Kinky Friedman has left the Stage

by Pa Rock

Country singer and songwriter (as well as humorist, satirist, novelist, and politician) Richard Samet  "Kinky" Friedman passed away in his beloved Texas this week at the age of seventy-nine.  Friedman, a member of the Jewish faith, described himself as the first Jew to ever perform on the stage of the Grand Old Opry, and he was quick to incorporate his religion into much of his work.  His band, "Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys" was a play on "Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys," and his songs often made reference to his religion as with "They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore."

Friedman, who graduated from Austin High School in 1962, went on to serve two years with the Peace Corps in Borneo.   During his long musical career he performed with most of the Texas great country artists, and he toured with Bob Dylan.  He was the featured entertainer in one of Saturday Night Live's second season shows, and he starred in the only Austin City Limits episode that never aired due to the controversial nature of the material that was performed.

Friedman's music was often politically incorrect and irreverent.  At one point in his career the National Organization of Women awarded him the "Male Chauvinist Pig Award" as a result of a live performance of one of his songs that satirized the Women's Movement.

Friedman ran for governor of Texas as an independent in 2006 and managed to come in fourth with over twelve percent of the vote.  He supported increased teacher pay, lowering the dropout rate, wind energy, the legalization of marijuana, ending capital punishment, increasing the number of Texas National Guard troops at the border, and was pro-choice on the subject of abortion.

(My only close encounter with the performer occurred during the 2006 campaign when I was at a work training session in San Antonio and staying away from the city center without a car.  I was exploring the area around my hotel and stopped in a large bookstore just to kill time.  As I was leaving after an hour or so of mindless browsing, I asked a clerk if there was anything to do in that part of the city.  "Not much," she admitted, "but Kinky Friedman has been  in the backroom signing books all afternoon.  He just left."  Oh, well.)

Friedman, in addition to writing and performing classic satirical songs like "Asshole from El Paso," was also a prolific author of humorous mystery fiction.  My personal collection includes "The Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover," "Road Kill," "God Bless John Wayne," "Armadillos and Old Lace," "Frequent Flyer," and "Elvis, Jesus, and Coca-Cola."  I have just pulled them off of the shelf and added them to my re-read pile.

So long, Kinkster.  Thanks for sharing so much while you were with us. Happy trails!

The Road Trip Ends

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

Rosie and I climbed out of our little car and set our feet on the firm ground of Rock's Roost just outside of West Plains, Missouri, at 11:30 this morning, 13 days and five hours after we left on Father's Day.  We both were very glad to be home, and Nick and Gypsy seemed happy to see us.

Nick, who didn't know we were arriving until about twenty minutes before we got home, had the yard freshly mowed and the house clean.  That was so nice - and will certainly help to make the transition to being home much easier.

In those 13-plus days the little Kia Soul logged 5,239 miles and zipped across 10 states:  Missouri, Kansas, Iowa, South Dakota, North Dakota, Idaho, Washington, Oregon, Wyoming, and Nebraska.  (Montana, I don't know how we missed you!); 4 Canadian Provinces:  Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and British Columbia; the Rocky Mountains twice;  and, 3 times zones!  It was a helluva drive! 

That will probably be my last extended car trip because driving wears me out.  I do have an opportunity to go to New York City in the fall to support one of Tim's writing adventures, and I suspect I will do that - but will fly instead of drive - and damn I hate to fly!

But I will discuss that later.

This afternoon my mind is on unpacking and getting caught up on laundry.

Domesticity sucks almost as much as driving!

Hello Kansas City!

 

by Pa Rock

Traveling Fool

I rolled up in front of Tim and Erin's home in Roeland Park, Kansas, at 4:30 this afternoon after 560 miles on the road today.  Rosie was thrilled to see me and has not left my side since I arrived, and I was thrilled to see her.  I have felt extremely guilty about leaving her ever since I drove away a week ago last Monday morning.  I won't be doing that any more, Rosie, I promise!  Tomorrow we are headed home to check on Nick and Gypsy.

I began today in Sidney, Nebraska, and have spent the day driving through portions of four states:  Nebraska, Iowa, Missouri, and Kansas.  It all looked about the same.  Most of the drive took place in the flat farmlands of Nebraska.   Much of the land reminded me of Wyoming, but while Wyoming  places large metal sculptures up close to where the farmlands meet the highways to add to the local charm, in Nebraska they bring their old  rusted farm machinery and junk up next to the highways to show it off.  Missouri also seems to take a great deal of pride in its junk.

I also noticed that the Missouri Department of Transportation has quit trimming trees and many of the important signs along the highway that I traveled (Interstate 29 and US 71) were hidden by leafy tree branches.  Missouri has basically quit funding its public schools and reportedly has billions of dollars in reserve - and since the legislators won't spend it on kids, they could at least trim a few damned trees!

I have experienced a bunch of hotels over the last two weeks, none of them were reasonably priced.  I did note a couple of trends which I thought were interesting.  First, wifi passwords are seldom used by hotels anymore.  Any move away from passwords is good news as far as I am concerned!  Second, every single place that I stayed had their toilet paper rolling off of the top of the roll instead of off of the bottom, as God intended.

There were reports of flooding in Nebraska, but I drove across the entire state, from Wyoming to Iowa, and didn't see any evidence of high water.

I drove into Kansas City this afternoon from the north, something that I haven't done in more than ten years, and it was quite disorienting.  But I resisted the urge to call Tim for directions and managed to  get down-and-around-town.  I keep telling myself that if I could manage driving through Calgary, Alberta, during rush hour with really sketchy directions, I could certainly handle Kansas City - and I did!  So one positive from my trip out west is that it was a confidence-builder.

Most of the radio chatter as I drove today was about last night's awful presidential debate.  I have plenty of thoughts on the subject, but will save them until I get home and the political dust starts to settle.  It's a mess, but hopefully there is still time to get things fixed and keep the orange, lying lunatic and his Nazi minions out of the White House.

This part of Kansas is under a tornado watch this evening.  Me and little Rosie certainly don't want to get swept off to Oz by a Kansas cyclone!

It's great to be back!

Wyoming, the Big Windy

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

I did Wyoming today, from Cody to Cheyenne with.a backwoods routing through Thermopolis and Soshoni.  The wind raged all day, and the few times I got out of the car I had to grab my Vera fishing hat with both hands to keep it from blowing away.

By taking my favorite road, Highway 20, south from Cody to Thermopolis I experienced some of the most beautiful scenery of the entire trip, and it was totally unexpected.  I have been to Wyoming several times, but never through that part of the state.  Thermopolis is an especially neat community of about 2,500 hearty souls.  It is known for its mineral hot springs and good fishing.  The town is about 4,300 feet above sea level.  Driving into Thermppolis from the north culminated with a nice stretch of asphalt highway going down a straight, long hill and into the town.  There is a sign posted at the top of the hill advising people:   "Please Don't Skateboard on the Highway," and the nicely paved highway looks as though it would be absolutely perfect for that activity.

Life in a small town!

Leaving Thermopolis and heading south to the much smaller community of Shoshoni, about fifty miles away, also involves driving downhill for thirty or forty miles through the Wind River Canyon and Indian Reservation - and the canyon with it's roaring river channeling at the base of the bolder-strewn and pine-covered hills is absolutely magnificent!  It was the most scenic drive of my trip out west, and that includes Yellowstone - and there was very little traffic.  If you travel to Wyoming, Wind River Canyon is a MUST see!   Trust me on that!

With the exception of crowded and over-priced Cody, all of Wyoming that I encountered today was clean and neat, and it was a very pleasant 400-mile drive - even along the Interstate.  There were several large, western-themed, metal sculptures in some pastures and fields close to the highways.  Very picturesque.

This evening I am in Sidney, Nebraska, in a much nicer motel room than the one I stayed at in Cody last night, and at less than half the price.  There is a large trucker gas station on the other side of the parking lot, and the desk clerk told me that it sells freshly fried chicken.  I love gas station chicken!   It is one of my all-time favorites.

A friend has informed me that there is a lot of flooding in this area.  I've not seen any indication of that yet, and barring an onslaught of high water, I should be back in Roeland Park, Kansas, sometime late tomorrow afternoon.  I'm anxious to get home, and if I encounter high water, I may just throw my stuff in the current and swim for it!  Thanks for the weather updates, Xobekim!

Now for some of that good gas station chicken!

More tomorrow.

Traffic Jams, Torrential Rains, and Hail in Yellowstone

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

Yesterday morning I left Interstate 5 in Albany, Oregon, and got on a two-lane road, Highway 20, headed east.   At the end of today I am still on that same two lane road, only now I am in Cody, Wyoming.   For the most part, the past two days on the road have been backroadsy and very scenic.  Highway 20 even  goes through Yellowstone National Park.  Starting tomorrow I will explore some new roads as I head east toward South Dakota.

There were a couple of spots, like around Boise, where the two-lane melded with an interstate and I had to do some impromptu drag-racing, but for the most part it was two-lane, and I only got turned around a couple of times.

Tonight I am in the Super 8 Hole in Cody, Wyoming, where I have a lovely standard motel room for the unbelievably low price of just $210, supposedly including a discount because I am a "senior," though nowhere near as old as Biden or Trump.  The. hotel management is very nice, and the room is clean.  The desk clerk made me a hot chocolate while I waited on the rain to subside enough so that I could bring in my luggage.  (In truth, the luggage stays in the car, and I carry in boxes and a basket each time I stop.  Can you say "hillbilly?")

I stopped at the visitor center at Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho today.  I've been there before and done the tour, but today my primary concern was finding a bathroom, and there is a nice one at the visitor's center.  While I was there I looked at the exhibits and purchased a book for one of my grandsons and a walking stick for myself.  The stick is to help me get up and down while doing yard work or just walking, but it is large and could be used as a fighting staff, similar to the ones Robin Hood and Little John used back in the day.

My close friend and old college roommate, Ranger Bob, worked as a park ranger at Craters of the Moon many years ago, and at one point had a close encounter with Charlton Heston in the park's vast lava fields.  I would ask him to expand on that via a comment to the blog, but I don't want to put him on the spot.

My second purely tourist stop was a sojourn through Yellowstone National Park from the West Gate to the East Gate.    I get in all of the national parks free with the senior pass that I purchased at the Grand Canyon a dozen years ago.  There were only two drives open at the West Gate as I entered, so I assumed that since it was a weekday, there probably were not many tourists in the park.  It was my third visit, and I had never encountered crowded conditions before.  I was quickly disabused of that assumption.

I hadn't gone more than ten miles inside of the park until I came to the first traffic jam, and it was a doozy.  At least a mile of cars in each direction were stopping and starting and moving at a literal snail's pace.  I couldn't find a radio station to listen to, and Alexa was not getting a wifi signal, so I amused myself by watching the other tourists.  There was a new Ford F-350. pickup in front of me with a male driver and a female passenger.  The woman was riding in the backseat and hanging out of first one window and then the other snapping pictures of the geysers letting off steam.  She soon began sitting in the truck windows to take the photos, and on several instances she appeared to almost fall out as the driver shot forward two or three feet.  I was amazed that she kept her balance and stayed in the truck.  I was also amazed that she didn't clobber the driver!

After finally circling the bottom half of the park, which took nearly two hours thanks to two of those monster traffic jams, I finally arrived at the road that would lead me out of the park twenty-six miles later.  That road lead higher into the mountains before beginning a very long and steep descent that lasted ten miles or more.   I was in the second spot in a small convoy that was doing the 45 m.p.h. speed limit when the lightning started popping and it began to rain in torrents that were even worse than those I had driven through last week in South Dakota.  The wind gusts felt like they could send vehicles plummeting  thousands of feet down the ravines.  But that was not as bad as it was going to get - oh, no!  Then the hail started - and me and the little convoy just kept trucking right along at about 25 m.p.h.   If there were any mud or rockslides, they happened after I left.

I outran the awful rain about thirty miles outside of Yellowstone, but when I reached Cody and was signing into my bargain room, the desk clerk insisted on taking her own sweet time, even though I told her that a biblical storm was bearing down on her town - and as I finished registering, it caught up with me.  It was an hour later before the rain let up enough to get my stuff out of the car - which is some of the reason this blog is so late in getting posted.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

More tomorrow - possibly from the looney bin!

Oregon, West to East

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

When I entered Oregon on Saturday I drove across the state from the east to the west, mostly along the Columbia River which forms the state's northern border and separates it from the state of Washington.  (I have to identify Washington as a state, because if one just throws the word "Washington" out without that disclaimer, people in these parts begin reaching for their guns!)   Today I crossed the state again, but from the west to the east,  primarily two-lane roads through the middle of the state.

I spent a couple of hours early on slowly winding through the Cascades which are cool and beautiful.  I drove through the town of "Sisters" on Highway 20, which is a very well-kept community with lots of greenery and  modern contrivances like traffic wheels or "round-abouts," and about sixty miles later on the same highway passed through "Brothers" which has only a handful of rundown buildings including a gas station that I remembered stopping at forty years ago, and a very dilapidated roadside rest area.  The contrast between the sibling communities was stark and almost scary.  Martha Stewart could have been the city planner for Sisters, but Brothers was more likely the work of Stephen King.

Part of the day was spent crossing the Oregon High Desert, which has nice long, straight stretches of highway that let me make up the time spent winding through the Cascades.  As the desert was ending the landscape turned into large brown hills and deep valleys which were as beautiful in their own way as the richly green Cascades had been.   Malheur County, where one of the Bundy's staged an insurrection at the National Wildlife Refuge a few years ago, seemed to be covered with the brown hills, and (for now at least) particularly serene.

Then I crossed into Idaho where the speed limit on the Interstates is 80 mph, just as it is in South Dakota.  Obviously their redneck GOP legislatures think that driving fast is somehow sticking it to the Deep State.   This evening I am in a reasonably priced room in Boise with a window overlooking Interstate 80 - and I know that I will be dreaming at 80 mph!

I hope to drive through Yellowstone tomorrow, but will not be stopping to pet the bears or take selfies with the buffalo!

Getting Things Fixed In Salem

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

I had a couple of things that I needed to get done while I was in Salem, Oregon, and this morning that list suddenly expanded to three, so I knew it would be a busy day - and it was.

I had my car serviced by people I trust a couple of days before leaving West Plains, and they put a sticker in the window reminding me to get it serviced again in 3,000 miles.  (It seems like Kia recommended every 6,000 miles, but I am OCD and always try to do what I am told when it comes to vehicles.)  My little car was within a hundred miles of that 3,000 mark when I arrived in Salem on Friday, so finding a Jiffy Lube or some such was high on my list of things to get done today.   I want to be road-ready to depart at Zero-Dark-Thirty in the morning.

But as I was crawling out of bed this morning, I suddenly remembered the other thing on my list.    The doctor at the emergency who sutured my bloody foot told see to stop at an "Urgent Care" in ten days and get the stitch removed, so I left the hotel this morning with that also on my mind because today was the tenth day.  

My first order of business for the day became the medical stop, and my grandson, Sebastian, found a clinic on internet which was nearby  their home.   "urgent" care to me implies that you walk in the door and get served, but I had to settle for a late afternoon appointment.   I left the urgent care unserved and just happened to pass a place that promised "jiffy" car service.  But it was thirty minutes or so later before I was allowed to pull the car into the service bay.  After a couple of attempts to sell me extra services, the employee who had been waiting on me gave up and directed his workers just to service the car.

Yesterday my phone had tried to update, but I have an aversion to updates because something always gets screwed up.  I finally relented and agreed that the update could proceed during the night.  While I was waiting at the car service place I discovered the update had been performed and the phone was now demanding that I enter a six-digit security code.  After I entered that, it wanted my picture and a picture of my credit card - and I declined to provide either.  Then I discovered that my phone would no longer connect with any of my contacts.  As I checked out of the fast lube place I asked the clerk if there was a Verizon store in the area, and he directed me to one that I knew how to find.   The phone fix took about an hour and wound up involving all three clerks who were on duty.  The phone now works, for which I am very thankful because I go on the road again in the morning - but they were unable to remove my new security code because I have no idea what my Apple password is.  

Damn, I hate passwords!

This afternoon I got the stitch removed with no complications.

My time with the grandkids was severely curtailed due to all of the running around that I had to do today, but this evening they are here at the hotel where two are watching cartoons on the television in my room, and the third is at the swimming pool watching their mom relax in the warm pool.

And now that the blog is finished, Pa Rock will concentrate on packing.

More tomorrow from someplace along the long road home.  Maybe the day after that I will see if I can find Earthquake Lake!

Rosie, Daddy is headed home in the morning!

Democracy in Action, USA-Style

 

by Pa Rock

Vagabond

I am doing laundry at my hotel this morning to eat up some time before I go crashing in on my grandchildren.  I know they got home late last night, and teenagers need their rest!

I planned the entire trip around  tourist attire - shorts, tee-shirts, socks and sandals, and have plenty still clean that would easily last until I get home, but I was getting tired of looking at the growing pile of dirty clothes, so this was a good opportunity to catch up.  The hotel has one coin-operated washer and dryer, and they happen to be next door to my room.  It's as if the Clothes God was speaking to me directly!

Canadian radio features a wide variety of early morning talk shows, so I picked up on some cultural cues and I was driving and listening.  One story was about ankle socks for men, which is what I wear with my sandals.  Apparently ankle socks are now out of fashion and the long tube socks are back.  That works for me - I live for being out of fashion!

There were also several news stories while I was in Canada focused on the death of Canadian actor, and one of my personal favs, Donald Sutherland.  He had so many great roles.  Sutherland and Jane Fonda also did an anti-Vietnam War tour of the Far East during the early 1970's, and they had held a rally on Okinawa just before I arrived for my first assignment there in 1972.  Bob Hope also did his last Vietnam Era USO show in 1972 and was on Okinawa  just before I got there as well.

One thing that seemed to be ignored on the Canadian news was the US presidential race.  So I am playing catch-up with that now.  The first debate is this week, an event that will mark the end of any significance to which the national political conventions might have been clinging.  Now the presidential nominees are selected by a handful of political power brokers in a few "early" states, and the rest of the nation can deal with what they give us - or go pound sand.  So Thursday evening anyone one who wants to can tune in and root for their favorite geriatric, both of whom are twenty years or more past their prime, neither of whom enjoys majority support from the American public, and one of whom is insane and a convicted felon.   Democracy in action, USA-style!

The clothes are in the dryer and my first day in Salem is about to begin.  More later.

My Oregon Trail Ended in Salem Earlier Today

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

My summer roadtrip hit the halfway mark late this afternoon when I arrived in Salem, the capital of Oregon.  Right now my plan is to turn around on Tuesday morning at begin a considerably shorter route back to Kansas and Missouri.

No road problems today.  I began the morning early in Sandpoint in the Idaho Panhandle, drove south to Couer d'Alene, an extremist encampment posing as a civilized little city, and then headed west into Washington where I sliced across the southeast corner of the state before finally reaching and crossing the Columbia River and entering Oregon near the eastern edge of the state.   I drove Interstate 84 across the top of Oregon to Portland, one of my favorite drives.  It runs next to the Columbia River most of the way, and for about the last third of that passage there are some stunning views of Mt. Hood.  

Woody Guthrie said it best:  "Roll on, Columbia, roll on!"

The Kia Soul and I arrived in Portland about three in the afternoon where I was not expecting Saturday traffic to be heavy, but it was - from Portland all the way down to Salem.  I don't believe in making hotel reservations - figuring that places should keep an empty room for me just in case I show up - so the hotel where I always stay in Salem was full, and I drove down the road and found a better one.  

My daughter and her family, whom I came here to see, were in Missouri visiting other relatives when I left on Monday, and I thought they would be here on Friday, or Saturday at the latest.  It turns out that when I arrived in Salem earlier today, they were at the airport in Oklahoma getting ready to fly home.  So they will be in late tonight and I will interrupt their unpacking sometime tomorrow afternoon.

"Let me in, let me in!  I'm bearing gifts!"

For those who know my Cousin Joyce, or know of her, she and I had a very nice visit in Sandpoint, Idaho, yesterday afternoon.  That was my third visit to the beautiful tourist town in the Idaho Panhandle that offers everything from snow skiing in the mountains to boating and recreating on one of the most beautiful lakes in North America, and Cousin Joyce always goes out of her way to make the visits interesting.  Yesterday afternoon we sat on the patio of a restaurant on Lake Pend Orielle watching the boaters enjoy a warm afternoon on the water - and also had a nice meal - loaded baked potatoes - while we were there.  I'm sure that Dan and Siss Sreaves of Seneca, Missouri, would have been pleased to know that their grandchildren are staying in touch with one another.   Thanks, Joyce.  It was so good to see you!

I think that I will visit Yellowstone Park on the way home and make sure that Old Faithful is still working!   I've heard a rumor that Big Orange might turn the national park into a golf course and exclusive club if he gets a second term - and that might involve the Army Corps of Engineers having to come in and cap off Old Faithful.  Saved the geysers!  Vote Blue!  (Driving through Couer d'Alene this morning got me politically agitated!)

More later.

Sandpoint, USA

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

I'm safely back in the good old USA after three days of crossing Canada's very beautiful and monotonous Prairie Provinces.  Today I finally made it to the Rocky Mountains and crossed at a place called "Crowsnest."  The mountain drive was spectacular!  I returned to the US around noon today through the border crossing at the little Canadian town of Yahk, British Columbia, which brought me into the Idaho Panhandle.

The Panhandle is full of gun-toting Trump crazies, but it is also extremely scenic with one of the country's largest and deepest freshwater lakes, and mountains that form a major skiing destination in the winter.  As you drive south into the Idaho Panhandle from Canada, Sandpoint is the second small city along the way, and it is a place of incomparable scenic beauty.  My favorite cousin lives in Sandpoint in the summers, and this is my third visit to her town.  We will be having dinner later this evening and catching up - and tomorrow I will be back on the road heading toward Oregon.

(As a bit of local color, Sandpoint is the birthplace of Sarah Palin.)

I had a couple of close calls on the road today, no accidents, but near misses, so I am ready to get some rest tonight and hopefully start out a lot fresher tomorrow.

For my friends in the Noel area, I crossed "Elk River" three times in British Columbia today!

More tomorrow.

Lost in Calgary During Rush Hour!

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

Despite the fact that I drove just over 500 miles today and got hopelessly lost in Calgary, Alberta, one of Canada's largest city's, during the evening rush hour, I managed to have a fairly good day.  (Six lanes of madness was still better than Bentonville, Arkansas, on a Friday evening!)   Yes, I did leave Moose Jaw this morning just before 7:00 a.m. headed in the wrong direction on Canada 1, but after managing to get turned around, most of the day went well.  I fit in several brief stops along the way, including a visit at the Alberta Welcome Center and several small shops where I looked for gifts for the grandkids.  Willow, I've got you covered!.

(I was even more lost this afternoon than I thought I was.  This piece was originally titled "Lost in Edmonton During Rush Hour."  The city I was lost in was Calgary!  No wonder I had trouble finding my way out of it!)

Here are a few general observations from the road:

There is no litter in Canada, at least along Canada's Highway #1 - nary a gum wrapper nor a cigarette butt, much less things that are considered common on Missouri roadways like beer cans, dirty diapers, and my personal favorite, worn-out mattresses.   I passed several long trains today that were carrying mostly grain and petroleum products, and I noticed that there is almost no "tagging," where graffiti artists, some of them very talented, spray paint their work on boxcars.    One day recently I sat at a railroad crossing in West Plains and noticed that almost every car was tagged.  Also, what I call "double-trucks" - semi tractors pulling two full-sized trailers - are fairly common in Canada.  There aren't many billboards, at least in the western provinces, and most a located further back from the highways than the ones in the states.

I came upon a septic tank pumper truck today that had a sign on the back which read "Caution;  Contents may contain political promises."

I heard two radio stations today where the deejays were speaking in their Native American tongues.  One played country music and the other featured classic rock.  Tomorrow is Aboriginal Rights day in Canada, and all of the radio stations were making note of that.

The people that I have encountered in Canada have been extraordinarily nice.  Yesterday evening I stopped at a gas station to fill-up for the next day's travel, and two attendants came out to wait on me.  A young man ran the pump, and an older gentleman washed my windows.  I had the window down and was listening to them chatter at they worked.  The young man said, to me "Missouri," using the long "e" sound at the end of the word, and the older guy said, "No, that's "Missouri" and used the "uh"should at the end.  I told him that he had pronounced it like a native Missourian.  Then I asked if he had ever been there, and he said that he hadn't. He apparently was just a good listener.

As I left that gas station and pulled out into the road I ran over a raised concrete median that I had not seen - with an ample soundtrack of scraping and clanking, so now those guys also think that people from Missouri are idiots, or possibly worse - they may think I am a member of the Missouri Legislature!  Miraculously, there was no damage done to my little car, but my ego was in tatters.

Today I stopped for lunch at a McDonald's in Medicine Hat, Alberta.    It was a few minutes before noon, and the place was basically empty.  It looks like McDonald's is not the draw in Canada that it is in the US.  I also turned around in the city of Swift Current in the parking lot of a very small Walmart, so perhaps the Walton's are not as important here as they are in Red State America.  As I was standing in the parking lot of the McDonald's in Medicine Hat and surreptitiously trying to give myself an insulin injection in the stomach without attracting the attention of the local police, a young man walked behind me headed toward the eatery and said, "You are a long way from home."  (He had obviously seen my license plate.)   "Yes, I am," I replied."  "Are you having a good trip?"  "Yes I am.  Thank you for asking."  He was a very nice and pleasant person.  The lady in the Welcome Center for Alberta was very cordial and pleasant, and so to all of the hotel clerks whom I have dealt with since crossing the international border.

I heard on the radio as I was driving through Saskatchewan (a huge province) this morning that it's new population figure for the entire province in 1,230,000 - and it increased by 30,000 during the last year.  Perhaps the political refugees from the United States are already arriving!

Right now I am thinking that I may skip Glacier National Park, truly an American wonder, and cross the mountains in Canada and enter the US through the Idaho panhandle sometime tomorrow afternoon. If I do perhaps Cousin Joyce and I can enjoy a meal together tomorrow evening.  I'll call when I cross the border, Joyce.

And speaking of enjoying a meal, it's time for dinner and I am within walking distance of several eating establishments - so I'll give the car - and the concrete medians - a rest!

More tomorrow.

Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

My goal today was to reach Saskatoon, which was to have been the furthest point north on the trip, and I left Brandon, Manitoba, this morning with that goal in my tired old head.  But a few miles down the road I began to realize how road-weary I am, and I changed plans.  Instead of heading north to Saskatoon when I reached Regina, I opted to stay on Canada 1, and visit Moose Jaw, which had always been my back-up plan anyway.  Aside from just being tired of driving, I am also beginning to really miss Rosie, and this change of plans should shorten my trip by a day.  We'll see how that works out.

The time moved back an hour when I crossed into Saskatchewan, so I wound up getting to Moose Jaw before noon.  I've already explored the town, kinda-sorta, and unpacked into a pricey room at the Best Western.  Last night I opted to stay on-the-cheap in Brandon, Manitoba, and rented a room at Motel 6, a place which comes highly recommended by Tom Bodett.  I have stayed at Motel 6 before, though never in Brandon, and knew what I was getting into - so shame on me.  The shower worked, and that was about the only positive that I noted.  The television didn't work, neither did the clock radio, the breakfast bar was sad, and the noise from rowdy guests never stopped.  Tonight I am paying a third more for twice the peace and comfort.  Tom, as far as I'm concerned, you can turn the light off.

I stopped at a Tim Horton's for a breakfast snack this morning, since Motel 6 didn't meet my minimal standards for the first meal of the day.  Today was my first time at a Tim Horton's, and it was a good experience.  Canada uses paper drink straws, which I like.  Also, when I pulled into a "Neighbor's" quick stop for gas, a very nice Native American young man rushed out and filled my tank.  He washed my windshield while the tank was filling.  I did that same line of work when I was around sixteen, and I remember it as being an interesting and generally good work experience.

And speaking of work experience, two nights ago I had dinner at a chain restaurant in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  It was a fairly busy establishment with one person working in the kitchen, one person serving the dining customers, and a child running the cash register who could not have been more that twelve-years-old.  I know that several rural and backward state legislatures are lowering age work requirements to bring children into the workforce, and I suspect that kid may have been working legally.  I had to help him in counting my change.  Children are being pushed out of schools and into jobs to help employers make more money as they screw the kids' parents out of living wages.  It is blatantly unethical and immoral.

The weather was very nice this morning, but about an hour before I reached Moose Jaw the rains started again.  Fortunately there was nothing as torrential as what I have experienced the past two days.

Tomorrow I am headed to Medicine Hat, Alberta, and from there will begin drifting south or southwest into the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park area on the Canada-US border - perhaps that far, perhaps farther.  It depends on which way the wind is blowing.

Time for a nap!

The Watery Road From Watertown

 

by Pa Rock

Weary Road Warrior

The trip into Watertown, South Dakota, yesterday was rain-soaked, with water falling from the sky so fast that it was hard to see the road.  Today, I reasoned, things had to be better.  But as I was starting to load the car around 6:00 a.m. I noticed that the sky was seriously overcast and looked to be threatening a repeat of yesterday's gully washer.  I pulled out at 7:00 a.m. on the dot, and spent a few minutes on the interstate enjoying the sights, including a large wind farm on both sides of the road, but by 7:15 the rain started.    The first round, twenty minutes or so, was just a standard heavy rain, but after it had subsided for a few minutes, Round Two blew in, and it was another colossal water event.  By 8:30 I was in Fargo and things had settled down, and I was back to looking at the flat lands of the Dakotas and their fine assortment of stylish granaries.

(If Governor Burgum can afford to buy a vice presidential nomination, as he appears to be preparing to do, surely he could cough up enough coin to bring in some crop dusters and paint the extremely boring western edge of his state some outrageous color.  Outlining the granaries in holiday lights would also add a little zest to the place!  Give it some thought, Doug.)

I hit the Canadian border at straight-up noon.  That particular crossing had about ten lanes, but only one was open, so I had to wait in a line for twenty minutes or so.  This was the first time that I had driven into Canada since the 1980's, so I was unsure what would be needed.    As I finally got to the open booth, I had my passport, car title, and proof of insurance ready, but all the young lady asked for was the passport.  She asked me if I was visiting Canada and wanted to know if I was bringing in any alcohol, pot, guns, or knives.  When I answered "no," she sent me on the way.

US Interstate 29, which I took from Kansas City yesterday goes all the way to the Canadian border, and on the Canadian side it becomes Canada 75 and is, for the most part, better maintained than its US cousin.  I haven't looked it up, but I am supposing that US Interstate 29 is the newer version of Highway 71 which used to run from Canada to south Louisiana. From KC to Canada it is basically straight and boring, much like driving across western Kansas or most of Texas.

Canada 75 leads from the border to Winnipeg, sixty-some miles - except in Canada they use these things called kilometers instead of miles,  But it was sixty-some miles according to my speedometer which uses the King's English.  (As I pulled onto Canada 75, the first road sign that I saw said "Maximum:  100."  Hot damn, I thought, I'll be in Saskatoon in no time!  But again it was those pesky kilometers and I had to restrain my heavy gas pedal foot.)

It wasn't a quick trip to Winnipeg because a long portion of the four-lane road was restricted to just two due to road work.  I didn't get to see much of Winnipeg because almost as soon as I reached the edge of the city, I saw the exit to Brandon, which I knew was on my route, and rather than risk not being able to find it again, I exited then - earlier than I had planned.  

I had intended to spend the night in Winnipeg, but once I was on the road to Brandon, Canada 1, a nice thoroughfare that skips many of the  small towns, I couldn't find anyplace to stay.  I finally. wound up driving all the way to Brandon which is over 200 kilometers form Winnipeg - or, for you non-Canadian speakers, more than a hundred and twenty-five miles.  I have done about five hundred miles per day the last two days, but tomorrow I am going to slow it down:  Saskatoon is around 385 miles from Brandon (620 kilometers), and if I can make that, I will drop anchor there before turning and heading south when my strength builds back up!

Manitoba, where I have been driving all afternoon, was almost as boring as North Dakota for the first hundred miles or so, but then the flatlands suddenly gave way to some hills and evergreen trees, and the last hour or so of the drive was pleasantly scenic.  Manitoba is the fitth Canadian province that I have visited (Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba, Alberta - barely, and British Columbia).  Tomorrow I will add Saskatchewan to that list.  I would really like to see the Atlantic provinces sometime, but now I am playing 'beat the clock!'

Time for a nap and then I still have to dispose of the undertaker.  Last night things got sidetracked with a dispute between a couple of the other characters - over a sewing machine of all things!  If they would all just sit quietly and wait their turns, maybe I could get their story wrapped up!

My mantra for the rest of the trip:  "No rain!  No rain!  No rain!"

The Watery Road to Watertown

 

by Pa Rock

Weary Road Warrior

The first day on the road out of Kansas City was a fairly pleasant drive and generally without incident.  I took a couple of wrong turns but got straightened out quickly each time, and managed to log 484 miles.  Tonight I am in Watertown, South Dakota, about a hundred and fifteen miles south of Fargo, North Dakota.  Barring a catastrophic event, I will be in Canada tomorrow afternoon.

I was on the road 265 miles this morning driving in very pleasant weather, then the rain began.  It was on and off for a couple of hours, but after lunch in Sioux Falls and a stop at the gas station, I had just gotten back on Interstate 29 again when the heavens opened.  There was a massive downpour for about thirty minutes.  Several drivers pulled over, but not me - because I'm from Missouri and don't know any better!   Later I heard people on the Sioux Falls radio station discussing the torrential rain.  They said that it was so dark and onerous that all of the city street lights came on at about 1:30 p.m.  The weather  forecast is calling for scattered rain and showers tomorrow.

I haven't seen any murdered puppies in South Dakota, but I am hopeful of spotting a wood-chipper or two  in Fargo!

I spotted the first billboard advertising Wall Drug when I was 349 miles out of Kansas - and the second one five miles later.  I won't  be going by Wall Drug this trip, but it is a tourist trap that has lured many a traveler off of the interstate - and from there it is just an average frisbee toss to an amazing scenic drive through the Badlands.

Tomorrow will mark my first visit to North Dakota, so I will be able to color that state in on my Junior Achievement wall map.  I understand that it is a place where a person with enough money can still buy a governorship.  (Bezos is moving to Florida.  Maybe he will buy that one.)

I am using my motel evenings to finish a long piece of fiction which I have been working on forever.  Tonight I will be killing off an undertaker who dies when he either jumps or is thrown from a second story hospital window and lands on a bicycle.  Don't tell him, though, because I want it to be a surprise!

More tomorrow.

Father's Day Recap

 

by Pa Rock

Happy Camper

It has been a very nice Father's Day.  This was the first one in over three decades in which I got to see all three of my children  - ages 50, 47, and and 44 - so they really are getting a bit too long in the teeth to be referred to as "children."  But it's all a matter of perspective, and from my perspective  they are youngsters!   All three are healthy and seem relatively happy, and they are all well-directed in their lives.

I also saw five of my six grandchildren today, so, as Father's Days go, this one was a raging success.    The sixth grandchild (who is actually the first) has a driver's license and his own car, and he really needs to come see his old Granddad.  Take a hint, Boone!

Rosie and I drove to Kansas City very early this morning, and tomorrow morning I will hit the road heading north.   Winnipeg is a mere twelve hours away, straight north.  I will try to post trip updates every day on the blog, probably late in the evening.   Rosie will be staying with Tim and Erin, but she won't be told until in the morning - and I will be in SO much trouble when I finally get back!

I am traveling without a set itinerary, so all suggestions on places to stop along the way will be welcome. You can post them as comments to the blog.   Right now my general plan is to take a big swing into Manitoba and Saskatchewan and then come back down into Montana or Idaho and head on to Oregon, with a more direct route coming home.  

More tomorrow.

Happy Trails!

Jason Smith, Another Year Older

by Pa Rock

Missouri Voter

My bachelor congressman, Jason Smith of Missouri’s very rural 8^th district, is turning forty-four today.  Smith, a Republican (of course) has been in Congress for just over a decade and serves in one of the safest and most conservative districts in the United States.   Should he choose to serve fifty more years, he would most likely go on getting elected, especially now that he has survived his freshman mistakes.
 
Rep. Smith was elevated to Chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee at the beginning of the current session, a fact that he conveys at least a half-dozen times in each of his weekly email newsletters.   And while the Missouri congressman has a position of power in the current Congress, he manages to spend much more time complaining about the Biden family that he does in actual legislating - and his prolonged investigations into the Bidens has produced no more significant results than those of the other two Republican committee chairs who have been relentlessly barking up the same tree.
 
It would be nice if members of Congress were as concerned with meeting the needs of those they were elected to serve as they are with political maneuvering and grabbing headlines.

One thing my congressman is good at is worming his way onto television news shows, but only if they are on Fox or Newsmax.  He does not do “town halls,” and seems to actively avoid situations where he might be put on the spot and asked hardball questions by real journalists or constituents that would require thinking on his feet and unscripted answers.
 
Jason, like his idol Donald Trump, whines incessantly and seems to always be unhappy.  I hope he can change that, especially on his birthday.
 
Have a great one, Congressman Smith!  Go do something fun in the sun!

 

Missouri Bombs are Killing Palestinian Children

 

by Pa Rock

Missouri Citizen Journalist

According to an exceptionally detailed article in yesterday's edition of The KC Defender, a quality, independent news source from the Kansas City area, bombs and delivery systems made in Missouri are being used by the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) in their unrelenting, barbaric attacks on the people of Gaza, attacks which have killed thousands of innocent civilians, many of them children.  (More that 15,000 children have died as a result of the war in Gaza so far.)

The article was written by Ryan Sorrell, the founder and executive editor of The KC Defender, and it was entitled "Headless Children, Melting Bodies:   Missouri Weapons Facilities Produce Bombs Deployed in Rafah Massacre and UN School Massacre of Palestinians."   Much of the article was based on original reporting from CNN, The New York Times, and Al Jazeera.

The two attacks covered in Mr. Sorrell's article were extremely bloody examples of unleashed savagery in an on-going genocide, and the fact that they brought death and injury to so many children made them especially horrifying.    The attacks have been dissected and talked about in the press in great detail.   This new reporting broadens the public understanding of the carnage by looking at the history of the missiles and bombs that tore those terrified and malnourished bodies apart.  

The devices (missiles and bombs) are called the "GBU-39," or "Small Diameter Bomb 1" and they exclusively use an F-15E delivery system.  The bombs and their delivery systems are both made in the St. Louis area by Boeing and sold by the United States to Israel - and they are used to kill children in Gaza with alarming success.   Those armaments are currently being "fast-tracked" to Israel by the US.

(Perhaps if Boeing were to back off of it armaments business and focus on passenger planes, the American flying public wouldn't feel the need to bring along duct tape every time they board a Boeing aircraft!)

War is a shitty business.  Making money by killing children is obscene and immoral beyond all measure!

Boeing's stockholders should rise in open revolt!

Red line, Joe.  Red line!  Where the hell is the red line?

Too Damned Old to be President

 

by Pa Rock

Disgusted Voter

Donald John Trump is turning seventy-eight years old today.  He is too damned old to be President of the United States - and he primarily speaks gibberish.  Distill from that what you will.

If either of the major political parties had the courage to run a whip-smart forty-year-old this year, they would win the presidency in a cakewalk.

I read today that state judges in Arizona are required to retire at the age of seventy.  What a sensible solution to the problem of old people trying to cling to power.    Seventy would be the ideal age for judges, members of Congress, Presidents, and even Supreme Court justices to pack it in and retire.  

Happy birthday, Donald, and I really mean that.  We all know you would rather be playing golf than worrying about a campaign, but staying out of jail requires great personal sacrifice.  Have a wonderful day and enjoy a Big Mac or three on donations to your election racket.

One of Those Days!

 

by Pa Rock

Bloody Fool

Today was supposed to have gone according to schedule.   I am leaving for an extended road trip on Sunday, and for the last several days I have been carefully checking things off of a list in preparation for that excursion.  I have been to the phone store and made sure that I can still use my phone in the event I cross an international border, and I have been to see my insurance agent also with concerns centered on driving into Canada.  Our new dog has chewed up one of each of the two pairs of shoes that I routinely wear, so I have gotten those replaced.  I bought plenty of (US) postcard stamps, so I am ready to send my grandkids some views of my trip, and I got the car serviced early this week.   Yesterday I completed a two-day siege (six-and-a-half hours total) of getting the yard mowed.  

My son did all of the weed-eating after he got off work, and today the yard looks beautiful!  Thanks, Nick!

Today I was going to get the car filled with gas, buy some road trip groceries, and begin packing - and I probably will get most of that done before the sun sets, but the day started with a radical detour.

One of my first activities every morning is to get dressed in yesterday's dirty clothes and take the dogs for their walks.  It is a really big deal for them and for me, because I use that dog-walking duty to log about 5,000 steps onto my pedometer - half of the daily goal of 10,000 steps.  This morning I was sitting on the side of my tall iron bed listening to a newscast from NPR and putting on my footwear Michael Stivik-style (putting one sock and one shoe on one foot, and then moving to the second foot and repeating the process),   When I had completed the right foot and turned to concentrate on the left, I focused on a small, shiny black scab, shaped like a little round bb, that has been on my ankle for a month of so and never caused me any problem.  Today, God knows why, I decided to pick it off.

And the blood came forth like an oil well gusher!    It flowed, and oozed, and poured in copious amounts, immediately covering my foot and leaving big, wet stain on the carpet.  I used the sock that I had planned to put on the foot to try and staunch the flow, but the sock was quickly drenched in blood and it just kept flowing.  (I regularly take two blood-thinners, baby aspirin and Plavix.)

Of course I was home alone.

Not knowing what to do, I did the sensible thing of tracking the blood through most of the house as I gathered up tissue and paper towels and rags and other things to try and keep blood in my body.  Finally I decided that I probably should go to the Emergency Room at the hospital - about three miles from my house.  I put the other sandal - the one the dog had chewed on - on the bare, bleeding foot and squished my way to the car.  I had been smart enough to grab my keys and wallet on the way out of the house, but once I had squished my way to the car, I realized that I had forgotten my phone.  I thought "I am in an emergency situation here, and I really should have my phone."  So I squished my way back into the house and got it.

I made it to the hospital without incident - and without passing out - and parked in the lot of the Emergency Room.  By the time I arrived the carpet on driver's side of the car was soaked in blood, and as I got out and headed to the door, which was about thirty feet away, I left blood on the parking lot and all along the sidewalk.  Once inside, I also left tracks on the floor and a sizable pool of blood on the floor next to the reception desk.  All of that was from a wound that was literally not much larger than a pin prick.)

The ER staff was wonderful - as they had been on my two previous broken-arm visits - and they quickly had me on a bed in an exam room, and a doctor was at my side surprisingly soon.  He said the scab had been attacked to a very small varicose vein and hence the eruption.  He gave me one fancy stitch and said to have it removed in eight or ten days.  No, he said, it should not wait until after my trip, and the best thing to do would be to stop at an "Urgent Care" somewhere along the way to have the stitch removed.

They were still mopping up my blood inside of the Emergency Room as I was leaving thirty minutes later, and a three-man crew was also outside washing down the sidewalk and the parking lot around my car.  I apologized to everyone sincerely and profusely for screwing up their morning.

As I got into my car I was still wearing a dry sock and a sandal on my right foot, but on my left I had a long hospital sock,  I got behind the wheel, placed my feet firmly on the floor, and felt the blood oozing up from the floor and into the hospital sock.  Driving home many of my thoughts were the the deeply philosophical talk that Michael Stivik and his father-in-law, Archie Bunker, had about whether the proper way to dress was to put on both socks and then both shoes (Archie-style), or one sock and then the shoe (Michael-style).  I had gone with the Michael-style and knew that I could at least hop into the house when I got home without making a bigger mess, an argument much like Michael's from a half-century earlier when he had argued that in case of a fire, if he had just one sock and shoe on he could hop to safety, and Archie, just wearing socks, would get his feet burned.

The mind wanders when you have lost a lot of blood, and I figured that I was at least a quart low!

As I neared my house, I had to drive around an a truck with flashing lights that was parked by the side of the road and where workmen were apparently working on the power lines.  When I got home the power was off.

Of course the stinking power was off.  It was one of those days!

Honest Republicans: A Disappearing Breed

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

I was never a big fan of former House Speaker Paul Ryan, he is too conservative for my tastes.  But, his right-wing political views aside, Ryan is a decent man who never hesitated to put the good of his country above his own personal interests.  This week Paul Ryan, who is also a former GOP Vice Presidential candidate and a member of the Fox Corporation Board of Directors, spoke out about the current GOP presumptive presidential candidate, Donald Trump, in an interview with Neil Cavuto on Fox News, and in that interview Paul Ryan referred to Trump as "unfit for office."

Ryan, who calls Trump a "populist" rather than a "conservative," said that instead of being focused on the ideals of conservatism, Trump remains for focused on himself.

The former Speaker of the House also said that he would not be voting for Trump or Biden, but would instead write-in some other Republican for President this November as he did in 2020.   Ryan said that he had voted for Trump in 2016, hoping that he would be successful in the office, but that by 2020 he recognized Trump's failings in office.

Republican politicians eager to win Trump's favor were quick to lambast Paul Ryan for stating his honest views - on Fox News of all places!  GOP Rep. Troy Nehls of Texas, as an example, called Ryan "a piece of garbage."

But the harshest reaction to Ryan and his remarks on Trump came from Trump himself, a man who does not take criticism well.  The former reality television personality and convicted felon had this to say about the former GOP Speaker of the US House of Representatives:

"Rupert Murdoch should fire pathetic RINO Paul Ryan from the Board of Fox.  Ryan is a loser, always has been, and always will be.  He was the WEAKEST & MOST INCOMPETENT Speaker of the House in history.  Fox will sink to the absolute bottom of the pack if Paul Ryan has anything to do with it."

There doesn't seem to be many honest Republicans left with the courage to speak up about the populist cancer that is eating their party.  Paul Ryan left the circus a couple of years ago, and speaks now as a private citizen.  Mitt Romney, who was the last GOP presidential nominee (2012) before the Age of Trump, has been shunted out of his seat in the Senate by the Trump firebrands in the party and now has the political freedom to issue the occasional criticism of the party's egomaniacal leader.  Nikki Haley, Trump's former Ambassador to the United Nations and a former GOP governor of South Carolina, loosed several broadsides against  Trump while she ran against him for President earlier this year, but she has since withdrawn from the race and dutifully drank the kool-aid and says she will vote for him in November.  And there is also the proud "never-Trumper" Liz Cheney whose enthusiastic work with the House January 6th Committee earned her Trump's enduring wrath and ultimately caused her to be defeated in her reelection bid to Congress.    Ms. Cheney left Washington, DC, unemployed but unbowed, and she continues to shine the bright light of reason on the (now) convicted felon and his cultish followers.

There are a few other independent thinkers in the Republican Party, including a handful of senators who voted against Trump in his second impeachment trial, the one that resulted from the insurrection, but the vast majority of GOP officials are still lining up to kiss Trump's ring and declare their undying loyalty, much as German political sycophants did in the 1930's.

Most politicians in the Republican Party have attached themselves to Trump like barnacles on the Titanic, and any member who fails to come on board is out.   One hundred percent fealty is demanded, and anything less gets you branded as a RINO and sent home to Wyoming.

Trump, who turns 78 tomorrow, is massively unhealthy and won't be around forever.  What will happen to the zombie passengers and rats when his ship finally sinks, barnacles and all?

I am reminded of that famous jacket worn by an immigrant to the United States during her tenure as First Lady.  It read:  "I really don't care.  Do U?"

It's easy not to care, but someday the nation will have to begin the very hard work of cleaning up Trump's mess, and it's very likely to get much worse before it gets better.  So yeah, I do care, and so should we all, regardless of our party affiliation.

Spreading the Manure of the Bull

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

As I left he grocery store yesterday afternoon I stepped into the parking lot and came directly upon a nice pickup truck with a carefully hand-printed sign in the back window of the cab that read:  "Trump 2024:  No More Bull Shit."   The truck appeared to have been parked just outside of the store's main entrance deliberately so as to draw as much attention as possible to its owner's political message.

I wasn't offended, or even surprised, because in this area you routinely come across things that are so much worse.  (I even saw the "F" word connected to the current President's last name in large letters in a truck window a few months ago, and I guess I'm okay with that.  Trump says he's coming back, so we might as well get used to living in a sewer,)

The sign yesterday had been carefully crafted, it was not a slapdash affair.  Someone had taken their time in painting it onto the cab's back window in white shoe polish.  I did note that the sign painter  chose to make "bull shit" two words instead of the more standard single word.  I suspect that is because as one word, and being eight letters long, there was a fear by the painter of being dubbed an "intellectual," which is a fighting word in these parts.

Donald Trump used the word "bullshit" at a rally in Dream City, a large, right-wing mega church in Phoenix last week.  Joe Biden had signed an executive order to place some restrictions on immigrants entering the country - since Republican members of Congress at the behest of Trump had refused to do so.  Trump, who is desperate to use the racial animus and bigotry stirred up by immigration in his campaign, commented about Biden's executive order in the Phoenix church and referred to it as "bullshit."  To his obvious delight, members of the audience then began chanting "bullshit," and he smiled, laughed, and encouraged them to continue.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, praise Jesus, and pass the collection plate!  Doesn't Trump's version of Christianity just warm you to the core!

And now, less than a week later, the manure of the bull has spread across the back windows of pickup trucks in rural Missouri.  It's a movement of more than just the bowels of the bull.  Trump's bullshit is redefining Christianit in America, and it stinks to High Heaven!

Fertilizing our lawns and gardens this year would just be redundant.  Donald has us covered.

Pot Crisis on Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Sooner or later hard times come for everyone, even those whose breaths are routinely drawn from the crisp and clean ocean breezes of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, Massachusetts.

Marijuana, both for medical as well as recreational use, has been legal in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for several years, as it is in about half of the United States, but it inexplicably remains illegal in the overall US as detailed by federal law.  So far the feds are overlooking the states where it is legal, but issues arise when the product is moved from state to state, and particularly if it crosses federal property or states where it is not legal.  

Some states are not self-contained and have part of their territory in the form of islands that are out to sea and across waterways controlled by the federal government.  Can they transport their "legal" pot from their mainland territory to their island territory across federal routes and waterways?    Nothing seems to be settled yet, probably because the entire notion of something being legal in the states that is not legal in the country still appears to be mired in legal limbo.   But the different states are proceeding to tackle the issue in different manners, with most finding some way to justify having pot on their islands as well as their mainlands.  (California, as an example, passed a state law that specifically allows pot to be transported to Catalina Island for sale in the stores there.)

But a problem has developed in Massachusetts where the agency that oversees the use of marijuana in the Commonwealth, the Cannabis Control Commission, has balked and now has concerns that transporting pot across an ocean expanse may run afoul of federal laws - and the commission has temporarily halted the process.

Martha's Vineyard, the larger of the two islands, has two pot dispensaries.   One has already closed because it has run out of weed, and the other says it will be shut down by September.   Some island residents have been reduced to hopping on the ferry to the mainland to make their purchases and then stuffing their designer Gucci bags full of sticky, aromatic buds and smuggling them back to their summer homes on the exclusive island.  

But there isn't a ready pot dispensary where the ferry lands on the mainland, so the dilettante smugglers either have to take their car along on the ferry or get an Uber where the ferry lands and drive to a distribution point.  All of that effort takes a lot of time away from cocktail parties and sailing regattas.  It is such a bother and seems so unfair!

The situation is reportedly almost as dire on Nantucket.

There have also been efforts to circumvent the system by growing marijuana on the two islands, but apparently hiring "testers" to come to the islands and grade the product is not cost effective.

Sweet Baby James!

Island Song

by Pa Rock

There once was a lass from Nantucket

Who kept all her weed in a bucket

But a sailor sweet-spoken

Who had taken to tokin'

Emptied her pail and did chuck it.

 

There are Felons, and then There are Special Felons

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump is a felon.  A jury of his peers unanimously convicted him of thirty-four individual felony counts, and a month from tomorrow a judge will sentence him on those those convictions.  Trump, a man who has seldom been held to account for any of his actions during his long and privileged life, is very unhappy about those guilty verdicts, and he has loudly proclaimed his innocence and victimhood while lashing out at many of the individuals associated with the trial.

One of the necessary boxes that must be checked before next month's sentencing of the convicted felon, Donald Trump, is that he must report to a probation officer for an interview which should produce information that will help the judge to determine the most appropriate sentence.  Trump has his initial session with a probation officer today.

Of course, Donald Trump has felt all along that he should be treated differently than other people who get caught up in America's criminal justice system.  Because he had once served a term as the President of the United States, Trump felt that he had some sort of immunity from prosecution, but while that spurious claim is still being bandied about in the federal court system, it did not keep him from being prosecuted on a state level in New York.  Trump also felt that since he was again a declared candidate for President, the court's schedule should bend around his own.  He had been stalling four cases for years, but the one in New York finally made it to trial.  

Trump is special, but just not special enough to impose his imperial will on the Empire State - at least not until today.

I heard a probation and parole officer on a newscast this week lament that she has clients who have been convicted of just one felony, and that they cannot even get jobs at gas stations, but along comes Donald Trump with thirty-four felony convictions and he can run for President.

It's almost like some people believe that the circumstances of their birth should place them above the law, or, at the very least, above the consequences of breaking the law.

Donald Trump, who doesn't work, will not have to take off work to visit with the probation officer today.  In fact, Judge Merchan's court, the one Trump likes to call "corrupt" and whine about so much, has granted him special permission to  have a "virtual" visit with the probation officer.  Trump and the low-level government employee will not even be sucking in any of the same air - their chat will be through cyberspace!

And because Donald Trump is special, Judge Merchan has also said that his attorney can be present while he has his talk with the probation officer, a privilege rarely accorded to other, less special felons.

America's criminal population, like America's general population, appears to be clearly defined into social strata, and that is a shame because a person with aspirations to lead this nation should have as much firsthand knowledge of those whom he or she wishes to serve as is humanly possible regardless of which rung on the social ladder they occupy.   Of course, Donald Trump has always focused on serving himself and has little interest in the needs of others.

Most of the others are suckers and losers anyway, the sort of people who stand trial on the court's schedule and not their own, show up in person to deal with civil servants like probation officers, and answer for their own their damned crimes.

And they pay their taxes.

Trummp's pal, Leona Helmsley, called them the "little" people.

Just sayin . . . 

Leonard Peltier to Face Parole Hearing on Monday

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Humanity will once again be on trail tomorrow when Native American rights activist, Leonard Peltier, will go before a parole board in Florida, his first such appearance in fifteen years, and, due to his advanced age (79) and rapidly declining physical health, probably his last opportunity for freedom.

Peltier has been in prison since 1977 for crimes related to the killing of two FBI agents in a shootout at the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota in 1975.  Several others were arrested with Leonard Peltier in the aftermath of the killings, but they were all exonerated or removed from the frame, and when everything settled only Leonard Peltier was left in a prosecutable position.  Eventually the government's murder case against Peltier fell apart, and in lieu of that he was charged with knowing about and protecting whoever shot the FBI agents, a crime for which he has spent almost fifty years in prison, much of which was served in isolation.

Leonard Peltier could have walked free at his parole hearing fifteen years ago if he had admitted killing the FBI agents,  but he refused to own something which he still maintains is untrue.

Amnesty International advocates for the release of Leonard Peltier, as do many political, religious, and world leaders - including Pope Francis who personally brought Peltier's case and circumstances before two US Presidents, Obama and Biden. 

Leonard Peltier's trial in the 1970's is regarded by many legal experts as deeply flawed, but the FBI is determined to have maximum payback for the murder of its two agents, and the agency continues to exert political pressure on judges and Presidents to keep Mr. Peltier behind bars as a symbol of the FBI's wrath and revenge.

Peltier, who has a heart condition, suffered a stroke a few years ago and is now blind in one eye, and he knows his days are numbered.    He would like to spend them with his family and in his community.  

The parole board needs to review Leonard Peltier's case carefully and do what it right, and if they fail in that moral responsibility, Joe Biden needs to stand up and do it for them - now - while there is still time.

Show some kindness and mercy, Joe.  Let the old man go and spend his last few days with his grandchildren.  It's not a political calculation, just human decency.

Dear Fellow Patriot

 

by Pa Rock

Consistent Voter

Over the past few weeks I have sent out several donations to political candidates as the primary season heats up and the general election draws ever nearer.  Generally my donations go to Democrats whom I feel have earned my support through their records of helping the less fortunate, or to volunteer groups that generally support Democratic candidates and the social goals espoused by Democrats.  Occasionally I will even grease the palm of an independent candidate.  

Years ago I may have given a small donation or two to Republican candidates if I admired their position on some particular issue, but if I did, I honestly don't remember.   Now, however, with the current state of the hate-riddled Republican Party, it would be a very cold day in hell before I would feel compelled to support someone sitting astride the GOP's befuddled elephant.

That's why it was so surprising yesterday when Rosie and I walked out to the mailbox and retrieved a letter whose return address said simply "President Donald J. Trump."  The most notorious convicted felon in the entire world was writing to me.  What were the odds that he would be asking for money?  (A bazillion to one?)

The enclosed two-page letter (printed cheaply, front and back on one page) was, of course, a request for money.  The Trumpster wanted me to commit to two $25 donations or one combined gift of $50, and he sent along two colorful envelopes addressed to the Republican National Committee at a P.O. Box address in Topeka, Kansas, for my convenience.  The envelopes, alas, were not postage-paid, or I would have already placed them  back in the US mail, empty, of course.

I know that as an elderly, white, male voter who resides in the rural, ass end of a red state, there is a high likelihood that I am a Republican, and occasionally the Koch organization, "Americans for Prosperity" will send me a mailer requesting a cash love-offering for some Neanderthal state candidate, but yesterday's letter marks the first time - at least since Nixon - that a Republican Presidential candidate  or the Republican National Committee has trashed my mailbox.

The envelope that the beg came in had my name spelled correctly, even with the correct middle initial, and the address was also right, up to and including the nine-digit zip.  Did all of that come from our county voter lists?   Or were there boxes of Social Security records piled high in some bathroom at Mar-a-Lago that the Feds missed on their sweep of the joint?   In a country where Amazon.com has a more complete collection of addresses than the US Postal Service, I guess "privacy" is more or less just an arcane term, an oddity of history.

The envelope was clearly intended for me, but the letter itself began "Dear Fellow Patriot" and never contained my name in any form.  It had a bit of the Trump standard screed about Biden and his "Far-Left Overlords" buying the last election out from under Trump, and a short list of some of the ways the current President is shorting America - the standard Trump yammer about immigration, crime, wages, and taxes, but it was primarily just a beg for the Republican National Committee, the group that appears to not only be funding much of Trump's election effort, but also paying for his lawyers as well.

Donald, a jury of your peers who were selected, in part, through the efforts and approval of your own lawyers, said you did the crime.  They said so unanimously on each and every one of the thirty-four felongy counts.   You did the crime - so pay for your own damned lawyers!

But thanks for writing.  I always enjoy a good joke!

GLOATs, SLOATs, and BLOATs: LMFAO!

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

The creation of acronyms, a type of shorthand for remembering complex terminology by abbreviating it into initials that form a shorter word or term - something easier to remember - is not a new phenomenon, and, in fact, when I was in the United States Army more than fifty years ago, we were given a manual of a couple of hundred pages listing acronyms that had been especially created  to meet the army's needs.  The other branches of service had their own manuals stuffed with their own acronyms.  Some of the military acronomyms managed to make it beyond the call of duty and into the public domain, ones we all know like ASAP, AWOL, and MIA.

Today the process has evolved, and a whole generation of internet users seem to be able to get by using little more than just acronyms.  PIN, NSFW, LOL, ICYMI, YOLO,  and ROTFL are but a few examples of internet speech.   Creating memorable acronyms has almost become a contemporary art form, and anyone lacking the skills to readily translate strings of words to acronyms and back again can soon find themselves SOL when it comes to communicating over the internet.

A couple of new ones (at least new to me) surfaced last week during the closing arguments in the New York "hush money" trial of Donald Trump, the trial in which he was unanimously convicted of 34 felony counts by a jury of his peers.  Trump, who famously hires only the "best" people, sat by listening smugly as his current attorney, Todd Blanche, referred to Michael Cohen, Trump's former attorney and a witness against Trump in that trial, as a GLOAT (greatest liar of all time).

Cohen, Trump's former lawyer who admitted paying off a porn star so she would not interfere in Trump's 2016 presidential campaign against Hillary Clinton, later shot back at the clever Mr. Blanche and referred to him as a SLOAT (stupidest lawyer of all time).

I also noted a bit of commentary on the internet in which Trump was referred to as a BLOAT (biggest liar of all time) and there is now some Trump BLOAT (biggest loser of all time) merchandise being sold on Amazon.  Trump BLOAT apparel probably should not be worn with MAGA caps because the sight of it would surely cause me to be ROTFLMFAO!

TGIF!