three, actually) and one of those, a truck stop comedy, "Love Among the Armadillos," was performed twice, once by a community little theatre in Missouri and another time by the drama department of a community college, also in Missouri.

While I may have felt like the Neil Simon of southern Missouri for a brief time, it just never came to pass.  Real life always seemed to demand too much of my time.  (I do have one more play in the works - a sequel to "Crimes in Desolation," but the sand in my personal hourglass seems to be racing through faster and faster, so who knows what will eventually get finished.)

I did mention this blog to the lady that I was chatting with last night, but I warned her that I often wrote about politics and I am an unapologetic leftie.  (Never scoff at someone who is a blogger until you have sat down and tried to come up with original and interesting material six thousand mornings in a row!)

I also told her that I have been working on a novel, something I have never attempted before and an endeavor which is proving far more interesting that anything I ever envisioned.   I read something by Stephen King (a real novelist) once where he said that he often does not know where a novel is headed as he is writing it, and that his characters eventually lead him to the conclusion - and that is exactly the experience that I have been dealing with in my big typing effort.  I began with a general idea of the story I wanted to tell and where I envisioned it ultimately going, and I had several characters developed to begin telling the tale.  The more I wrote, the easier it seemed to be getting - almost to the point that it felt like "automatic" writing - but then - a hundred or so pages into the effort, I suddenly realized that the characters had hijacked my tale and were making it their own - taking the story in a direction that I never intended.

Now I am straddling two tales, trying to decide whether to reclaim my original thread, or go with the one that the characters want to tell, or weave something together from the two very distinct strands.  If I do manage to beat the clock and complete the effort, I'm not expecting any publisher to show up at my door demanding to publish the quirky tale (It's a "mystery" of sorts.), nor will I massage my ego by "self-publishing" with a vanity press, but I might release it in installments in this blog.  In fact, I am really liking that idea.

And, in my spare time, I am also working on three family history books, most of the material for which has already been published in this blog.

I'm Pa Rock.  I eat, sleep, mow, and type - and damned little else!

Greene Goes Full Pot-Kettle on Boebert

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

In an amazing display of pot-kettle mentality, US Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, a Republican from Georgia, this week called her fellow member of Congress, Lauren Boebert, a Republican from Colorado, a "little bitch" on the House floor.  Greene and Boebert who both were first elected to Congress in the fall of 2020 and were sworn into office in 2021 just three days before Trump's attempted coup and insurrection, have reportedly been at each other's proverbial throats since this past December.

It's a shame that the two congresswomen can't get along because they seem to have similar philosophies of government.  Neither is focused on writing legislation and passing bills, but seem to be focused on ways to disrupt government, make headlines on Fox, and find ways to fundraise off of their elected positions.

The current flap revolves around each of their efforts to impeach President Biden, something that clearly is not going to happen, but maneuvers which animate their bases, nonetheless.  Marge Green had introduced impeachment resolutions against not only Biden, but also against Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas,  FBI Director Christopher Wray, Matthew Graves, the US Attorney for the District of Columbia, and US Attorney General Merrick Garland.

Marge Greene seemed to have the "look at me, I'm impeaching people" lane all to herself until Lauren Boebert stepped on her colleague's toes and introduced her own resolution to impeach Joe Biden.  Then, while there was still confusion in the House on how to proceed - or even if to proceed on the impeachment resolutions, Boebert introduced a measure that would force a House vote on her impeachment resolution.

And when Boebert maneuvered her resolution to the forefront, Marge was mightily pissed - and lashed out on the House floor calling Boebert a "little bitch" to her face - a bit of high drama that was caught on camera.  In a subsequent interview with an internet news outlet, Marge enhanced that description to a "nasty little bitch."

Marge Greene says that Boebert is imitating her, and she notes that imitation is the highest form of flattery.

Perhaps it's imitation, but another possibility is that it's simply reflection.  The similarities between the two women seem to be much more striking than any differences that exist between the two.  Both seem far more focused on political maneuverings to keep their names in the news than they are in any serious efforts to legislate or govern.  Neither will manage to get Joe Biden - nor anyone else - removed from office, yet they are certain to remain at the center of many whacky political storms.  And both have experienced marital upheaval since first being elected to Congress, and both have recently filed for divorce from the fathers of their children.

Pot, take a long, hard look in the mirror and meet Kettle.

Tweedle dee, tweedle-dumb.

Goldsboro in the Rain

 

by Pa Rock

Road  Warrior

Yesterday was a very hard day on the road which involved waking up in Kansas City around four a.m., being shuttled to the new KCI airport by my son (and I WILL write more about that new facility at a future date - after I have had an opportunity to calm down), a flight from KC to Charlotte, NC, in which I was trapped in a middle seat and directly in front of the only crying baby on the entire plane, mass chaos at the Charlotte airport where chaos seems to be a normal part of its existence, and a short "hop" to Raleigh-Durham where I rented a car and drove on to Goldsboro in a torrential downpour that had many drivers using their flashers and pulling over to the side of the road to await the arrival of Jesus.

There were two high points in the day-long ordeal.  KCI has a new rule that if you are seventy-five you can keep your shoes on, so I qualified by three months - and I did have to show ID to prove my worthiness to keep my shoes on - AND - the car rental clerk and Hertz in Raleigh-Durham was one of the nicest and most considerate people that I have come across in any of my travels.  But, other than those two bright spots, the day sucked and then it rained!

I was in Goldsboro two years ago when a drama that I had written ("Crimes in Desolation"), was performed at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base, and I remembered from that experience that the town is laid out strangely and difficult to navigate.  The rain started to let up just about the time that I got to Goldsboro late yesterday afternoon, and I spent thirty minutes or so driving around looking for either my hotel or the Paramount Theatre - and found neither.  Finally I stopped at a Hardee's for supper and did got enough directions to find my hotel.  Later I discovered that the Paramount Theatre, where this year's Macy play ("The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom") is being performed, is within walking distance of that Hardees.

This morning I set out from the hotel with the address of the Paramount Theatre and a couple of sets of competing  directions - again in the rain.   It took about an hour for all of the directions to eventually fail, and I stopped and asked for further directions a couple of more times as the rain continued.  Finally I ran into a wonderful old man (who was probably younger than me) who decided to give me a beak and tell me how to get there - and a block or two later I was in the "historic district" of the town and was able to park right in front of the beautiful Paramount Theatre.  (It's been years and years since I was in Boulder, Colorado, and it may have changed considerably in that time, but the historic district of Goldsboro reminded me of a trip I once took to downtown Boulder.)

The cast met there last night and assembled the set, and for the next couple of nights they will rehearse at the theatre and then have actual performances on Friday and Saturday nights.  I had intended to go last night and watch the set being brought in, but I was too done-in from the rain and opted instead to stay at the hotel.

Being a pushy person by nature, I walked across the street to the theatre entrance this morning.  There was a nice poster for "Shine" on the front window - with my name on it!  I peeked in and saw a fellow standing in the lobby - so I opened the door and asked if I could come in and look around, and he consented.  It turns out that my "host" was Jim Grant, the venue manager, and he gave me a personal tour.

The Paramount was built in 1882, and served both as a vaudeville house as well as a movie theatre over the years.  Sadly, the original theatre burned to the ground in 2005, but an exact replica of the original was soon built in its place with nearly 500 cushy seats and a great stage.  Today the venue primarily hosts live productions from the community.

Some wealthy patrons donated a set (at least ten that I saw) of signed lithographs by artist Marc Chagall which are on display int the balcony section of the theatre, (the "Chagall Wall"), and there are also many spectacular framed photographs of the theatre and community on display on the other interior walls of the theatre.  One featured local celebrities, and right in the center was one I recognized - Andy Griffith.  I asked the manager about that, and he told me that young Andy Griffith had been a teacher at the local high school.  Later, back at the hotel, I "googled" Andy and Goldsboro and learned that in his pre-Hollywood days, "Andrew Griffith" had been the music and dramatics teacher at the high school, and that he had also started the school's marching band.

A marching band!  What a great idea.  It probably kept all of the local kids out of the pool halls!

It's finally quit raining, so I feel compelled to get out of the hotel and go somewhere.  Perhaps supper at Chez Burger King! - and then off to watch tonight's rehearsal.

More tomorrow!

Sully Is Seven!

 

by Pa Rock

Proud Grandpa

My youngest grandchild, Sullivan Charles Macy, is seven-years-old today.  I was with him much of yesterday, his last day as a six-year-old, but after spending the night with his family, I was out and on the way to North Carolina early this morning before he woke up.  (I was also a guest in his home seven years ago on the day he was born, so Sully and I have known each other for a very long time!)
 
Sully is a funny kid, literally.   He has an extremely quick wit and vivid imagination – and the timing of a professional stand-up comic. In addition to being verbose and outgoing, he also enjoys being active.   I suspect that Sully will never lack for friends.
 
Happy birthday, Sully.  May your hotel swimming party this afternoon be lots of fun, and may your next year be the best ever as you enter and conquer second grade.  I am very proud of you!        

                                             

The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom

by Rocky Macy

Rosie and I are on the road this morning heading for Roeland Park, Kansas, where Rosie will vacation at the home of my son and his family for a week while I travel on to North Carolina.  Rosie loves her visits to the Kansas City area and particularly enjoys standing out in Tim and Erin’s yard and barking at the yuppie, spandex-clad dog walkers who dare to parade up and down on her street.
 
I head out to North Carolina early the next morning, departing from KC’s new airport which I have not seen yet, and flying (God, I HATE flying!) to Charlotte (a major “hub”) and then on to the capital city of Raleigh.  In Raleigh I will rent a car and drive down Highway 70 to the fairly large community of Goldsboro, the home of Seymour Johnson Air Force Base.
 
This will be my second trip to Goldsboro. Tim and his family and my daughter, Molly, drove me there two years ago to see a play (historical drama) that I had written produced by the Spotlight Theatre Company, an amateur acting group out of Seymour Johnson AFB.  I had written that play, “Crimes in Desolation,” in 2013 while recovering from heart surgery, and still had a lot of emotional attachment to it.
 
This coming week the Spotlight Theatre Company will be doing another of my plays.  I wrote “The Shine from Dead Man’s Bottom” around twenty-five years ago, and this week’s two performances (Friday and Saturday nights) at the beautiful Paramount Theatre in Goldsboro, NC, will be the first time that it has ever been staged anywhere.  The play, a hillbilly comedy, is (I think) funny stuff, and I am anxious to see the audience reaction to the material.  I know that the Spotlighters will do a fine job with the presentation.
 
The central character in the story is Mean Nadine Thigpen, an unmarried fourteen-year-old who suddenly has matrimony on her mind.  Nadine lives in a rustic cabin with her parents, Big Pappy and Little Mammy, and her brother, Booger, who sleeps outside.  Booger sleeps outside by choice because a couple of years earlier he had tried to hypnotize one of the family’s chickens, but the process backfired and Booger wound up being hypnotized himself and believing that he was a rooster.  Now his sits on the roof of the cabin and crows to announce the arrival of company, and when he is not at his post on the roof, he is usually in Little Mammy’s garden scratching for bugs and worms. 
 
Big Pappy is a moonshiner who had generally been known for making the finest “shine” in the community of Dead Man’s Bottom.  One unfortunate day, however, Mean Nadine knocked Booger off the roof of the cabin and he landed in the rain barrel and tainted the water – the same water that Big Pappy used in the production of his shine.  The result was a bad batch, and when the sheriff’s mother, “the Granny Woman,” dropped a jug in her cabin, it broke and ate a hole through her 12-inch concrete floor.  The Granny Woman declared vengeance on Big Pappy and vowed that he would not see the sunrise the next morning.
 
So, as the play opens, Little Mammy is tasked not only with her normal chores like plowing the fields and worming the mule, she also has to make plans for Big Pappy’s funeral as well as the wedding that Mean Nadine says she is having – although just whom the groom will be has not been clarified.
 
Again, as the play opens, Mean Nadine has just borrowed Big Pappy’s pickup truck and pulled down the wall of the local jail in order to free “Scratchin’ Jones,” a chicken thief whom the fourteen-year-old spinster thinks will then be obligated to marry her.  But Scratchin’ Jones is too smart for Mean Nadine, and he stays in his cell.  Another prisoner, however, does use the sudden collapse of the wall to escape, and he is a motorcycle outlaw by the name of Harley O. Bandana.  Harley and Mean Nadine meet and quickly fall in love.
 
But before Mean Nadine and the man she calls “Harley-O Bananner” can tie the knot of matrimony, they have to deal with Mean Nadine’s efforts to force the local minister to change her name back to just plain Nadine, a report of revenuers out in the hills looking for Big Pappy’s still, and resolving an ancient family feud.
 
Throughout the course of this theatrical endeavor, we also learn some of the finer points of the “Code of the Hills,” pick up several theories of what it means when there is a ring around the moon, and learn who has been stealing ladies’ bloomers from the local clotheslines.
 
I understand from the director, Janelle Donovan, that the play, with an intermission, will run about an hour-and-a-half.  I will be there for some – and possibly all – of the rehearsals this week, as well as for the two actual productions – and I am really looking forward to it!
 
Break a leg, Spotlighters!

 

The Sun Rises on Father's Day

 

by Pa Rock

Father and Grandfather

Sunday morning.  The sun is coming up slowly in the Missouri Ozarks, but there is already enough light that I have been outside and fed the cat, the one the neighbor also feeds, and let the guinea out of his nightly confinement in the coop.  All appears to be functioning normally at The Roost, with one big exception, a light rain is falling and weather reports indicate that it may continue throughout the day.  We love rain here in the Ozarks, even if it does make the grass grow.

All of that and it's Father's Day.   I have some genetic responsibility for the existence of nine other individuals on this planet, so I guess that I have a biological right to make a claim on this holiday.  Happy Father's Day to me - and it is a happy one.  All of my kids and grandkids seem to be in relatively good health and experiencing success in life - and that's really all that a Dad, at least this Dad, needs in life.

But this year there's more.  

My youngest son and his family just returned from a drive through the northeastern United States and some of Canada where Tim wanted to revisit some things that he remembered from a similar family trip when he was very young.  Family vacations make some of the strongest memories, and sadly most of us do not realize their value until the kids are grown and gone.

Change that, Dads.

My daughter and her family took a big vacation last year, one which centered on visiting relatives, but did include a couple of very memorable side excursions.  I predict that Molly's kids will talk the Titanic Museum and Silver Dollar City for the rest of their lives.

This year I had a personal surprise for Father's Day, something that does not happen often.  My oldest son, who works most days, said that other evening that he thought he would go out and mow for awhile.  Usually the mowing is my chore, and I am rather possessive about it, but I've not been feeling too great recently and I didn't argue.  My son had sessions on the big riding mower three evenings or so in a row before I ventured out into the yard to see how he was doing and to get a sense of how much I would be left to complete before leaving on a trip the next week.  Not only did I discover that the yard was looking great, but I also noticed with great pleasure that it was almost all mowed!

This morning, Father's Day, the day is breaking over my yard - which is completely mowed - and I wasn't involved at all!  (I didn't even have to buy the considerable amount of gasoline that was necessary for the job!)

Thanks, Nick.  I really feel special, and now I can head out to the East Coast tomorrow with a clear conscience and a freshly mowed yard.  What a great feeling!

May every father have something special to smile about today!

Only Criminals Demand Pardons

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Let's check the math.  In April Donald John Trump was indicted in the state of NewYork by a Manhattan district attorney on thirty-four  felony counts related to hush money payments to a porn star and falsifying business records, and then in the current month, June, he was indicted on thirty-seven counts by the US Department of Justice for hanging on to highly classified federal documents and even showing those documents to people who did not have clearance to see them - and allegedly obstructing a federal investigation. 

If my ciphering is correct, that puts the total so far at seventy-one felony counts agains a former President of the United States, and there are a couple more very interesting cases still in the legal hopper, both of which could result in even more criminal charges.  The in-process cases include  another Department of Justice investigation, this one into Trump's attempts to overturn the 2020 election, and an investigation by the district attorney in Fulton County, Georgia over Trump's attempts to overturn the election there.

From a strictly legal point of view, Donald John would appear to be in deep, deep shit, and like any other cornered rat, he is looking for a way out.

One of the escape hatches that the obese political vermin with the bad combover is eyeing is a presidential pardon, a stroke of a pen by a future president (because clearly the present one would never stoop so low) that would absolve Trump of all of his past forays onto the wrong side of the law.  And while it might seem ridiculous that any serious presidential wannabe would even consider pardoning someone as felonious as Donald Trump, one GOP candidate has already promised to do just that if he is elected President.

Vivek Ramaswamy, an American entrepreneur and multi-millionaire who is very long-shot GOP presidential hopeful, has already made a campaign promise to give Trump a full pardon on his first day in office should he somehow manage to get elected.  Ramaswamy is playing to Trump's diehard base who appear to be ready and eager to follow DJT through the gates of Hell and beyond.   Some other candidates are also apparently giving consideration to making the same promise in order to secure a foothold among Trump's base.

Promising a pardon to Trump is a cynical political ploy that seems to be taking root among the group of GOP politicians who are all vying to grab the GOP nomination for themselves next year.  The idea is so appealing in fact, that even Trump himself has latched onto it.   According to news reports over the past few days, Donald Trump, is now demanding that anyone who wants the Republican presidential nomination make a pledge to give him a full pardon if they are elected.

It's a loyalty pledge to God (Trump) and Party, and it is also a nifty little political trap whose ultimate goal is to benefit one person, and one person alone:  Donald John Trump.

Promise to give a full pardon to me - a man currently facing seventy-one felony indictments with more serious charges sure to follow, and a man who is extremely likely to be convicted of multiple serious crimes unless the legal process is disrupted with an undeserved presidential pardon - or face the wrath of the voters in the party that you wish to lead.

Innocent people don't need pardons.  Long-term felons clearly do.

Trump spent his four years as President handing out presidential pardons like they were party favors (which, they were), and now he expects some payback.   Donald Trump used his pardon pen to absolve the onus of criminality which hung over the likes of Charles Kushner (Jared's dad), Joe Arpaio, Roger Stone, Paul Manafort, Michael Flynn, Bernie Kerik, Michael Milken, Scooter Libby, Dinesh D'Souza, and scores of other denizens of America's political back alleys.

Pardons were so cheap and easy under Trump that they became essentially meaningless - everybody got one, and by God, now he wants one, too.  A child of privilege who has spent his whole life taking now expects to go right on taking. 

You are being greedy, Donald John, but perhaps you could be demanding even more.  After you have been absolved of all of your crimes through a presidential pardon, why not also grab a "Presidential Medal of Freedom" like the one you gifted to Rush Limbaugh?  One of those would look great hanging on that bathroom wall down at Mar-a-Lago!

Think big, Big Boy, think big!

Jason Smith, Another Year Older

 

by Pr Rock

Citizen Journalist

My congressman, Jason Smith, a Republican representing Missouri's large and very rural 8th district, is celebrating his 43rd birthday today.  Smith, who was born in St. Louis and is a resident of the Missouri community of Salem, has represented the Missouri's 8th congressional district since winning a special election to replace Jo Ann Emerson a decade ago.

Smith, a bachelor who is a lawyer and the son of a Missouri dog breeder, was selected this year as the chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, a fact that he generally repeats ad nauseam in his weekly email newsletter to some of his constituents.  Although he appears to be very comfortable in his legislative role now, Smith once said that he sleeps in his office in Washington, DC, in order not to get too comfortable in Congress.  (Unsaid was the fact that rents are very high in Washington, DC, and a congressman sleeping in his office - and there are many - is receiving a very nice salary perk which is apparently not taxed.)

Happy birthday, congressman.

Party hearty.

Benny and Joon (and Sam)

 

by Pa Rock

Film Fan

Johnny Depp is a young man of sixty years who has used his brief time on Earth to appear in more than a hundred feature movies, usually as the star of the film, and always in roles that are captivating and memorable.   I am an unabashed fan of Mr. Depp's film work, and, in particular, I harbor a great enthusiasm for some of his quirky earlier works.  This past week I came across one of those cinematic gems as it was streaming on Amazon Prime.  "Benny and Joon" hit theaters thirty years ago in 1993, and this week marked the first time that I have seen it in at least the last twenty years.

"Benny and Joon" is a film that has held up very well.

There were certain iconic images that had been well stored in my porous, old brain.  I remembered well, for example, the Buster Keaton routine in the restaurant in which Depp deftly shuffled plates full of food in front of a pair of hungry customers, or when he was chasing his has around the cafe floor.  His ability to perform physical humor was well showcased and a focal point of the movie.  I also remembered the unique imagery of Depp sitting in an almost fetal position in a tree and watching the world go by down below.

(The movie also contains some memorable food preparation short-cuts such as when Depp's character shows Joon how to make grilled cheese sandwiches using an electric iron set on "Rayon," and when he makes mashed potatoes by walloping peeled, boiled potatoes with a tennis racket.)

What I didn't remember as well was Depp's position within the film.  although he was clearly the star of the production, he was not one of the title characters.  Benny is a working class young man (Aidan Quinn) who has trouble entering into relationships because of his self-imposed task of looking after his mentally disabled sister, Joon (Mary Stuart Masterson).  Johnny Depp's character is Sam, an extremely odd young man whom Joon acquires through a losing poker hand.  Sam is such a unique and colorful character that Joon quickly falls in love with him, a situation which scares her brother and who then overreacts.

"Benny and Joon" is a great movie that has a lot to say about people struggling with mental and emotional issues, and those who are responsible for their care and well-being.  It is positive and uplifing and well worth the physical expenditure of sitting in front of the small screen for a couple of hours.

And then, if "Benny and Joon" hits your emotional sweet spot, and I think it will, be on the lookout for another Johnny Depp film classic from the same year.  "What's Eating Gilbert Grape"  (1993) features Depp at the height of his magical years, along with a very young and relatively unknown co-star by the name of Leonardo DiCaprio.  It, too, has a lot to say about life, love, and functioning in a family that some would see as non-standard.

If you are in search of an interesting diversion or an enjoyable way to spend a couple of hours, "Benny and Joon" (and Sam) might be just the ticket!

The March to Feinsteinland

 

by Pa Rock

Senior Citizen Journalist

Yesterday Donald John Trump was arraigned on a 37-count indictment in a Florida magistrate court for a case that will eventually be tried in the federal court system.  His initial judge in the proceeding will be one whom Trump appointed during his single term as President.  Today that same Donald John Trump, a man who is currently the leading Republican candidate for that party's 2024 presidential nomination, turns seventy-seven years old.

Some argue, and this blogger is among those who do, that Donald Trump is too old to serve another term as President.  He would be seventy-eight at the time of the election in 2024, and, if elected and was able to survive four years, would be eighty-two when ultimately forced out by term limits.

The first defense which is always stood up when talking about the age of politicians is that "age is just a number, and what really matters is a person's health." A snapshot of Trump's physical health is concerning.  He is obese, a fact that cannot be hidden by the enormous jackets and ties that he wears for "slimming" effect.   Three years ago yesterday (when he was still just a lad of seventy-three) Trump had difficulty bringing a water glass to his mouth while he was giving a graduation speech at West Point, and then, moments later, he also had difficulty in walking down a very gradual ramp as he left the stage.

Anyone running for a big-time job like President of the United States is going to claim to be healthy, and they undoubtedly will have sycophant doctors within their orbit who would be willing to promote a bogus health narrative, but anyone - ANYONE - in their seventies or eighties might pass a general health and cognitive abilities test one evening, and the next morning wake-up (like our most senior US Senator) unsure of where they had been for the past couple of months.  (Grandpa was fine on Friday, but over the weekend we had to put him in The Home.)

One way to lessen the danger of a sudden demise in cognitive ability by people charged with carrying around our nuclear codes would be be place an upper age limit on the ability to hold public office.  Yes it's mean, and it's ugly, an it probably is "ageism," whatever the hell that means,  but it also would put a barrier in place that would protect the country from individuals whose  cognitive gears are of an age that they could begin to slip without much warning.  

Of course what is not being said here is that Trump is not the only dinosaur still stumbling through the tarpit of national politics.  The Democrats have their own dinosaurs as well, including Joe Biden, the one who currently occupies the White House.  And while Republican and Democratic leaders can't agree on much, as long as they both are led by elderly individuals, they can agree to not make age a major issue.

And the march to Feinsteinland will continue unimpeded.

GOP Wall of Noise Surrounding Trump Begins Cracking

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Just a few scant days ago hearing any criticism of Donald John Trump emanating from within the Republican Party required finely honed listening skills, and with Trump constantly on the spew like some angry volcano, hearing anything that made sense coming from other Republicans was damned near impossible.   Trump's Republican Party is one of noise, not substance.

But now there are a few cracks beginning to appear and spread across that wall of insane noise, and a few fragments of commonsense are beginning to seep through and be heard.

It began with Asa Hutchinson, a former party functionary at the national level who just completed two four-year terms as Governor of Arkansas.   Hutchinson, whose career paths are starting to be limited, decided to go out with a grand "Hail Mary" and run for President, but with the Republican field certain to fill with loonies attempting to "Trump" their way into the White House, Hutchinson decided to try a more unique approach and run as a responsible adult.  He would present as a true conservative, but one who is much more sane than Donald Trump.  Now, several weeks into his campaign, Hutchinson is still basically an unknown, and his only chance of winning the nomination would likely be if all of the other candidates went on a campaign cruise and the ship sank.

This week former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie popped up trying to also occupy the never-Trump lane of the GOP campaign.  Christie is far less civilized than the dignified Governor Hutchinson, and he is not afraid to ruffle a few feathers - or pluck the whole damned chicken!  Christie jumped into the fray with attacks on Trump's character, his alleged criminal history, and even his shady family, and Trump immediately fired back by trying to fat-shame the former New Jersey governor, a strategy that was as ironic as it was petty.

Trump got a big initial boost in this year's presidential race with an appearance a couple of weeks ago on a "CNN Town Hall" in which he was given a smorgasbord of softball questions and plenty of opportunities to strut his well-scripted-and-rehearsed outrage at the media, Joe Biden, and the legal system for trying to hold him accountable for his actions.

Last night Chris Christie had his own turn on a "CNN Town Hall," and he used it to attack Trump's rampaging ego and to try and refocus attention on how Trump brought all of his current troubles on himself.   Christie, who himself can roar as loudly as Trump, told the CNN audience that what they were currently witnessing coming from Donald Trump was "Vanity run amok.  Ego Run amok."   The former New Jersey governor pointed out that while everyone is blaming prosecutors, in reality it was Trump who "did this."

Governor Christie noted that there are people within the Republican Party blaming the DOJ (Department of Justice) for Trump's current situation.  And then he offered this alternative:  "How about, blame him? (Trump)  "He did it!"

Asa Hutchinson is a pea-shooter, and that cruise ship scenario is never going to happen.   Chris Christis is a cannon, and he's loose and rolling around the deck of a hardy old battleship, and God alone knows what he is capable of doing.  If there was ever a creature who could out-Trump Trump, Christie would be it.

And it would seem that Chris Christie's broadside attacks on Trump have not gone unnoticed by the other GOP candidates, most of whom are still far too timid to speak out against the party's wind machine.  Former governor Nikki Haley of South Carolina, who served as Trump's Ambassador to the United Nations, and now an announced GOP presidential candidate, has altered her once blind defense of Trump and is now calling his removal and sharing of secret White House documents "incredibly reckless,"  a clear departure from accepted party dogma.

Another South Carolinian who is also running for the GOP presidential nomination, US Senator Tim Scott, has recently stepped on Trump's description of the 37-count federal indictment as a "witch-hunt," and instead called it "a serious case with serious allegations," something that is also a clear break with the the party's established position on the matter.

So the Republican Party's wall of noise around Donald Trump is fracturing with little cracks from Hutchinson, Haley, and Scott, and major rips from Chris Christie,   It's clearly not enough new noise to drown out a pro like Donald Trump, but it is there, and it is a start.  

Listen carefully, world.  There's a lot left to hear.

Busted! The Neighborhood Cat

 

by Pa Rock

Meal Ticket

"Of all of God's creatures, there is only one that cannot be made the slave of the lash.  That one is the cat.  If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat."  Mark Twain

Several days ago I wrote about a neighbor of mine who grew up in the house that I currently occupy.  He likes to stop by sometimes in the afternoon and sit on the back deck where he tells tales about growing up in what I regard as "my" house, and all of the things that he and his brothers did as they played across the massive yard.

One evening as we were sitting out back enjoying a lazy conversation, "my" old yellow tomcat came walking across the backyard.  It was an odd occurrence, because the cat, who seldom misses his breakfast at first light of day, usually follows that up with a short nap and then traipses across the road and into the woods where I suspected he would spend the rest of the day hunting.   Sometimes, on very hot summer afternoons, he comes back to my place and dozes in the opening to the barn loft where he has a good view of much of the yard and pond.  I assume that while he snoozes in the barn, he is also on the lookout for some four-footed, unsuspecting snacks.

But as the neighbor and I sat on the back deck that afternoon, here came the old yellow tom, who, although I have been feeding him breakfast for the past five years or so, I have never bothered to name.  As the cat made his way slowly across the backyard heading in the direction of the barn, my neighbor suddenly said, "Hey, there's my cat.  I wonder what he's doing over here?"

I explained to the neighbor that the old tom was actually "my" cat and that he had been having breakfast at my place for years.  That may well be, the neighbor replied, but he has the rest of his meals across the street at my house, and he has for years.

The old cat obviously belonged to no one.  He was just a free spirit who had developed and refined a meal schedule that met his needs.   Being a tomcat, he undoubtedly "sleeps around" on occasion - as evidenced by the fact that he sometimes limps into breakfast with scars from a catfight the night before, and now it appears that he "eats around" as well.  

Why, he may not even hunt at all!

Cat, now that you have finally revealed your true and sneaky self, I believe that from this day forward I will call you "Busted!"  Mark Twain had you figured out, and now I do, too!

Happy meals!

To Wong Foo, Ron DeSantis, Greg Abbott, and Priscilla

 

by Pa Rock

Culture Vulture

Last night I came across a movie classic streaming on Amazon Prime and spent a very enjoyable evening watching a a nearly thirty-year-old film.  "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything!  Julie Newmar" is one of the better movies about drag queens ever made.  It is funny as well as dramatic, and certainly emotionally-uplifting as well.  As I watched this top-drawer film, I silently dedicated the evening to Florida Governor Ron DeSantis and Texas Governor Greg Abbott, both of whom appear to possess an unnatural fear of drag queens and who support legislation that aims to keep the drag culture away from public view.  Both of those good-old-boy he-men seem to be operating under the assumption that if a young boy sees a man in a frock, he will grow up wanting to wear make-up and dresses.

Oddly Donald Trump, who looks like an old drag queen with very bad hair, seems to generally give this easy culture war target a pass.  Perhaps that is Rudy's influence rubbing off on him.  (Serious question:  Is there any man in America who wears more make-up than Donald John Trump, or wears it as badly?)

I question the DeSantis-Abbott premise that a desire to cross-dress is like a virus and something that you catch through exposure.  I watched "Some Like It Hot" at a movie theatre in 1958, with my mother, and didn't rush home and start trying on her clothes.   Nor have I ever worn women's clothing - even after watching "Tootsie" and the old Tom Hanks' television series "Bosom Buddies."  I'm not built for that.  I even have a hard time looking presentable in my own clothes.

If you have never seen "Wong Foo," now is a great time to catch it while it is streaming on Prime.  It is the story of two professional drag queens - Patrick Swayze and Wesley Snipes - who win a regional contest in New York City that gives them free airline transportation to Los Angeles to compete in a national drag contest.  Before they make the trip, however, they run into a young Puerto Rican drag queen (whom they refer to as a drag princess) (John Leguizamo) and decide to sell their airline tickets, buy a $50 boat of a used convertible, and drive to LA and take the princess with them.  Along the way their car breaks down near a small Nebraska town, and the three very stylish "ladies" from New York manage to totally change the local cultural landscape.  The movie is fun, and, at times, very poignant.

"Wong Foo" came out one year after the release of a similar (and better) movie in Australia.  "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert," was the tale of two drag performers, one of whom was a transgender woman (Hugo Weaving and Terence Stamp) who live and work in Sydney and are invited to do a long run at a club in Alice Springs which is on the far side of the Australian outback.  They invite a young drag performer (Guy Pearce) who is very outgoing, somewhat petulant, and hard to control in social situations, to join them in the journey to Alice Springs, and the young queen manages to talk his rich mother into buying them a used commercial bus in which to make the trip.  They paint the bus pink and christen her "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert."

Most of the rest of that movie is a roadtrip across the Australian outback by bus, with breakdowns along the way.  The two movies, Priscilla and Wong Foo, have many similarities, but Priscilla is more professionally done with better music and many more musical stage productions.  Either is a very entertaining way to spend an evening.

I would recommend that both Governors DeSantis and Abbott keep their distance from these films just in case the urge to cross-dress can be transmitted telepathically through film.  However, with those white vinyl boots that Governor DeSantis wore in the wet aftermath to Hurricane Ian, he may have already been infected.

(Special Drag Notes:  "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" has been adapted as a musical for the stage and has already enjoyed a world tour, and "Some Like It Hot," the 1958 classic film which starred Marilyn Monroe and  Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in drag, is currently enjoying great success as a musical theatre production on Broadway.  Put that in your pipes and smoke it, Ron and Greg!)

History Will Not be Kind to Trump, Nor Should It Be

 

by Pa Rock

American

Federal prosecutors are charging Donald John Trump, a former President of the United States, with thirty-one counts of  violating the Espionage Act through "willful retention" of classified records after leaving office.  Trump is also being charged with six counts of efforts to obstruct the investigation of his removal of those classified records.

That's a total of thirty-seven counts alleging illegal behavior by a man who at one time was charged with safeguarding our national security.

Those counts of criminal behavior were not some "witch-hunt" as alleged by the ever-bellicose Donald Trump whose first defense is always to shout down his accusers, and it is not some personal political vendetta being brought down on a mistreated political candidate by a vindictive sitting President.  (Trump couldn't beat Biden in 2020, and he is certainly a much weaker candidate today than he was then.)

It's just Donald Trump being Donald Trump, an angry and spiteful child of privilege who has spent an entire lifetime wallowing in bloated self-importance and never suffering consequences for any of his illicit and illegal actions.  

Donald Trump took sensitive and highly classified documents from the White House and hid those papers, many of which dealt directly with the national security of our country and some of our allies, and shuffled boxes of those documents around his home and business in Florida - and possibly other locations as well.  And when investigators came looking for those documents that he was not supposed to have - and denied having - Trump and his minions shuffled those documents around in an effort to hide them and keep them under his control.  According to information in the indictment, Trump also showed some of those highly classified documents to people who were not authorized to see them.

There are words for actions like that, ugly words, the kinds of words that sent the Rosenbergs to the electric chair.

But Donald yells "witch-hunt," and entrenched GOP politicians who are scared shitless that Trump's yokel base will rise up and remove them from office if they admit the obvious, instead buy into yet another of his lies and run around squealing about Joe Biden committing an act of political retribution.

News flash, America . . . Joe Biden didn't take documents related to our nuclear defense and documents showing America's vulnerabilities, and then go to great efforts to hide those secret materials and keep them under his control.  Donald Trump did.  Jack Smith, the independent prosecutor who conducted the investigation that ultimately brought about the 37-count indictment worked independently, on his own with his own independent team.  He was not at the beck-and-call of Joe Biden, Nancy Pelosi, or even George Soros.   Jack Smith answered to the law - and he brought charges, and now a duly established legal process will go to work to determine Trump's guilt of innocence.  Some of the process will even be handled by judges whom Trump appointed.  (How many criminals get to state their cases to judges that they appointed?)

Trump got himself into this mess, and hopefully this will be one that he cannot yell his way out of.  History is not going to be kind to Donald Trump, nor should it be - and history will also not be kind to those who set their principles and decency aside in order to pander for votes and to maintain their places at the public trough.

But not all Republicans have bought into this blind rush to protect their political jobs.  Utah Republican Senator Mitt Romney, the man who was the party's nominee for president in 2012, has said that Trump "brought these charges upon himself."  Former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, who is also a former federal prosecutor - as well as a former aid to Donald Trump, described the indictments as "devastating" and has said that he believes the counts against Trump are all "self-inflicted wounds." (Christie will be running against Trump in next year's GOP presidential primaries.)    Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell is maintaining a wall of silence on the matter.

Many others, however, are rushing to Trump's defense and trying to blame everything Trump did on Biden.  Members the the House, and particularly those conservatives who seem to live for soundbites on Fox News, are strident in their excuses for the former President's blatant theft of secret documents.

It has now been over six years since Trump's inauguration, and the shame and embarrassment roll on.  Will they ever end?

How to Make It Rain

by Pa Rock

Water Bearer

Two days ago I wrote a posting in this space about the serious lack of rain in Missouri,  Our governor, who has a laser focus on the needs of his cattle, has declared a "water alert" for the entire state and is even implementing a few measures to conserve water - almost heresy for a good Republican like Mike Parson.

I ran that piece on Wednesday morning and then promptly left town for an overnight stay at a hospital in Northern Arkansas.  It started raining in my hometown almost as soon as I rolled past the city limit sign that morning, and the rain continued until just before I returned home yesterday.  Apparently the drought was not about climate change or Missouri fascist politics, but rather about me personally.

Okay, I suppose I can live with that - as long as I know the rules.

Last year I did not go on any summer trips, and the drought was an unrelenting bitch, and this year I go away for a day and the heavens open up.

If those are the rules, then this summer may be bearable.

This month I will fly out of Kansas City in late June and head to Goldsboro, North Carolina, where a play that I wrote several years ago will have its first official production.  Goldsboro is the home of Seymour Johnson Air Force Base where an old friend from Phoenix runs an amateur theatre group.  Two years ago Janelle and her troupe did a full-length historical drama that I had penned entitled "Crimes in Desolation," and I was able to go out and see it performed on  base.  This year one of their projects is something else that I wrote which has been gathering dust on the shelf for years - a long, one-act hillbilly comedy entitled "The Shine from Dead Man's Bottom."  This year's production will be performed off-base at the Paramount Theatre in downtown Goldsboro.  I will be there for a couple of rehearsals as well as for the two productions - and I am very excited to be able to attend!

The good news for southern Missouri, of course, is that my absence could generate more rain!

In July my sister and I are flying to Oregon for a week to see my daughter and her family.  I wasn't able to make that trip last year, and they came here instead.  So this year's trip will be another chance for rain.

I would also like to travel to Salt Lake City in the fall and do some research and writing at the Mormon Library, but I'm not sure that I can afford three big trips in one season.  Maybe the Missouri Legislature should think about subsidizing that trip.  I mean, an extra week of rain in September ought to be a major benefit for the governor's cattle!

But short of that, I will just keep plodding along and doing what I can to help - now that I know the rules!

A Day and a Night at the Hospital

 

by Pa Rock

Impatient Patient

Yesterday I spent a preplanned day at the Baxter County Community Hospital in Mountain Home, Arkansas.   I was there because I have been experiencing fairly significant shortness of breath issues and my cardiologist wanted to get an insider’s view of my heart and see if my arteries were doing their jobs properly.  I had major heart surgery in 2013, and things often start going wrong after heart surgery at about the ten-year mark.  
 
The procedure that I had yesterday was called a “heart cath” or an “angiogram.”  It involves running a cable with a camera either up an artery in the wrist or the groin to the heart and then having a look around.  With me they ran the cable up through the groin.  I was awake for the entire procedure, though drugged and groggy, and did not feel anything connected with the procedure.
 
The cardiologist found three arteries with blockages in the area of 90 percent each and was able to put stents in two of them during the process.  He will do the third one in early July.   Because stents were inserted, I had to spend last night in the hospital for observation.
 
I had an upset stomach after a day of not eating and then having a hospital Mexican-flavored supper, and I sat up in a chair to have quick access to the bathroom until three a.m.  Then I crawled into ed and spent the rest of the evening visiting with the nurses as they kept interrupting my night with the necessaries that come with being in a hospital.
 
The cardiologist did tell me that my symptom – extreme shortness of breath – was real, and that I was not being a hypochondriac!
 
My son, Nick, did a super job of getting me to the appointment and then staying with me both before and after the process.  He went home last night to take care of Rosie, and came back and  collected me this morning. Thanks, Nick!

Early this afternoon as we were pulling into West Plains, which is fifty miles or so northeast of Mountain Home, I got a call from the hospital - seldom a good thing.  A very nice lady at the nurse's station told me that I had left my laptop computer in my room at the hospital.  I had another medical appointment scheduled in West Plains this afternoon, and was able to get that one moved up - and then I made a quick round-trip to get the computer - which is why this blog is being posted so late.  
All of this running around has given Rosie some serious abandonment issues.   She will be my focus for the rest of the evening!

Earth Alert

 

by Pa Rock

Water Bearer

Mike Parson, a cattle rancher from Bolivar, Missouri, who also functions as the show-me state’s governor, has issued a “water alert” for the entire state – and it’s only the first week of June.   I have been carrying water to many of my more fragile yard plants since mid-May, giving them long, cool drinks every other evening.  Last year I didn’t begin that process until mid-July.  Summers are getting hotter, quicker, and the heat is lasting longer than in previous years – and in spite of what some Republican politicians encourage us to believe, the primary cause of the devastating heat is climate change caused by manmade activities.
 
Governor Parson is worried about cattle and farming.  I’m worried about small dogwood trees, and rose bushes, and my once lush lawn.  I’m worried about my little pond that is drying up, and the deer who used to gather there each evening for their happy hour.  Those same deer are now having to reach higher into the trees in order to find enough greenery to sustain them through the summer – a time when greenery ought to be plentiful.  My little corner of the Ozarks is dry, and it gets dryer every day.
 
The good news for me is that I won’t have to mow as much this summer as I did last year, and the bad news, of course, is that large patches of my grass will die and my yard will eventually begin to look like the one that I left behind in Arizona a decade ago.
 
Next week I will break out even more plastic jugs and begin carrying even more water.  I will fight climate change as long as I physically can, and then I will lock myself in the house and read “The Grapes of Wrath” one final time.  It is every bit as relevant today as it was in the 1930’s, a tale of how corporate greed is destroying a planet and the lives of people who are struggling to live there.
 
The Earth has been our home for thousands upon thousands of years.  We should have been its protectors.  We have failed.
 
Adieu.

 

One Way Dems Can Mess With Trump and DeSantis

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Conniver

Former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, a man who is no political saint by anyone's standards, is set to officially announce his candidacy for the 2024 GOP presidential nomination in New Hampshire today.  New Hampshire is significant to Christie if for no other reason than he sees it as a "must win" marker in his long-shot bid. for the White House - and New Hampshire is the state that ultimately turned on Christie and forced him out of the 2016 GOP presidential race.  

After being soundly trashed by Donald Trump in 2016, Chris Christie went on to become a Trump acolyte and part-time adviser during the four awful years that Trump served as president.  He finally broke ranks with Trump when the former president refused to acknowledge his defeat in the 2020 election.

So now Chris Christie is poised to get into the current race for the White House, and most news reports indicate that his "role" in that race will be that of a spoiler.  The talk goes that Christie recognizes that he has little-to-no chance of actually winning the nomination, and that the plain-spoken and bellicose  New Jersey pol will instead be focused on being a loose cannon whose aim is to bring down Trump - and perhaps Ron DeSantis as well.  (Chris Christie reportedly became disenchanted with Ron DeSantis over the Florida governor's futile fight with Walt Disney World.)

But . . . in order to act as a human landmine in bringing down the party's two most severe autocrats, Christie will have to not only officially announce as a candidate - which he will do today - he must also meet the National Republican Party's high bar for making it onto the debate stage - the place where he can roar and ridicule with a guaranteed national audience.  And making it onto the national debate stage will not be easy.

One criteria that the party set as a way to shuffle lesser-known candidates aside and off of the stage was a requirement that they tally at least one percent in three national polls that are recognized by the national party - or in two national polls and one legitimate state poll.   (Just the "Bridgegate" scandal alone should have generated enough name recognition for Chris Christie to meet that criteria!)

But there are two other requirements that will be harder for the former governor of New Jersey to meet.  One is a GOP demand that for a candidate to make it onto the debate stage, he or she must be able to show that they have 40,000 unique donors.  (There is apparently no guidance on the size of those donations.)   And the other necessity in order to gain access to the stage is that candidates must have a minimum of 200 unique donations from at least 20 individual states and territories.

(Republicans tend to be more comfortable in getting their donations in few big plops from rich guys like friends of Clarence and Ginni Thomas, or from super pacs.  Begging person-to-person has traditionally not been their forte.)

But the National Republican Party apparently now thinks that it's important to have a wide donor base, and if Chris Christie wants to have a big, public go at Donald Trump and Ron DeSantis, he will have to make some major inroads with some of the more common folk who occupy the lower echelons of his party.

And that is where rude Democrats could have an impact.

I'm thinking very seriously about sending Chris Christie a dollar.  That wouldn't even be enough to add an extra strip of bacon to his breakfast double-burger, but it would make me one unique donor of the 40,000 that Christie will need to get onto that debate stage, and it would be one unique donor from Missouri, a state where New Jersey politicians are not necessarily well known or respected - except, obviously, for Mr. Toad of Bedminster.

Of course, some might argue that giving any amount of money to a Republican, regardless  of how small the donation is, would be political heresy and the equivalent of intentionally stepping on a banana peel while traversing the slippery slope to hell.

And God Herself knows that Republicans never interfere in Democratic politics.

Somebody probably needs to start talking me down!

Monday's Poetry: The Frozen Logger

 

by Pa Rock

Poetry Appreciator

Alexa was helping me relax yesterday afternoon with a long, peaceful serenade by Pete Seeger when she suddenly coughed up a wonderful folk song called "The Frozen Logger," that was featured as a duet with Pete Seeger and The Weavers.  I had never heard the song before, but that is on me because it seems to have been recorded by a bunch of artists, including a version by Johnny Cash.

Summer will begin in just a few weeks, and yesterday the temperature in the Ozarks reached into the nineties.  The grass is starting to turn brown and crinkle, and I am already carrying water to my new plants every other evening.  Perhaps it was the many references in this song to ice and cold that made it so especially appealing to me.

"The Frozen Logger" is a "tall tale" of sorts from the Pacific Northwest that was written by James Stevens.   It is something akin to the tales of "Paul Bunyan" and "Babe the Blue Ox" which are rooted in Minnesota and the Midwest.  Here are the lyrics, and if you would like the tune, just ask Alexa to hum a few bars!

The Frozen Logger

by James Stevens

As I sat down one evening, 
In a timber town cafe,
A six foot seven waitress,
These words to me did say

“I see you are a logger, 
And not a common bum,
For no one but a logger 
Stirs his coffee with his thumb.

My lover was a logger —
There’s none like him today,
If you’d sprinkle whiskey on it,
He’d eat a bale of hay.

“He never shaved his whiskers
From off his horny hide,
But he’d pound ‘em in with a hammer,
Then bite ‘em off inside.

My lover came to see me
One freezing winter day,
He held me in a fond embrace
That broke three vertebrae.

He kissed me when we parted
So hard it broke my jaw,
And I could not speak to tell him,
He’d forgot his Mackinaw.

I watched my logger lover 
Going through the snow,
A-sauntering gaily homeward
At forty-eight below.

The weather tried to freeze him,
It tried its level best,
At one-hundred degrees below zero,
He buttoned up his vest.

It froze clear down to China,
It froze to the stars above,
At one-thousand degrees below zero,
It froze my logger love.

They tried in vain to thaw him,
And if you believe it sir,
They made him into ax blades,
To chop the Douglas fir.

That’s how I lost my lover,
And to this cafe I come,
And here I wait ‘til someone 
Stirs his coffee with his thumb.

And then I tell my story,
Of my love they could not thaw,
Who kissed me when we parted,
So hard he broke my jaw.