Shake and Pop

 We've all sort of gotten used to the President's Twitter game, haven't we? By that I mean we've all accepted that "The Most Powerful Man In The World" who has access to the nuclear trigger is a not-so-bright petulant bore given to throwing temper tantrums and has barely any concept of wit, diplomacy, or even what his job actually is. Every time he gives even a hint of not being a complete buffoon, the big-time media wets itself that he's got a "new tone" or "turning a corner." Within a few days, he lays a tweet on us so awful that I honestly think he loses a few votes. Not the Base, no. They are ride or die.

 So, today he laid this beauty on us:

 By the time he got to his afternoon tongue wag, he's amended it to mean he's still worried about mail-in voting because the results won't be immediately ready on Election Night. Hell, I don't know what he's talking about, either. I really believe he never paid attention to elections until 2016 and only then because he had to.

 So, all day long people have been trying to calm us down - and this is rightly worrying news - by saying only Congress would have that authority. Maybe so. During Congressional testimony, smirk pig hybrid and Secretary of State Mike Pompeo said the decision would ultimately land with the Department of Justice and Attorney General William "The Pope" Barr, which should fill everyone with confidence.

 And then there's the stroke that if he does manage to delay the election and if it goes on past January 20, by Constitutional fiat the Speaker of the House becomes president. That would be Nancy Pelosi and it would almost be worth it to see wingnut heads across the country pop like zits.

Again, maybe so, but here's what's bugging me, the nagging little thought I can't shake. Not only is Trump dealing with a mafia-loyal Senate and GOP, but he's also got a fairly pliable Supreme Court, one I wouldn't be on. Sure, he doesn't have the House, but let's be honest here. The Democratic party can charitably be described as "feckless" when it comes to dealing with Republican power grabs for at least the past 30 years.

 But that's not what worries me the most, honestly. What worries me is he's got at least 50 million drooling lunatics who are as loyal to him as maybe we've ever seen, to the point where anything that makes him look bad instantly becomes "fake news". Furthermore, they've already said they're willing to go to war with anyone who's against Trump, bragging about their guns and steadfastness. All they're waiting on, they say, is "the word". Whether they will or this is just a lot of talk from people who watch too much television, I don't know, but I'm not inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt.

 I really don't get the American obsession with "strong leadership". Today it was announced that Mississippi led the nation in per capita COVID-19 cases. We also learned that former presidential candidate and Republican "black friend" Herman McCain died due to complications from the virus. He had dealt with Stage 4 colon cancer and, thus, had a weakened immune system. It's very likely, though not completely certain he came down with the virus while attending Trump's return to volksgemeinschaft back at the end of June.

 Both of these were, in some form or fashion, credited to a "lack of leadership," either from Gov. Tate Reeves or Trump. We've heard a lot about leadership in the last few years, especially when pointing out how badly it's being done. Maybe this should be a lesson to us: stop looking for leaders. Maybe stop giving unearned authority its power by already being willing to bend a knee to whoever is "in charge" just because that's how it's always been done.

 This is probably my appreciation for anarchism as a political theory kicking in, but I think a lot of this is because we as a people - and definitely as a culture - are so given to a Narrative that champions a Strong Leader or a Savior. The flip side is we think we're all so easily manipulated that we don't need to put the effort in to be any better. That's where a lot of the opprobrium for the mainstream media comes. They're lazy and profit-over-proof oriented because we let them be. Maybe if we demanded more from the big-time press, they'd deliver. In the meantime, give your support to indie publications, alt-weeklies, and bloggers you trust.

 Okay. That's plenty for today, I think. We'll try to get tomorrow's News out on time. It may be a wrap-up, but to be fair, it has been a busy week.

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

 Okay. I pretty much shut it down today and didn't really stir until 4 p.m. The more I worked on that piece last night, the angrier I got until I got what felt like a blood pressure-induced headache. I couldn't sleep for damn, either, so I was pretty whipped when my buddy Otis, the Jack Russell, got me up this morning.

 I've calmed down greatly today, though. I've got two pieces of Actual Paying Work to get done tonight and one's done. I'm not sure where the future lies with this. I'm proud of my buddy for getting this going. He's a good kid and I've been fond of him and his wife for over 10 years. And, frankly, it feels good to get paid to write and to have a purpose to write. But I really don't need to be as angry as I was yesterday. When I can feel my blood pressure rising, that's not a good sign.

 It's been an hour since I wrote the above. I've already written 800 words for the APW and still have another to do. Since it's 11 p.m. and I want to keep continuity, I'm going to go ahead and post this. I really have nothing interesting I want to talk about anyway, but I feel like coming back I will. So there.

I need to rant. Skip it if you want.

 I'm going to piss and moan for a few pages. Skip if you don't care, and don't try to bullshit me, you don't.

I ain't walkin'. Naw, I'm travelin' in style.

 You know, I've had a fairly pleasant Saturday. Nice breakfast, got some work done, nice nap - not too long, not too short - some fair-to-middling ribs from that place in Peppertown, and a short constitutional with my buddy Otis, the Jack Russell. I really don't have much in me.

 We'll go ahead and get this week's News all linked out before I forget, though. Beyond that, I don't know. We'll kick the ball around and see. Anyhow.

Monday

Wednesday

Friday

 To be honest, I took on a big slab of Actual Paying Work this past week, and that ate up not only most of my time but also most of my energy. You write 4,000 words on New York labor laws and see how sharp you are. In any event, we took another look at the fascist invasion of Portland Monday while Wednesday centered around the ongoing failure of the Trump Administration when it comes to deal with the COVID-19 problem. Friday we drew out focus in and took a look at how screwed dear ol' Mississippi is about said pandemic. The answer: extremely screwed.

 I usually don't do this, but I'm going to include the News' "Weekend" feature. For the record, it's usually just five hundred words of ramble tamble - much like every day here - and little more than a reason to fill space and write. However, occasionally, I'll write something there worth reading. This time around I wrote about Rep. John Lewis and Bro. C.T. Vivian, two Civil Rights warriors we lost to the ravages of time a week ago Friday. Lives well-lived, stomping the terra.

 Wednesday got a good bit of attention, actually. I imagine it's because I touched on the business with Trump wishing Ghislaine Maxwell "well" and Twitter booting a bunch of Q users for being assholes, slightly loony, and outright threatening. I generally don't get as many hits on the News as I do here. Maybe that's telling me something, but I'll be dipped if I know what it is.

 Speaking of hits, I got a mess here this week. Up to 136 so far, though how many of those are the same ones trying to spam porn in the comments, I don't know. I was inspired Friday, pure gonzo gibberish that it was. Right now, though, I just feel like listening to The Faces and reading Go Down, Moses again. It's too damn hot to be this melancholy.

 I'm definitely not interested in the current zeitgeist on Twitter. Apparently, Andrew Sullivan said something stupid and the only reaction I have to that is why in the blue hell is anyone still taking Andrew Sullivan seriously? The Harper's Letter is still having way more impact than it should. I still can't too worked up that mediocre writers and thinkers who've coasted for the past couple of decades answering to no one but each other are getting made fun of on Twitter.

 And I really have no sympathy for the folks under 40 whose main complaint seems to be that they came on the field too late to not have to listen to the public criticize their nonsense. They know who they are, there's no need to name names. I find as I get older, I give less of a shit about what individuals think, especially individuals who get paid to tell me what they think. I realize that's a little screwy given what I'm doing here, but read your Walt Whitman and leave me be.

 Tedious hypocrite David Brooks bemoaned that besotted contrarian boor Christopher Hitchens couldn't get published today when that is obviously horseshit of the finest kind. Hitchens would be fighting off podcasters with an empty beer stein. As long as you have connections, there is no need for merit. Yeah, I know that sounds bitter because I'm 45 and have probably seen all the success in writing I'll ever see, but it doesn't mean it's wrong.

 It's like when I argue with Momma about taxing the living shit out of Jeff Bezos. "But is it fair?" I honestly don't care if it is or isn't. Life isn't fair. Children are born into poor families with illnesses that will not only promise a short, painful existence but will also manage to bankrupt their parents as if a shattered heart isn't enough.

 Getting a little dark there. Perhaps I should tie this off. I want a candy bar. I'm enjoying myself, but I know I'm running out of stuff to rant about and really don't feel like raving about how awesome The Faces were and how you should totally buy as much stuff as there is out there, but you should. Hell, two-fifths of the band has passed on and two of the remaining three have more money than God. I doubt Kenny Jones is hurting, so buy used copies or if you're feeling it illegal downloads.

 Are those still a thing? I ain't going to lie but when Napster and Kazaa were all the rage, I downloaded a buttload of MP3s of dubious legality. I even sailed around the Pirate Bay for a bit. I usually wound up buying from the bands if they were still an ongoing thing but I have no qualms about taking from record companies and music publishers. Was it thievery? Sure. Do I give a shit? Nope, not one bit.

 Hoo, giving myself away there, I better be careful. You'll never prove it, though, because I've moved on. Apple and Tim Cook get my $10 a month, so I trust them to disseminate that down to the musicians, although I know it really isn't much better. Regardless, The Bottle Rockets, Todd Snider, and The Mavericks still get my money. Come and get me, coppers.

 That's enough, I think. I don't know what else to say and don't feel like raging against anyone anymore. Anyway, I really want that candy bar. Salute.

Chopping cotton in The Garden of Forking Paths

 There's something called "the Mandela Effect". In short, it's the idea that there's something wonky about reality because people's memories are faulty. Some popular examples are the idea that the universe flip-flops between "Froot Loops" and "Fruit Loops," than the comedian Sinbad played a genie in a movie called Shazaam, and the concept's namesake, the idea that Nelson Mandela died sometime in the '80s while in prison.

 Now. I want to go on record here and say I think the Mandela Effect has less to do with the rubbery nature of reality and more to do with the idea that people's memories are faulty. Similar to how people's perceptions are questionable, even at the best, makes me question concepts like ghosts, physic phenomenons, and so forth. I've done peyote and read Kant. Everything you see is a couple thousandth of a second late, and that's just how it is.

 Your senses don't tell you the Truth, they tell you what humans have evolved to understand so they can make it through reality. We've yet to catch up with moving faster than roughly 30 miles an hour, evolutionarily speaking, so when you're driving down the road, your brain can't process everything so it just "fills in empty spaces". Isn't that a fun thought?

 Anyhow, I said all that to say all this. In the last 48 hours, I've discovered the music of a guy named Roger Tillison. He was a singer-songwriter from Tulsa who came up during the '60s and '70s. He was friends with that whole Tulsa crew, like Leon Russell and Jesse Ed Davis, and spent time in Woodstock when Bob Dylan, The Band, and Bobby Charles were doing their thing. He filled in for Eric Clapton when the latter was too strung out on heroin to play for George Harrison's Concert for Bangladesh.

 He put out a record on Atlantic's Atco subsidiary in 1971 called Roger Tillison's Album. He does a Dylan song ("Down In The Flood"), a Band number ("Get Up Jake"), and a Woody Guthrie deep cut ("The Old Cracked Looking Glass") among other covers and originals. I'd heard the Dylan and Band song, on the same album, actually, but I'd never heard the Guthrie song. It's pretty good. Guy's a solid singer and there's some neat raw, rockin' country-influenced playing, the sort of stuff I really dig. Imagine a grittier Flying Burrito Brothers.

 He didn't put out another record until 2003, Mamble Jamble, and that was initially released only in Japan. He spent most of his time playing in and around Tulsa, occasionally recording with old friends and picking up the odd gig touring. He died in 2013 at 72, and apparently really enjoyed his life the whole time. Good for him, far too many of us don't get to do that.

 Every now and then, I come across a musician or an author I should know about. It happened with Swamp Dogg. Didn't know him from Adam's housecat, regardless of my love for Southern soul, and now I'm a fanatic. Country singer Little David Wilkins cut an album back in the '70s with a classic honky tonker "Who Ever Turned You On, Forgot To Turn You Off". I mean, that just screams Urban Cowboy.

 All that Harper's Letter trying to save well-off op-ed writers from being criticized? There's some dude, name escaped me, but he's such incredibly insufferable bourgeoisie douchebag - like David Brooks and Andrew Sullivan double-teamed Maureen Dowd - that I have no idea how I managed to keep him off my radar for so long. The older I get, the more this happens, and it never fails to blow my mind.

 There's an explanation of the weirdness of quantum mechanics called the Many-Worlds Interpretation. Essentially, since we can't tell a subatomic particle's attributes until it's observed, the who subatomic realm is really weird compared to how the macro-world works. One interpretation, the Copenhagen, is the most popular and says everything is just mathematically a probability until it's observed, wherein it collapses into reality. It's just math, though, the best we can observe because we physically don't have the tools to be more precise.

 The MWI is similar, except that every conservative splits off a different reality. It goes back to Schrodinger's Cat; once the box is open, two universes form. One where the cat is alive and one where it's dead. Again, it's just the math they do to make the science works. Quantum mechanics is an actual thing and one of the best theories in science. It's just weird as shit and makes no sense because the reality we can see and touch doesn't act this way.

 The thing about quantum mechanics is that it's so weird and so hard to wrap your head around, a lot of folks just go nuts with it. From the Tao of Physics to What The Bleep Do We Know, quantum woo has been a lucrative stroke for a lot of folks. In the same neighborhood is the idea that reality and consciousness are tied into the quantum level. There's some legit science going on working on the idea that there's something tying them together.

 I'm not going to pretend that I understand it, because I don't, but the general gist is since the brain uses electrical impulses, it ties into the quantum world. Since it affects that and that affects the macro world, consciousness can affect reality. Now, modern neurobiology doesn't really swing with this and considers whatever computational aspect there is in the quantum world, it doesn't have anything to do with how the brain works or how reality is.

 Still, it's an interesting stroke. One of the more far-out theories - and I think it has something to do with Robert Anton Wilson's "reality tunnels" but I can't recall - is that reality isn't so much defined by consciousness, but consciousness experiences different reality. It's somehow connected to the MWI, but the little splits in the universe are very localized. It also ties into Douglas Adams' who stroke with Probability and the Whole Sort Of General Mish-Mash.

 So maybe I drift through a constantly changing universe, where things pop into and out of existence. I thought for the longest time that country singer Terri Gibbs was so freaked out by her song "Somebody's Knockin'," which talks about being seduced by "the Devil," that she went back to singing purely gospel music. I also thought for the longest time that Michael Martin Murphy used to be part of a family gospel group until drugs and the high-life of the gospel music world wrecked his marriage and drove him to country music. All boosh-whah made up in my own imagination, and I have no idea where it comes from.

 Here's something else to think about. I haven't smoked any pot in over six months. Imagine what I'm like when I'm stoned, and I used to stay stoned all the time.

If I die and my soul be lost, it's nobody's fault but mine.

 I took on a bunch of Actual Paying Work that's due tomorrow afternoon, and since I've had another day, I'm going to get this either knocked out or started first. At least going to try to get a jump on it. Unfortunately, I really don't have much I feel like talking about, particularly not for 500 words.

 However, since I didn't do it Saturday because of my morose gonzo journey to the center of my mind, let's lay down some News links from last week. I'm going to start with the best. The Weekend is usually just a space-filler and a chance to wrap things up. However, this time around I wrote about the passing Rep. John Lewis and Bro. C.T. Vivian, their loss to the current culture, and what it all means. It's pretty good, and I'm pretty proud of it.

 

 Monday was a deep-ish dive into the whole business surrounding the Washington football team's planned name change, why it finally came about, and how it wasn't quite as cut-and-dried as we might think. We looked at the current state of the 2020 Presidential Election Wednesday and Friday we looked at what's going on in Portland that's about to be rolled out to the rest of the country. Wednesday showed how Trump is stumbling and Friday shows what he plans to do to shore his popularity numbers up. I've said a couple of times I'm less worried about what he'll try and more worried what My Fellow Americans will allow or enthusiastically embrace. Something like 24% of the population would be down with a "strong leader" that didn't concern themselves with Congress or piffle like that, and our history as a country backs that up. It's going to be an interesting summer.

 Okay. To work.

 Four hours later, and I just laid down around 1,600 words on construction contract law in New York. I've got three more pieces to get done by tomorrow afternoon, and at least one of them is about union laws. You know how much pull unions have in the South? I used to belong to the Mississippi Press Union, or whatever it was called, but that was many years ago. My brain is already feeling mushy, put it that way. So I believe I'll tie this off here. What I get for screwing around.

Drinkin' a beer and singin' a country song.

 Journalism is a beast that lives in the Now. It doesn't have time to linger on the Past and is too busy to concern itself with the Future. The next edition has to be laid out. The next story has to be filed. The next show has to be planned and the next interview scheduled. It comes and goes so quickly you barely have to think, and if no one gives you grief for screwing up - for real or by their standards - then it's a Good Day. However, it's just a day, tomorrow is another one, and you have White Space to fill.

 I think that's one of the things that attracted me to Journalism. I don't dwell much on the past if I can help it. Sometimes I can't, granted. Sometimes in the wee hours, I remember an insult I let slide or one I made, a come-on I passed on or an attempt that fell flat on its face. It's all blurry and hazy, though. Part of that is the copious amount of weed I've consumed over the past two decades but most of it is I simply don't want to remember.

 Since moving home, I have absolutely nothing to do with my friends from school days. Part of that is because I know from experience that the different paths led have made making any sort of connection damn near impossible. Part of it's resentment for always being treated like the oddball that I was and am. It is what it is, but I don't have to like it.

 And part of it is sheer laziness. But not all of it. People asked me why I quit drinking, and I tell them it was because it ceased being fun enough to deal with the hangover and upset stomach. That's the truth, as far as it goes, but it's not the whole story. I never liked drinking alone, even just that beer with supper or after work. Anytime I'd bring a six-pack home, it'd sit the refrigerator for at least a month, getting drunk mainly because I was embarrassed it was still there.

 Maybe it's because of my dad. Back when he drank, Daddy would bring home a case on Friday intending it to last the entire weekend. When Momma would go get groceries the next day, though, he'd have her buy another case because the first one was gone, son. And after he got hurt and weekends no longer meant anything to him, he could drink as much as he wanted whenever we wanted. He did, and it really didn't go well for none of us. Drinking alone at home just doesn't sit well with me.

 But I don't think it's all that. I like bars. I've always liked bars. Not too fancy, not too sleazy, not too hip, not too dingy. Just a place where I can drink a few beers, get some reading done, and, most importantly, watch humanity without having to participate. When I lived in the French Quarter, I achieved a modicum of fame for being the Guy Who's Always Got A Book. That's how I chose my bars, which ones were the best lit and the most bar space for reading room. I'm not kidding. Bartenders from different joints talked about me - I'm an excellent tipper - and it was a matter of slight concern, I'm told, when I dropped off the map one day, as I'm wont to do.

 But I didn't read all the time. Nope, sometimes the book was a shield between me and the rest of the patrons so I could watch them live life without having to interact with them. Some people like to go to malls, some people like going to parks, but in vino veritas always worked for me. The dance of humanity is all that more fascinating when people are a bit lubed up. I've seen relationships come and go, friendships rise and fall, lives come to a dead stop only to spark back to activity with the next shot.

 It didn't always work, though. I must've had That Kind of Face. People have always opened up to me for some reason. One of the few things I did well as a Journalist was to get people comfortable enough to talk to me. Didn't matter how long my hair got or how frazzled my overall appearance got, I seemed to calm folks down. Granted, there's only so much you can do with outright assholes, but just being Me has kept my ass alive in some seriously hairy situations. My brother says, "Your lucky [rednecks/bikers/gang bangers/chullos/frat boys/etc.] like you."

 There's something to it. Even today, with my scraggly beard and the bluebird of youth long gone, complete strangers still feel comfortable telling me how life is going for them and I've never mastered the art of getting them to leave me alone. It's one of the reasons I don't leave the house anymore.

 But I was talking about drinking. Like I said, in vino veritas, and sometimes when it's an hour till closing time and there's no one in the bar but you, the bartender and someone who's got some shit they absolutely have to get off their chest but can't tell anyone they have to deal with on a daily basis, well... I've heard some shit, let's say.

 I'm a bleeding heart and a soft touch, that also plays into it. Women have told me about instances of sexual abuse. Guys have told me when they've broken their parents' hearts. Vice versa, more times than I can count. I've talked suicides down. There's been a number of times I think I may have been the only thing that stopped a shooting. I've talked wives out of leaving their husbands, even if just for a night with me, and I've helped husbands understand that they may not have meant to do it, but it's done and they have to live with it. Parents whose kids were dead or dead to them, and grown-up children still waiting for Momma to come home for good.

 Night after night, bar after bar, I heard so many stories. And you know what? I don't remember them, almost to a one. It's all lost in a green haze, an alcoholic buzz, and the determination to not remember that horrible shit this otherwise admired, desired, smiling Darling of the Scene just told me she's never told anyone else. Journalism deals in the present. Cover the Story, Write the Article, and move on because the Presses Don't Stop.

 And that's why I don't drink anymore. I'd still stay stoned if I could get good smoke on a regular basis without having to worry about the state stormtroopers kicking down my door. Same thing with mushrooms, I'd do those every day if I could get away with it. But that's not how life is and we find our fun where we can. I don't miss drinking and I don't miss bars. I certainly don't miss hearing the deepest secrets of someone I barely know. Being straight under duress is a drag but at least it's quiet here.

 Can't ask for much else, so I don't.

You can't beat the Devil but you can rob that sucker blind.

 So I do want to get this knocked out this morning instead of waiting until tonight to do it. However, I'll be double damned if I can come up with anything interesting to put here. There really isn't all that much I feel like ranting about.

 I guess I could talk about that Harper's letter and this blinkered idea professional op-ed writers have that they're somehow suffering under the brutal oppression of being told they sometimes write utter nonsense. But that is just so tedious and, frankly, doesn't ring true. I find it difficult to empathize with someone who goes from a six-figure job with The New York Times editorial board to a six-figure job with any other publication, particularly in a country where on-the-ground reporters are getting arrested and the shit kicked out of them by cops simply because they're covering protests. It's not so much that it doesn't ring true, it's that I just don't care.

 Having a regular column in a major newspaper used to mean something. It meant you've traveled, paid your dues, and stomped the terra. It meant you had the history and experience to have the insight worth sharing. Now it seems it's a job that anyone can snag, provided they come from money or know someone heavy in the publishing business. I don't want to pick on him, but Ben Shapiro's a perfect example. His dad is a mover in the business and his mom is a shaker in Hollywood. His family connections got him columns with Townhall and World Net Daily 20 years ago where he'd write about being a virgin in the sinful world of post-primary education.

 After apparently failing as a screenwriter, he used those same connections to get gigs with Breitbart and The Daily Caller - itself the brainchild of a spawn of privilege and connection, Tucker Carlson - and blabber on a podcast. This part is just personal, but I don't think he has anything interesting or elucidating to say. He's the type that rails against elites when he himself is a prime example thereof.

 As a side note, the other issue I have with him is the whole "debate leftists and destroy them" thing. Debate outside of high school isn't supposed to be a contest or a king-of-the-hill thing. It's an intellectual process to help you sharpen your arguments and clarify your ideas, not (necessarily) to change your "opponents" mind. Even in high school, you're judged more on how well you use rhetorical devices and avoid logical pitfalls than the veracity of your premise. And good lord, don't get me started on how misused the concept of "logic" is in these debates and how much Shaprio and his cronies are responsible for the debasing thereof.

 Anyhow, to tie all this back around, the idea that anyone on the Times editorial board or any editorial board of any major publication is good for anything but an occasional interesting stroke is foolish, and it is the high of pomposity to suggest that telling them they're full of shit is somehow "canceling" them or infringing on their free speech. I realize this may sound a bit silly coming in this format, but just because it expresses an opinion, no matter how succinctly and intelligently, doesn't mean it should be paid attention to, much less held beyond reproach or criticism.

 The main thing is you are free to say what you wish - First Amendment aside, that just deals with governmental control, which is ephemeral and circumstantial anyway - but you must be willing to accept the consequences. I can sit here and say all day that, for example, work should be abolished or the police need to be restructured from the ground up, and that's fine. However, anyone reading it has the right to tell me to skip rope and forevermore ignore anything I have to say.

 "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose," said Kris Kristofferson, and that goes double for "freedom of speech". Speak as if you have nothing to lose - or nothing to gain - and you'll as likely as not always speak from the heart. But take your licks when they come. You do yourself no favors by demanding everyone accept whatever dumb shit you say and not push back.

 I swear, it embarrasses me to no end that that's what I wanted to be when I grew up, an op-ed writer. Again, I realize it's a bit weird that stance is coming from someone who does that same sort of thing for fun, but there you go. I ain't going to pretend otherwise.

 I should probably go ahead and wrap this up. I do want to make a note about what's going on in Portland, specifically federal officers in tactical gear with no identification are snatching protesters up off the streets. That ain't right. I've said it elsewhere, but all these clowns who're making hay about the First Amendment or Second Amendment are going to be mighty shocked that neither is worth shit because we all let the Fourth and Fifth get rubbed out.

 Bet you won't see the folks from Harper's write a letter about that. Support local journalism. They're about the only ones looking out for you anymore and we're going to be up a creek once they're gone.

So long, it's been good to know you.

Well, I'm up. Let's do this, or at least get it started. You can't expect everything.

 For whatever reason, I'm not completely in the funk I was in this weekend. I'm not exactly dancing on tables, no, but that gloom & doom that was sitting on my head has more or less dissipated. I admit I've been bad about taking my meds as of late, both the ones for my head and the ones for my heart, and that's no doubt had an effect. Yes, I do know better, but I got in a downward spiral and it's sometimes hard to pull out. I still don't know exactly what caused the start, but that's part of the fun living with chronic persistent depression.

Again, something I don't usually do, but check out yesterday's News. I think it's a pretty righteous deep-ish dive into the whole "Washington Redskins are finally changing their obviously racist name". It's not as deep as some of my other dives, but there is some neat stuff there. The situation isn't as black and white as one might think, but all in all, this is a good thing and a positive step in this country no longer being run by complete bastards.

 Some are saying the name change isn't legit because it's not being done for the "right reasons". That is, instead of a genuine come to Jesus moment about how wrong it is to name a football team after a racial slur, Dan Snyder's doing it because the people that hold the purse strings are leaning on him. They recognize that the times, they are a-changin' and aren't up for a middling football team to cut into their profits.

 Well... so? If that's true, and it probably is, it makes the name change no less legit and important. Besides, and let's be honest here, America rarely does anything for the "right reasons". If that were the case, the Civil War would've never had to happen, much less the Civil Rights movement. Or seat belts or fair working hours or women's suffrage or, hell... I really can't think of anything we've ever done solely because it was the "right thing to do". Is there? I sometimes think the only thing we as a people do with vim and gusto is go to war and/or blow someone up.

 Which is a nice transition to today's inability to act like we're from somewhere. The COVID-19 epidemic is spirally more out of control to the point where Trump-friendly governors like Dan Abbott of Texas and Ron DeSantis of Florida are having to weigh the choice between upsetting The Boss by defying him and being disloyal with the possibility of killing off a large number of their state's citizens because they refuse to budge from reopening. Plus, the ding dongs who're convinced wearing masks is somehow unmanly or ungodly or the first step in total domination by the Illuminati are doubling down on their dumbness to the shock and amazement of absolutely nobody.

 I really can't get inside their heads, especially over the whole "they're trying to control us" stroke. Control us to do what? Consume and spend money we don't have on absolute useless junk that's designed to fall apart within five years? Work ourselves to death for not enough money at a job that will happily replace us at the drop of a hat for any reason at all, even if it's no reason? Support thieving authoritarians who scream bloody murder if they're the least bit criticized as they give even more of the pie to the richest one percent? Keep us scared and under the thumb of an out-of-control police force whose first inclination is to fill us full of lead and then maybe ask questions a couple years later? Put ourselves in harm's way and at the mercy of a deadly, still-unknown virus, threatening the lives of our loved ones, just so the richest of the rich can keep getting richer? Then, I say mission fucking accomplished, there.

 Anyhow. Today's is Woody Guthrie's 108th birthday. I've always been a great admirer of Woody's music and his place in American history. His stuff resonates maybe even more these days, and I'd be down with making "This Land Is Your Land" the National Anthem. Another favorite is "Do-Re-Me", so is "Hard Travelin'", and I've always enjoyed the dry humor behind "Talking Hard Work Blues". I've always dug his songs about historical figures, too, like "Jesse James" or "Pretty Boy Floyd". I don't know if there's a single song by Woody that sums it all up, but this one - "All You Fascists Bound To Lose" - at least gives a little hope in a dark world.

 Let's show 'em what some hillbilly boys can do, indeed.

That was too much for me.

 So, yeah, another day of putting it off and only doing it because I have to. And I really don't have to. I mean, I'm not charging anyone for this and I doubt anyone really reads it beyond web-crawling bots. But anyhow, the News before I forget again.

Monday

Wednesday

Friday

Nothing barn burning, but good round-ups everyday. I probably should've waited because Friday's big news happened in the evening. For those who don't know, Trump pardoned Republican dirty trickster and third-rate Batman villain Roger Stone just before the latter was set to go to jail. Stone, who's been a GOP hitman since his days as low man on the Nixon pole, said afterwards that he "doesn't snitch" and appreciates the President doing him a solid. All that makes me think is he was totally about to drop a dime on Trump.

 For whatever it's worth, if anyone's surprised about this they only have themselves to blame. As soon as Stone was convicted of evidence tampering and lying to investigators, it was just a matter of time before Trump bailed his boy out. Still a convicted felon - like Dinesh D'Souza and Mike Flynn - but he won't do time, while Crystal Mason got a five-year sentence because she voted without knowing of her felon status. If you don't own the discrepancy there, up yours, you are part of the problem.

 Heh. This story's such an obvious non-surprise that it's already moved off the Google News homepage. Comparatively speaking, Trump has pardoned less people than most presidents at this stage have - something like 36 - but almost all have been directly tied to him and his 2016 election attempt. So there's that there, then.

 Anyhow. I'm not sure what's got me in such a funk. I imagine part of it, beyond just the normal state of my screwed-up wiring, is - as noted in Friday's News - I've passed my one-year anniversary on writing this whatever it is. Actually, a year and a few weeks, as I started the thing in earnest the second week of June last year. It was still until January or so before I delineated the two sites as News and Gibberish, but 500 words a day (at least) for 365 days isn't bad. That's over 180,000 words. The upper end of the average novel is around 120,000 words. So that's something, I guess.

 Still, I'm not comfortable with the status quo. I haven't figured out how to monetize it and it's yet to bring me any Actual Paying Work. As I said, I really don't feel confident people are reading either on a regular basis. Worse, nothing's spun out of it. I haven't locked onto one thing to concentrate on nor has it stimulated any sort of fiction writing. It just doesn't feel real, I guess.

 That's what's really getting to me, I think. They say all a writer has to do to be a writer is write, and if you call yourself a writer and you're not actually writing, well, you're not a writer. But I'm writing every day, sometimes up to 2,000 words a day, a large novel's worth in a year, and I don't feel like a writer. I'm even making money writing, and I don't feel like a writer.

 Granted, writing is fun and it usually makes me feel better or, at least, less shitty than when I started. Having something to do every day is definitely good for my mental stability. I was as shocked as anyone to learn that I don't fare quite as well without a schedule, believe you me. Still and all, I want to feel like a writer and I don't, and that bothers me.

 Ah, well. That's word count and I don't feel like writing anymore. I'm just tired, is all. It happens.

I was made to play the part. I was born with a broken heart.

 I don't really have a good excuse. I didn't feel like doing this before my nap, and once I started my nap, I wasn't really in a mood to stop. Again, no real reason why. That's just the way it goes some days.

 Unfortunately, one of the corporate entities that pays me for Actual Paying Work changed the format for the copy I provide, so now I've got to go back and rework what I did that day before yesterday so it fits. And I'm just coming off a big supper so all I want to do is sleep. First-world problems, I know.

 Anyhow. I'll be doing both as the evening wears on and at least try to finish this by midnight. I don't know what the hell I'm going to roll with, though. I had a few ideas bouncing around my head this morning but nothing stuck, obviously. So, we'll see. Right now, I'm going to get back to the APW.

 Okay, I'm done. This new format is less fun - and this gig wasn't the source of much fun to begin with - but it does seem easy to knock out for the bread. And, really, isn't that what really matters in this world? So we'll just fill this out to the word count and get 'er done. It's twenty till eleven, so let's get cracking.

 I have decided in recent years my motivation in life has been and continues to be Have As Much Fun As Possible. The dark times of misery and depression come from when I tried to work against this. Having a straight job - in journalism or writing or anything - has never worked out for me. Having a Steady Someone has worked out even worse. In that, I'm only in it for the Fun and when she inevitably decides to check it out it's always because I'm not in this for the long haul. It's probably a good thing for everyone involved that I'm not particularly good looking or charismatic.

 Every woman I've been involved with, it's ended because she either got bored with playing around or she realized she needed to look elsewhere for something more. This usually takes about six weeks to six months. My last ex hung it out for nearly three years, but we both came to decide after the end it would've been best if we'd had gone the "just friends (maybe with benefits)" route from the get-go.

 In my defense, that's all I ever tried to do. Another former pelvic affiliation said I had sociopath tendencies because I can't conclusively say I'd ever been in love. However, she was a virologist, so I took that with a grain of salt. The last ex was a therapist and she said I was good. I might be on the autistic spectrum but not a sociopath. That's a good thing.

 It does bother me a bit that I've never been able to make the Love thing work. I'm not one of those ones who says it can't happen. I've seen it happen, more than once, with my own eyes. I mean in real time, people falling in love, pledging their lives to each other, and remaining stuck to each others' hips for at least the next 10 years. Kids or no kids, I've seen it both ways. 

 For me, even thinking of such makes me want to run screaming for the hills. I figured out a long time ago, mind, that "friends with benefits" is as far as I care to go. Somewhere about five years ago I lost all interest in sex physically, regressing back to when I was 12 and touching girls was icky. So here I am at 45 and will probably spend the rest of my life on my own, unless something like what happened to Epictetus comes into play. I am nothing but cool with it, but I won't deny it bothers me that I can't figure out why it is.

 Okay, that's the word count. It's been a weird day and this is probably more information than you need. There's plenty of stuff for News tomorrow, so we'll leave it there and worry about that tomorrow. Take it easy.

Choo-Choo Charlie had a plenty good band, but he couldn't understand why no one would go.

 Well, since I screwed around yesterday and didn't get the News done until almost 8 p.m. - despite having some Actual Paying Work to do - I figured I might as well knock this out while I'm still awake. Yep. Wound up pulling an all-night, because that's definitely something a 45-year-old man needs to be doing when he's not actually getting paid all that much.

 Anyhow, checkout yesterday's News. I know I usually wait until the weekend to promote it, but it came together well. For some reason, Our Idiot President has decided to go after Bubba Wallace two weeks after that whole thing was eclipsed by the rest of the horror that's been 2020. He's buckling down on snagging the racist vote, it seems. Between this and caping for statues of Confederate generals that were put up 50-plus years after the Civil War specifically to give Black people a middle finger to claiming the Washington Racistname football team was considering changing its name due to political correctness, one assumes this is the pony he's going to ride on into November. He's got nothing else going for him, that's for damn sure.

 It's sad to see the President act this way, but it's disturbing that so many people are buying this hook, line and sinker just because he's saying it. Well, that's not exactly true. Trump getting elected didn't make the people that support him racist. He was elected mainly because the people that support him are racist. They were tedious myopic shitheads before he entered office and they'll be tedious myopic shitheads when he leaves. If we're at all lucky, they'll just be quieter this time around.

 His whole thing with NASCAR and especially the flag business is a puzzler. Granted, I understand why he's doing it - it gets the humanoids hot and bothered and chanting his name, and that's all he cares about - and, really, I understand why the humanoids take him at his word (hint: they're morons). It's still a puzzler that they all buy this like they do. Do they really think this soft-handed Manhattan fancy lad actually gives a shit about "Southern pride" or NASCAR. Remember when John Kerry caught hell for saying something like "of course we all love NASCAR"? I mean, I didn't buy that either, but we're supposed to take this seriously? Sure.

 I'm getting sleepy and draggy. I've been reading a lot of Hunter Thompson, which itself isn't so unusual, but I'm reading more about his early days and why he got into writing. Long story short, I manage to depress myself because I gave it up when I did. We're not all that different, though. He arguably gave it up sometime in the '80s and didn't start producing quality stuff again until the Bush Jr, years. In the context of his whole Death of the American Dream deal, Bush's re-election was definitely when that particular horse was put out of its misery.

 And like I've said, I see my job as exploring the Post Mortem of the American Dream. I hope I'm wrong, but I think we as a culture, country, society is on its last legs. The argument that wearing masks to protect yourself from COVID-19 is some sort of insidious plan by the Illuminati to get people complacent and compliant to be taken over and completely controlled. Seriously. These are the same people who bark like little dogs whenever Tucker Carlson tells them people in San Francisco are shitting in the street. That's a sign of a society too dumb to feed and clothe itself properly.

What is the endgame for this insidious plan of total control? People will work themselves to death at jobs that consider them disposable for not enough money to live on, much less enjoy yourself, while following pinhead, power-hungry ideologues and possibly go into bankruptcy because your kid gets sick? Get 'em to buy useless shit? Hate each other because of the color of their skin and how they chose to live their lives when it doesn't affect anyone else? Mission fucking accomplished, then, I guess.

 Well, it's getting close to noon. I might as well pinch this one off, do the editing and get it ready for posting. Had to break away to help out with a small emergency with my cousin's goats. One of the dangers of living out in the country is everyone lets their dog run loose and dogs can be buttholes. Also, goats have huge nutsacks. I did not know that. 

Whoops!

  Seems I got so fired up yesterday that I forgot to add links to this week's news. Well, let me do that now.

Monday

Wednesday

Friday

 Monday and Wednesday were your basic news round-ups, focusing on the Mississippi flag and the whole "Russians paying Taliban to kill American soldiers, Trump knew and didn't care" thing that seems to not be making a dent in the GOP. Friday was actually a lead-in to yesterday's lament about the state of the world today and the continuing purification of the American Dream, turns out.

 For those that don't know, I do something similar to this at the WordPress site for the weekend. Links to stuff here and a more opinion-oriented piece than the regular News. So now I'm about to head over and stare at the screen until something pops out for that. Salute.

Must be the season of the witch.

 Well, y'all, I don't know what to tell you. It was just one of those days, I guess. I just wasn't feeling it.

 Woke up, had breakfast, glimpsed at the news, shut off the news in disgust and dispirit, read for a while, and then took a nap. Apart from breakfast rinse, lather, and repeat for the rest of the day. Read some of Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman and a little of Kim Stanley Robinson's Red Mars. Of course, there was a bit of Hunter Thompson, because it's not only that time of year, we find ourselves in the midst of the same societal insanity where the Good Doctor always shined the brightest.

 Yes, indeed. I simply could not deal with the harsh and ugly realities of Life in America in this, the 2020th Foul Year of Our Lord. We're being ravaged by an epidemic the likes the world has never seen, we have miles to go before it gets even close to "better," over 120,000 in this country alone have died (and we make up one-fifths of the world's number, and there are still far too many of us, some with two much unearned authority, who're running under the flag that it's all overblown if not an outright hoax.

 And the hoax is to save a toad of a man who, if nothing else, has brought back being an absolutely shitty human being back to the American Game. Not just to opponents, but to the people they're supposed to be representing. That loopy gun-toting lady in Colorado who won a U.S. Representative nomination for (of course) the Republican Party first crossed my radar by calling people who disagreed with her "sheeple" and "triggered snowflakes". 

 I've said it before, but I don't know if here: if you use the word "triggered" as a pejorative, you are an awful human being and God's mercy on your soul, you rotten swine. I've seen people "triggered" and it's horrifying. You dick.

 But that's where we are. We are in Mean Times, y'all, when gun sales are through the roof. You can pretend it's one side or the other, but the rise in sales and accompanying education on how to end someone's life with said gun is fairly equally spread across the ideological spectrum. Dark Times are on the way, I feel. I hope I'm wrong, but I think we'll see blood in the streets before my days are done.

 The President, the slimy glob he is, has compared the "radical left" - i.e., anyone who disagrees with him - to the Nazis of World War II. He did this on Independence Day. "Celebrating America," apparently. This is the New Thing, I guess, along with his sudden obsession with statues honoring Confederate generals that we erected at least 50 years after the war specifically to tell Black people to suck it.

 Because that's what's important. Not the forty-plus million out of work and against the wall because the landlords aren't having the same problem. Not the companies that insist their labor come back and make them their capital without providing even the most basic healthcare protection or even a security net to help out the very people that make them rich, because fuck you, plebe, that's why. Daddy needs another winter home, so get back to work and, hell no, you're not getting a livable wage.

 And that right there? That's going to get worse before it gets better. We are an Angry Country right now. People are angry that cops keep killing Black people for just walking down the street. There are people furious that the first group of people dare criticize the Thin Blue Line, especially for killing Black people. People are angry because some people have high-powered weaponry and don't come off as stable enough to own such. Those people are angry at the people who doubt them and, unfortunately, are far too often doubted by people who also own high-powered weaponry while at the same time being stable and careful enough to handle them properly.

 Is it all going to pop like a zit or just ooze away like a... zit, I guess. I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe Joe Biden is right and once Trump gets the old heave-ho we'll return back to whatever "normal" is. At least until we put another unqualified dingbat into office and they start getting delusions of authority, and it'll happen because we won't do enough to address the inequities of life in this society.

 Happy Independence Day. I'm going to be honest. I live out in the boonies. I'm self-employed and can work from home. Unless something drastic happens, I'm financially stable for at least the next 30 years and I doubt I'll be around that whole time. I can hang in, keep my head down, and eventually grow some pot out in the backyard for personal consumption.

 It's you poor bastards I feel sorry for.

If I come up with something clever or get inspired, maybe. Don't bet the farm on it, though.

 I haven't filed anything today if you're waiting. Someone's reading this, apparently, even if it's just the webcrawlers. Anyhow, straight talk is my mind's been on idle all day and I've been too lazy to knock it into gear. I'll get something before the day's out. Mahalo.

 It's an hour-and-a-half later. Me and my buddy Otis, the Jack Russell, took a brief constitutional. It didn't really help spark anything, though. We didn't get far, either. These hot, humid days aren't pleasant in the first place and he is getting older. I do think the "hot, humid" here is worse than the "hot, humid" in New Orleans. You weren't ever far from some serious body of water down there, between the Big River and the Old Pontchartrain. Some days felt like there was a breeze coming in off the Gulf, as well.

 Here it's just green and woods and swamp. Everything's closer together and it seems like the only breeze you get is cars passing. Or it's a lead up to a tornado, one or the other.

 Well, I've gone to staring off into space again. Looks like it's going to be one of those nights. I won't have any Actual Paying Work until next week sometime, either. So I'll keep this page open and blither on it until I reach word count.

 I really can't even get worked up about anything today. There's another round of conservative think-piece writers having a big conference so they can tell each other that they're being censored, but that's just tedious. It's the same whine over and over again, usually in publications and on platforms that the average person couldn't even think of having. And they usually get paid stupid amounts of money for their banal opinions and lack of insight. Every time David Brooks trends, I want to tell The New York Times that I can write 6,000 words of gibberish a week - and indeed, I do - and I wouldn't ask for the six-figure salary that lump of moldy bread brings down for some reason.

 Speaking of Twitter, none of the trending topics are really anything I can hang my hat on. The head of FedEx is encouraging Washington Redskins owner Dan Snyder to change the team's name to something less egregiously racist, but that's nothing new. That being said, we are in the midst of a Thing and if you'd have told me the Mississippi flag would be lamped for a change and it'd happen as quick as it happened, I probably wouldn't have believed you.

I'll save any COVID-19 stuff for the News, but it's looking grim out there, folks. Numbers continue to rise, the federal government continues to sit on its thumbs, and far too many of Our Fellow Americans think they have the God-given Constitutional right to spit in your coffee if you ask them to wear a mask. I honestly do hate to be this way, but being a hermit that's walled himself off from human contact turned out to be a mighty shrewd move on my part.

Well, that's word count. I think I'll tie it off here, maybe come back to it later. Be honest, I've been giving Fallout: New Vegas another swing and would like to get back to it. I'd be hell on wheels if I could stick to one game long enough to finish it. In any event, there you go.