That's a cold shot, baby. Yeah, that's a drag.

  We're back to Saturday and the last remnants of Winter Storm Uri have left nothing but the realization far too many cities' infrastructures aren't up to snuff. In Jackson, Mississippi, and all over Texas people are still without water, power, and sometimes both. Some people are going on two weeks without potable water. Imagine that. Can't drink anything or boil anything, but you also can't brush your teeth or flush the toilet. People are doing the Good Lord's work helping out but this should serve as a fierce wake-up call that the way things on the most basic level are simply not cutting the mustard.

 This isn't a question of politics, really, or how much government should or shouldn't be involved in daily life. When things like this storm - or Katrina or the tornadoes that tore up Nashville several years ago - happen, that's what state and local government are for, if nothing else. I don't want to dig too deep into the CPAC silliness going on or give my credence to shit Bill Maher thinks is worth talking about, but it's ridiculous that they still think "cancel culture" is the biggest worry facing the public. I'm pretty sure the folks in Clinton or Houston aren't at all concerned with whether or not people are nice to Bret Stephens.

 Anyhow. The News this week was fairly useful, I think, and I did what I like doing. Monday we looked at some of the ridiculous goddamn power bills hitting folks in Texas as well as Trump's taxes being fair game. Wednesday and Friday took on Biden's appointees, Mississippi's dumbass tax ideas, and more examples of how way too many of us have no idea how government works. I wish I could figure out a way to spread it around more that didn't cut a bad stroke with me. There's only so much linking-to-Twitter-or-Tumblr one can do.

 The tremolo harmonica I ordered late last week came today. I'm still waiting on the chromatic harp, and frankly, that's the one I'm looking forward to most. I just here recently figured out I didn't have to splurge for a $150 sho'nuff Hohner harp when I could spend twenty bucks on a cheap one to dick around with. That's a little irritating, but what can you do. I imagine it's being held up due to a combination of the Big Freeze, COVID, and the residual attempts by the Trump Administration to trash the postal service, but I ordered the tremolo harp five days after I ordered the chromatic harp.

 It's a whole new ballgame, and that's something neat. Basically, a tremolo has access to all the notes you can get on a regular old diatonic without having to bend notes. From what I can tell, it's rarely if ever used in blues. However, it's probably the most popular type of harmonica for the rest of the world when it comes to folk music. Apparently, they're really a big deal in South Asia. Different holes are drawn or blown for different notes, but only for that note. Like, you got one hole that will only draw a C while the one diagonal to it blows a G. That's probably not right, by the way.

 Notes can't be bent on tremolo harps and the breathing required is a different game. Anyway, it's nice to have something new to mess around with. I also dug out my cheap accordion from out of the basement. I'm not sure why I'm getting weird about the harp again, apart from it being something to do when I otherwise have very few hobbies. I have no illusions about playing out even if I wanted to.

 When I was in Gainesville, I fell in love with the harmonica and, specifically, Junior Wells and Rice Miller, aka Sonny Boy Williamson II. Florida's a big blues state, and I got to do a lot of playing with folks. I had a little tackle box full of harps of different keys and makes, mostly Hohners like a Marine Band or Special Twenty. I played with blues bands - white guy blues bands, of course - and classic rock bands, and even had a Shure Green Bullet microphone for a while.

 That all changed in Athens, though. I didn't have the mic anymore and most of my harps were blown out. In any event, Athens really isn't a blues town at all. Neal Pattman lived there before he died, but the closest that place got to anything blues-like was jam-band blues. No thanks, even if I could. So, I concentrated on guitar and bass, playing in a few country and cowpunk bands. When I moved to New Orleans, I did some fill-in gigs with R&B and Cajun bands, but before too long I was just sick and tired of bar life. I fiddled around with the accordion for a bit, but that is a hard nut to crack so I couldn't get into it. Maybe now that I've got the time.

Like I said, I have absolutely no desire to play music with other people. With the axes I'm using - harp, guitar, accordion - I don't have to. Bass playing - the kind I like anyway - sort of requires a band of some type. You can't play in the pocket if there's no pocket to play in, that's just common sense. Believe you me, playing music with people is a trip unlike any other and if you ever get the chance to do it, please do so. I highly recommend it. You don't even have to be good, long as you know two chords.

 But this is just something to do. A hobby that's something other than playing video games, writing stuff no one will read, and getting cross-eyed about politics and the media. Just something to have a little fun and fill the hours. I wouldn't even call it "making music." My brother still makes music, far as I know, and he hasn't had anything to do with a band for years. He composes and records stuff. How he does it, I don't know but I do know he does it and it fills his soul.

 It's just fun to figure out "Crazy Arms" on guitar or working my way around the ol' tin sandwich. That's what it's all about. Whenever my life went south it's because I was doing something other than trying to have fun. It doesn't take much, thankfully, and I'm a Lazy Guy.

 Anyhow, I think I've written about all I can on that topic. I'm already looking up Slobberbone songs on YouTube to post on Twitter. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

Sometimes I give up on love, but sometimes I dream.

  Yeah, another day where I really don't have a whole lot going on. So we'll just fill up the white space until we reach word count. I'm not sure why I can't shake this dragging feeling. I know it's Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I've got plenty of sunlight. Who knows. The worst part about knowing you have chronic depression is also the best part. You know where the feeling's coming from just as you know there's really nothing you can do about it.

 I've been very discouraged about the writing thing lately. The fiction stuff seems to have dried up and I can't get any new Actual Paying Work. To be fair, I'm not really trying on the latter. This has been like pulling teeth for a couple weeks. The News has been going well, but that's easy to do.

 What's getting to me, though, is I'm going on a year-and-a-half of this and almost no feedback. I really don't believe the hits I get here anything more than web crawlers, and while it's nice to get a bit of acknowledgment when stuff's linked to Twitter, I know it's just people being supportive. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, and I appreciate it. But it is what it is, and I ain't going to bullshit myself.

 Someone suggested I do a Substack, which I almost took as an insult. I can't get any communication when I offer it for free, who in the hell would pay for that nonsense. I don't know. I guess I'm just dealing with a bad bout of the blues exacerbated because I've no way to get my head bad and step outside it. That and having no one to talk to, not really, except for the two head shrinkers once a month. And Momma, I suppose, but I don't like getting deep with her. She either looks for solutions, which she's awful at, or sees places where (she thinks) she messed up, which just isn't helpful at all.

 I'm not getting much joy out of anything right now. It's kind of a bummer because I know all I can do is just ride the bastard out. I suppose it's a benefit that I don't have any demands on my time these days. These were the times when I'd break down and cry before going into work, being thankful everyone was used to me coming in stoned. My eyes were always red.

 Maybe it's because I've been reading a bit of philosophy here lately. Nothing specific, just a fairly enjoyable intro-type book to brush up on some things. Like every now and then, I have to reeducate myself on logic because the concept is so used and abused by damn near everyone as of late. Gene Roddenberry probably had a lot to answer for in the Great Beyond.

 Beyond that, I don't know. I've been buying more stuff from eBay, something I hadn't done in years. I came across chromatic harps cheap, so I bought one of those and a tremolo harp. I never could talk myself into getting top-shelf versions of either, as a good one costs over a hundred bucks. Shit, I just Googled up one that was 17 grand. Someone needs their ass beat over that. My brother once noted that asshole yuppies spending too much money on guitars they rarely play meant the tools of his trade were priced out of his range. I never made a living blowing the harp, but that damn sure goes double for harmonicas. A straight-up Marine Band will run you at least 50 bucks. Makes me crazy to think that Junior Wells once went to court for stealing a really good one that was $1.50.

 Harmonicas are great, though. Better than guitars, I don't care what anyone says. I don't know you'd write a song using a harmonica, but there you go. Not just blues or rock, either. Country harp is great. Charlie McCoy, Mickey Raphael, Don Brown, Roger Crabtree, and my friend Rob Peck.  For the record, what he didn't teach me about harp wasn't much. Everything I've learned since has been building on that. I hope he's doing well.

'Til honky becomes tonky again.

  I went to the gym yesterday for the first time since the Big Freeze happened. Today I feel like someone beat me, and I really didn't do all that much. That probably says something I am desperately trying to ignore.

 The weather was bright and sunny with temperatures that got close to or passed 70. It's a nice change from last week's gloom. This part of Mississippi has a special charm as the Spring happens, nature-wise, and I'd forgotten how much my soul needed it. Don't get me wrong, every place I've lived is pleasantly remembered but, for good or ill, this is home.

 I haven't been able to shake off the slush from last week, though. For example, it's almost a solid hour since I wrote that last paragraph. Granted, supper was part of the reason for the delay but nothing's beating down the door. For another example, it's been thirty minutes since I wrote that last sentence.

 We've got News tomorrow and while there's plenty going on - Biden's nominations and GOP shenanigans, growing frustration with Biden and Congress dragging their feet on the COVID stimulus, the fork in the road the GOP will have to face over Trump, Mississippi's dumb ass trying to cut tax revenue for no one's benefit - but I'd rather leave that. I've noticed, and I may've said this already, my Twitter time has been cut since the Biden Inauguration, at least. I think it's given me a somewhat clearer perception of the news from a journalistic sense. It's not being cluttered by the rest of the world's smokin' hot takes or petty nonsense.

 I got my iTunes situation all squared away. If nothing else, it got me to streamline things. Again, best money ever spent and I don't mind the monthly fee. I've been looking for something like this all my life. Man, I can still see the first paragraph from when I started. This is like pulling teeth today.

  I just got Outward thanks to this month's Humble Bundle. I've been looking forward to it. Apparently, it's an RPG that tries to keep things as "real" as possible. No save scumming, I guess like Dragon's Dogma, and food and sleep management like Fallout: New Vegas on hardcore mode. It's been compared to Dark Souls, which I don't know quite how to take. I have the second and third, again thanks to Humble Bundle, but I've never been able to get too far in either before giving up in frustration. Yes, I know, "git gud," now fuck off.

 Christ, I need to get this computer looked at. This drag is driving me nuts. Man, I just have no drive or energy whatsoever. I reckon I need to do something about that. I can't think what, though, as I'm already doing everything I want to do apart from the occasional magic carpet ride, of course. At least the weather's getting warmer and I can spend more time outside, I guess.

 As Americans, we all complicit - at least somewhat, even if it's minute - in the evils the country has done and still does in our name. From drone attacks to child separations to sweatshop labor to white supremacy, we all carry a little of the responsibility even if we had nothing to do with it. Especially if we've had nothing to do with it. We all benefit from it, in one way or another, and none of us are willing to go the distance truly needed to effect permanent, lasting, and significant change.

 That we refuse to admit this, even those of us who see clearly the evils done under the aegis of the Stars & Stripes means we'll never move past it, much less stop it. We'll never wash the blood from our hands. That we continue to ignore this or pretend it isn't our responsibility because of who we did or didn't vote for while we argue how it should be different just shows how little we actually care. I don't say this to make anyone feel bad or guilty, I'm just saying this is how it is and why it'll stay like this. We don't care enough to take responsibility for ourselves. It's always someone else's fault.

 Yeah, I just looked at Twitter. The fact that we don't even bother to learn about what we're condemning just makes me tired, man. I am so glad I checked out from honest society. Just need to hang around and keep myself busy for a little while longer and then y'all can have all of it.

It's stormy in the North but karma in the South.

  Seems to be thawing out here in Enon Holler. We had a cold snap last night, but it got up into the high 40s during the day. I sort of hate to see the snow go as that stark white is a nice change from constant green and brown. Still, to everything turn, turn, turn.

 Otis is getting stir crazy. We haven't taken a walk all week apart from a quick trot down to the mailbox. He didn't like the snow, though. He's just heavy enough to fall through the ice/snow crust every few steps but not all the time. Confused the hell out of him and he didn't care for the cold. Plus, I don't have any footwear that'd be good for such weather. Hopefully, it'll all dry out soon.

 Anyhow. Naturally, Winter Storm Uri dominated the news this week so it was the main topic of conversation in The News. There were some other things. Monday looked at the suggestion for a 9/11-style commission on the January 6 riots at the Capitol, and how screwed up that "9/11" is an adjective. Still can't get used to that. Wednesday was a quick look at just why Texas, in particular, suffered so spectacularly and Friday offered some good news on the COVID-19 front.

 In all honesty, this wasn't a good writing week. Something about the weather made me a bigger slug than usual. Perhaps I am part bear. I dread trying to put together tomorrow's News weekend wrap-up. I also haven't done much fiction writing, either, though I did start putting the pieces together for another idea/world/waste of time. Long story short, it'll be a low-fantasy detective novel. Sort of like The Witcher where monsters and magic and elves and all that exist, but they're not as ubiquitous as you'd find in Dungeons & Dragons.

 I'm also considering giving the magic a sinister bent, like good magic exists but bad magic is much, much easier to do. I think we'll have multiple deity-like characters but more along the lines of The Elder Scrolls in that they exist, can be prayed to, and occasionally intervene, but for the most part, they're interested in their own higher-plane shenanigans and don't care about the mortal world.

 This one has closer to a plot than the Weird Western or the Space Opera, but that's because a whodunnit is a plot almost in and of itself. I've gotten some good advice from friends and fellow writers on figuring out a story or narrative or what have you, but I really haven't had the drive to make 'em work. Again, worldbuilding is way too much fun.

 And that's about it, really. The news this week just didn't move me, I'm still looking for a new book to read (I have plenty, don't suggest anything), and I did get pretty deep into Nexus: The Jupiter Incident. It's an older game but fun if you're into real-time strategies and harder-than-usual science fiction. There's a Battlestar Galactica that it's supposed to be like. I have that but so far haven't been able to crack that nut.

 I managed to completely erase every song in the Rock genre I had on iTunes, so that's getting all my attention. I really need to get this computer looked at, these slowdowns are getting up my nose. I've decided to just take advantage of Apple Music I pay ten bucks for every month rather than download and reinstall everything. Some stuff I have isn't on Apple Music, so there's that, and my own peculiar kinks mean that losing all the organization I did being gone is the worst part.

 Hey, kids, I know it's not all that interesting but I have no desire to berate anyone or anything right now. That's how it is sometimes. Catch me next week.

And it sure smells like snow in Bossier City.

  We're into Day Four of the Big Freeze, and it's loosening up some. We got a bit of a thaw last night and the roads opened up so people could get around. We're supposed to drop down into the teens tonight, though, so tomorrow's going to be a mess. Luckily, I don't have to get out in it.

 Of course, I have nothing to work with. Hibernating isn't good for the creative juices, I suppose, and I'd whip a bear for a joint. I miss that little bit of reality warp a good lungful brings. I took one of those Klonopin the Psych Doc prescribed but that's just no fun at all. It's like being underwater for too long, if that makes sense.

 I suppose we could discuss Ted Cruz's latest foolishness, but I don't really feel like there's a point. Anyone who doesn't know Cruz is an irredeemable sleazeball is fine with the way he does things, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone he'd pull something like this. Nor is anyone surprised his wife's "friends(?)" would drop a dime on him when he tried to blame it all on his kids. No one likes him, this isn't a question.

 I guess the only thing that I'd like to see one of these bozos not do the whole "I had no idea my running off to a resort vacation while the residents in my state froze to death would look bad, I'm so ashamed" thing because it never comes off as genuine. Asshole, you're just burnt you got caught out bad and didn't think people would criticize you for it.

 I wish they'd roll with that just once. "Hell yes, I went to Cancun. This state is already a shithole even when you have power and running water. I did on your dime, too, proles, and the only thing I'll be doing when I get back to Washington is insult another celebrity and plan a "fact-finding trip" to Switzerland for this summer. And you pigs will love it so long as I let you hate gays and cut taxes on the rich." Just once.

 Anyhow. Fuck Ted Cruz in general. His loathsomeness goes beyond his politics. I'm sick of all these ambulatory congealed fat colonies. I know such cheap, third-rate crooks are nothing new in politics, but it'd be nice if all this got boring again. I've cut way back on Twitter since the January 6 Embarrassment because, occasionally, I have to drop out. Since I'm forced to pay attention to keep up with The News, playing with Twitter for fun, well... it isn't all that much fun.

 I've got another world-building thing brewing. No story, still, but this one might be a closer thing. I'm picturing a low-fantasy Forgotten Realms setting wherein a semi-retired adventure has to solve mysteries, a la Kinky Friedman's detective novels. It'll probably be a day or two until it marinates enough to put down on paper.

 I only need five more words, and that right there got 'er done. The usual rules apply, if something comes to me, I'll come back. I doubt it, though. Maybe I'll work on the fiction some, see how that goes.

You can teach me lots of lessons. You can bring me lots of gold.

  We are on day two of the Big Freeze. Weather forecasts are saying it's supposed to get even nastier before the weekend comes. So far we've been lucky here in Enon Holler and in Mississippi in general, as there hasn't been much if any disruption in our power. It might happen in the next couple of days, though, but for now, this has mostly been a pleasant excuse to do nothing all day but nap and read. The only difference is, of course, a lack of guilt due to the outside world being iced over.

 It's been thus all over the country. That is, except in Texas. As we've all learned in the past couple of days, Texas is not part of any national power grid. Indeed, most of the state is self-contained. So, while Georgia Power, for example, might be a private business, the power lines are connected to all the rest of the power lines East of the Mississippi. There's one that covers West of the Mississippi. Fascinating stuff.

 Anyhow, Texas is all on its own because fuck you, they're Texas, and it wasn't prepared for such a vicious ice storm. Therefore, they've been without power since early Monday morning and folks there are getting pissed. Part of the reasons folks are hacked off is Texas' political leadership - Gov. Greg Abbott, Attorney General Dan Patrick, Rep. Dan Crenshaw, and Senators Ted Cruz and John Cornyn - have spent the last couple of years being dickholes about other state's power issues. Especially California. Wingnuts hate California. I don't know why, it's a lovely state. Expensive as hell, but lovely.

 People across the nation, no doubt tired of the shit that streams nonstop from the above-mentioned politicians, have been dickholes themselves about Texas' current deep freeze. Not cool. I mean, I live in Mississippi, which is rarely mentioned in any sort of positive connotation except for "thank god we're not as bad as Mississippi."

 That's part of the national consciousness, I guess. I grew up being told to hold the North in contempt and to look down on city folk. Living in the cities, I know they're told the same about country folk and I've been out of the South enough to hear a bunch of dumb shit people think about the South and Southerners. And I've been online long enough to be completely tired with "let the secede this time" or folks who're assholes about not living in cities.

 Anyhow. We'll thaw out by this time next week and I'm sure the state leadership of Texas will have learned absolutely nothing from this whole to-do. I'm not even sure why I'm bringing it up. I mean, it's perfectly within conservative ideology for the state to radically change the power structure because this will happen again. Not even considering global climate change, okay? You know this will happen again, just as you know Texas will be caught with its pants down again because that bunch of dingbats can't ever admit their misinterpretation of free-market capitalism might, at the very least, need a bit of tweaking here or there.

  Moving on. I have something of a quandary. I like to hype stuff here as much as possible, especially if it's art made by people who aren't getting the big bucks for it. One of the neat things about Kindle Unlimited - and yes, I know, Amazon is evil, but if there's a Hell below we're all going to go - is that it offers access to all manner of writers trying to Make It Big however writers are supposed to do it. Obviously, I don't know how that works or I'd tell them.

 What's come up is I've read a book that has a great premise but awful execution. Passably done, but cliched to the point of ossification. Seriously, when the Female Character showed her obvious attraction to the Lead Character, it was almost like an alarm going off on a clock. Once she was introduced, it was just a matter of time. Where Dead Shock seemed like it was being padded for the series' sake, this one seems like it was being unnecessarily rushed for the series' sake.

 There's nothing wrong with a self-contained book, y'all. My conundrum is whether or not to reveal the name of this book or its author. I'm not a critic anymore, so I don't see I'm doing anyone any good by pointing out what could've been better. So I'm not going to reveal any names here. I'll just say it has to do with a paramilitary strike force dealing with extra-dimensional nasties thanks to the Large Hadron Collider. That whole setup is incredibly cliched as it is, the delivery could've been a bit more original, is all I'm saying.

 So that's well over word count and I've got nothing else interesting to say. I've spent much of the Big Freeze napping and will probably go back to that. If something comes up, yadda yadda. Stay warm.

You fascists are bound to lose.

 It's Saturday again and it's been another week. The second impeachment of ex-President Donald Trump dominated both the news and the News. Really, apart from Mississippi State Bill 2765, that's pretty much all I wrote about Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

 And it all ended this afternoon like a fart in a hurricane with a vote of 57-43 to acquit. Off the top of my head - and I'm too lazy to look - I don't know if the two-thirds rule that could be affected by getting rid of the filibuster applies here, but it does seem kind of dumb that Trump got away despite the most bipartisan vote to convict in history.

 We'll look more at it tomorrow after it's had a day to marinate both in the public and in my own head. No one's really surprised that Trump was acquitted, not really. The number of GOP who voted to convict is a bit of a surprise and it's something to ponder just what all this suggests for the future of the Republican Party. But, as I said, that's a discussion for a later time. If I remember, of course.

 I do believe Seasonal Affective Disorder has sat on my head. The last couple of days has been a struggle to do much more than go back to sleep. It's a weird feeling. Not depressed or gloomy so much, maybe a bit melancholic and wistful. Part of it or, perhaps, most of it is due to the weather. It's cold and grey, and will probably get down in the twenties tonight. Perfect weather for staying and contemplating your navel.

 Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. It probably comes as no surprise that I've never had much use for that particular holiday. I've had two different romantic partners tell me I am a man without romance in his soul, and who am I to argue. If my partner put it on a pedestal, I'd do a dinner or at least a card, but if she didn't I barely noticed. I've always wondered, though, if people who weren't making money off it actually liked the holiday like they do Halloween or even St. Patrick's Day.

 But I've spoken a number of times about my current bewilderment about my romantic history, or lack thereof, so enough of that. Frankly, it's drifted out of my mind and I have no desire to stoke that flame. I finished the second book in Wallace Henry's Shock series, Blood Shock. Apparently, there's more to it, and if there's a problem with it at all is I don't really think it needs to be a series. As I said, the rhythm is weird to me and I believe it's because it strikes me as a bit unnecessarily padded to stretch it out.

 In any event, the next book isn't available so to hell with that. If I still remember when it comes out, I'll worry about it then as there have been enough twists to make me wonder what happens next. I'm not sure where to go next. I have The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin on deck and I need to make sure I'm in the right frame of mind. Her books are heavy and ask a lot of the reader. The difference between that and, say, Blood Shock is the difference between a steak dinner and a bag of popcorn. Both are enjoyable, but only one takes a while and sticks with you after you're done with it.

 Okay, that's word count. This is pretty insubstantial and I'm not going to pretend it isn't. I'm not very positive about the whole writing thing right now, to the point where I don't want to think about it much less write about it. So that's that. If something comes up, yadda yadda, otherwise I'm saving it for tomorrow's News.

Darlin', so it goes. Some things are meant to be.

  The weather took a hard turn from being beautiful and warm all week to an ice storm sitting down on us. It got pretty nasty in Memphis, but down here in Enon Holler, it was just cold and rained all day. One of those gray, foul days that make you want to just stay in bed. And since I had nothing better to do, I did just that.

 So, with that in mind, you'll forgive me if I have nothing of note to share today. Again. Unlike Tuesday, I don't have the excuse that I'm all tired and wrote out from playing with my fiction. Nope, I just spent the day napping, listening to the rain, and reading. As for what I'm reading, well, it's a pleasant little space opera by a guy named Wallace Henry called Dead Shock. It's a two-book series and I just started on the second book, Blood Shock.

 It's a space horror thing with city-ships cut off from the rest of the galaxy and run by a power-mad dictator, body modification whatnots causing genetic terrors, and a crew that doesn't like each other trying no to get destroyed. It sort of reminds me of BioShock but IN SPACE, and that's a compliment. It's got an interesting rhythm, too, and I'm not sure what to think about that yet.

 The impeachment goes on and the latest quirk is the revelation that Senators Mike Lee, Ted Cruz, and Lindsay Graham meeting with the Trump defense staff and discussing strategy. I'm not going to get deep into it because I think it at least needs the evening to marinate.  For what it's worth, I don't see it being made too big a deal of, mainly because those three especially are certifiable Trump toadies. And this is from a party that is completely beholden to Trumpism for at least one more election cycle.

 It doesn't do any good to say "what if a Democrat did this" because we all know better. Or we should, anyway. Anyone too shocked and dismayed by this behavior, especially from these three dickbags, has no one to blame but themselves. I really wish people would get over the idea that Trump has some dirt on Graham and just accept he's always been a complete party stooge and a rat bastard of one, at that.

 On another note, Mississippi SB 2765 failed to pass. I didn't explain this properly in yesterday's News, but it was put forth in case the mayor of Madison's goofy lawsuit against Initiative 65 succeeds. It would allow for medical marijuana in the state but set up some crazy restrictive hurdles for potential growers.

 I really don't think the state legislature, particularly the Republicans, really thought the initiative would pass and they certainly didn't think it'd pass so overwhelmingly. They wouldn't have let Initiative 65 even come up for a vote if they did, but it's got to be a part of the state constitution now. This has traditionally been a state that got off on making things unpleasant as possible for the hoi polloi while putting as much money as possible in the fat cats' pockets.

 I guess that's plenty for tonight. I really don't have anything else that's worth discussing. It's cold and wet still, and one can only get away with lazing around all day one day in a row.

Final Wild Son

  Okay. I just put in close to 2,000 words on the Space Opera and I'm a little fried. I have nothing interesting to say, anyway or nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. I didn't watch it, but apparently, Trump's lawyers came off as absolute clowns in opening statements. I mean, so comical even diehard lackeys like Bill Kennedy commented on it. Furthermore, it got Trump into a screaming rage when he met with them. Hopefully, he'll have a stroke.

 Anyhow, I'm tired and wiped out. So this is probably all we're going to get down here today. I'll leave it open and if something comes up that needs to be put down, we'll do it. Otherwise, you'll just have to trust me that I got my 500 words and then some in. And I might go back to it or to the Weird Western. In one of those moods, I guess.

 Yeah, I've got nothing. So let's pinch this off and call it a night.

Such are the dream of the everyday housewife.

  I've treated today like the rainy, miserable lump it was, so we might as well put something here before midnight comes around. I had something for this before I took a nap, but my dumb ass didn't write anything down. So, if nothing else, we'll start with the News.

 It was a solid week of news. Nothing too deep or earth-shattering, but it got the job done. Monday, actually, I went off on a tangent about Aberdeen. It's actually what I really like doing, telling stories that aren't being told. Or stories that aren't being told a certain way.

 Wednesday and Friday, as much as I hate to, gave a little attention to Kyle Rittenhouse's one-man Bonnie & Clyde week. This isn't a case of "oh, don't give it attention" nonsense. I don't follow that stroke nor do I give it any credence. The news will be told whether you tell it or not. It's because that kid's situation is so risible and irritating. If he wasn't a middle-class bourgeoise cracker spawn and if he had shot anyone but dirty protestors protesting Authority getting away with what it wanted to do, he'd be up under the jail. Same with Reality Winner and the lack of interest in her plight from the "dirtbag left," whatever the hell that is.

 There was also a little on the COVID-19 stimulus package Biden is trying to get through and some of the bullshit ICE proves that really doesn't help the "why, no, we're not fascist stormtroopers, we have good intentions" is nothing but horseshit. Like with Authority giving Rittenhouse a pass, we've been slapped in the face with that stroke so much over the past decade, I can't believe we expect people to believe us when we say we don't see it.

 In a lazy mood, I guess. It started early in the week and has just gotten worse. I think the whole "Johnny Paycheck as the Avatar of why progressive/populist movements generally shoot themselves in the foot" thing that came out Monday sort of wrecked things. That and my head's been thick into easing back into whatever my "space opera" turns out to be. 

 Again, though, it's still a case of world-building being much easier than coming up with an actual story. I am going to have a booger of a time coming up with alien names, planets, etc. So far I've been using Star Control names as a placeholder. I've decided to completely give up on any "hardness" and just raise hell. I am going to stick with my "different species can't breed" rule, though. I never have figured out how that's supposed to work.

 I'll use a modified Alcubierre drive for in-system travel and the whole quantum wormhole with jump gates thing for traveling to different sectors. I think my favorite display of a galactic community is the one in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so it'll be closer to that except not as funny. The alien federation says you can either join us, leave us, or get pounded into dust, humanity, it's your choice. Just seems practical, especially if I'm not farting around with hard scifi. It's enough damn work trying to come up with a story.

 In any event, that's the word count and I believe that's enough for tonight. Tomorrow's the Super Bowl and I don't care. However, since Tom Brady sold his soul to Dark Powers From The Dawn Of Time, I'm going with the Buccaneers over the Chiefs. Even money, though, I wouldn't give more than 10 points on it.

It's the same old story. Tell me where does it end.

 Okay. It's Thursday and, to be honest, I have nothing. What little creativity I have is wrapped up in a fiction idea, but I'll get to that in a minute. Otherwise, we'll just ramble on until we hit word count.

 There's news, of course, but I'd rather save it for the News. That Marjorie Greene fruitcake got all her committee appointments taken away, but the GOP as a whole decided they were fine with being lamped in with the whole QAnon bunch, 9/11 trutherism, and the stroke that certain school shootings weren't anything but false flags to destroy the Second Amendment. I'm never sure who's supposed to do that, but there you go.

 She's dangerous but she's tedious and dull. I wouldn't be surprised at all if she winds up shooting someone she works with, but she's just not that interesting. Conservatives have been indulging in dumbass conspiracy theories and muttering darkly about exercising their Second Amendment rights all over people who disagree with them. Hell, the first time in years they've acted in good faith in years was when that bunch of dipsticks tried to take over the Capitol.

 Of course, them backing down when they weren't the conquering heroes is just as predictable as Greene pretending she really didn't mean it. Ideally, this would mean her fifteen minutes were up, but to repeat myself, this has been the GOP for years. They've just cut the bullshit.

 Speaking of cutting the bullshit, Nashville is wrestling with the fallout of Morgen Wallen dropping the N-Bomb during a drunken tirade that got recorded and distributed by TMZ. He says he's "embarrassed" about it all but I'm he's more embarrassed he got busted. That boy's mullet and white-trash 'stache isn't helping his argument any. Helluva way to start off Black History Month, Nashville.

 I really don't pay attention to recently released music, much less country music, and haven't in about a decade. That's not a comment on modern radio's quality because, quite frankly, the only thing more tedious than "bro country" is hipsters getting snooty about "real country music" or, even worse, "saving country music." You want to save country music, go out and make good music.

 I wish I was more into it, though. I grew up in love with country radio and find it depressing I can't go back to that love. At the same time, it's no longer necessary since I can make the best country playlist you've ever heard thanks to iTunes and Apple Music. So, I don't feel getting shitty about the state of mainstream Nashville is worth the effort. Dig, y'all, Willie & Waylon just wanted to get paid as much as rock artists, they still wanted to make those bullets. Hank Williams was tickled shitless when his tunes were made into pop hits.

 Every year I tell myself I'm going to write something about Black people and country music, and I'm sort of glad I'm so out of date that there are more Black folks in Nashville nowadays than there might've ever been. One of the kids in Brothers Osbourne came out as well, and that's a good step in the right direction. The peckerheads may be losing their shit over all this, but fuck 'em, they're the right people to be pissing off.

 If you're a racist or a homophobe who happens to be a country music fan and this sort of change makes you mad, good. You suck and your life should be as miserable as legally possible. I hope it gets worse for you, pissant, and you never know joy.

Listening to Johnny Paycheck.

 I just had the weirdest dream.

 I dreamt that Johnny Paycheck - the singer as Johnny Paycheck the singer, not him playing someone else nor someone playing him - had a show on the Other Side of the Country. Before he left, though, he got drunk (which wasn't unusual for him) and pissed off (again, not unusual) and decided to go tell "Them" off.

 Who "Them" were was ephemeral. Call them big business or corporate America or politicians too distanced from the people they serve to the elites or clickbait obsessed media or the military-industrial complex or megachurch pastors or just whoever "They" were, he was going to Tell Them Off. And though it never came up in my dream, though he was Johnny Paycheck, he was indeed going to tell the Foreman and the Line Boss to "Take This Job & Shove It."

 Now here's where it gets weird. While drunk, he posted his intentions on Social Media. I don't remember which Social Media if it was indeed one of any note, but he definitely died before Social Media was as ubiquitous as it is now. But for whatever it's worth, he died about a month before Friendster existed, about seven months before MySpace was a thing, and a full year before Facebook was launched. I don't know if any of that means anything, but there you are.

 So he heads off to his gig on the Other Side of the Country, and at the first stop he makes, a group of people who read his online jeremiad give him a "right on" and pledge to follow him. Johnny Paycheck being Johnny Paycheck says, hell, why not, the more the merrier. I'm not sure where I fit in as an observer and chronicler. My role was like Tom Wolfe's in Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, just a fly on the wall and not someone of importance. Maybe I was a roadie or a Captain Midnight-like figure, it doesn't

matter.

 Anyhow. Everywhere he stopped - and he stopped everywhere - he picked up more and more people who wanted to tell "Them" off and let "Them" know they were mad as hell and not going to take it anymore. Along the way, he began to write a Manifesto about why he felt "They" needed telling off. Every day the Manifesto grew bigger and more radical and angrier and, well... less based in reality.

 Eventually, he started letting his followers speak and make declarations to tell "Them." Some were tired of poverty and homeless and hunger that is allowed under capitalism. Some were tired of the disparity between the rich and the poor, and how the System not only allowed it but encouraged and protected that philosophy. Some were concerned about the loss of Constitutional Rights, not just the First or Second Amendments, but the Fourth and the Sixth and the Fourteenth and other Civil Rights Amendments.

 Some were upset about the oppression of the country's labor force and how they were kept in a state of permanently being behind on bills so the Boss could live fat, and they were tired of all the Foremen and Line Bosses who took a little more crumbs to keep that a reality. Some were mad at how the police weren't around to help but to enforce Society's rules and, in doing so, were allowed to run wild with no responsibility or accountability. Some were tired of the big businesses taking advantage of migrant labor to drive down wages and how society had decided that shooting someone whose cell phone goes off in a theater was a reasonable, if extreme, course of action.

 Eventually it got dark. Johnny Paycheck's Manifesto got darker and the speakers from the people following him got uglier. Some were mad because migrant workers represented the Wrong Kind of People coming into the country and making it worse somehow, and they were doing it on purpose. Some were mad that we'd gotten away from the Baby Jesus and thought we needed to make us start going again to church again, or at least living like they said we should live. Some were mad that lawlessness and fear and desperation had caused some to clash with the Forces of Order, especially when those Forces killed people for no real reason than, as far as anyone reasonable could tell, the color of their skin, and that maybe we should remind "those people" where their place in Society really was.

 I saw it and so did plenty of others, but their dissenting voices were ignored or shouted down or threatened with violence. This happened more and more. It went from reasonable disagreement to dark threats of punishment, with more and more people taking the side of the latter. People who thought the crowd was going in the wrong direction were deciding that maybe it was best and safest if they kept quiet and do what they were told, and in any event, didn't the Majority kinda, sorta have a point?

 Johnny Paycheck saw this, too. He saw the growing darkness in his intentions to tell "Them" to "Take This Job & Shove It," and it concerned him greatly. Also, he was mostly concerned with the gig on the Other Side of the Country because that's what he was, a singer and entertainer, and bringing people happiness through his music was what was important to him. He was still intent on telling "Them" off and knew the people's anger was righteous, but he was concerned about where it was going and what it might do when it got there.

 So long as he was sober. When he was drunk, he didn't give a damn. He enjoyed the acclaim, even if he was becoming less important and more just a figurehead to other's concerns and plans. So he stayed drunk a lot because it was easier than facing reality. And since it helped them along, people conspired to keep him as drunk as possible as much as possible, because it was easier than facing themselves. And his Manifesto got weirder and the people got angrier and more frightened and less inclined to buck the group. Fixing things was no longer an issue. Letting "Them" know they were angry was much more important, and God help you if you suggested otherwise in the wrong company. It was getting harder to figure out who was the right company and maybe it no longer mattered.

 And then I woke up. I don't know why I dreamt any of this. I don't know why I conflated current events and situations to periods of time where they didn't exist and we're at such a forefront. I don't know why Johnny Paycheck, of all people, was the locus of all this madness and anger and confusion. Much as I dig me some Johnny Paycheck, he's hardly a revolutionary figure.

 I don't know if it means anything at all and it was just a silly dream I had because I'm weird about country music and American politics. Something to think about, though.