Tag: News

Thursdaz’s Theme Music

The sixth day of February has boarded our minds in the year of 2025 CE, a Thursdaz. Crazy frog — our home’s expression for freezing fog, based on a mondetext — has stolen the sunlight, gifting us twilight colors of, gray, white, and black. No snow falling but ‘they’ are warning us that more is on the way. It’s 32 F and greater warmth isn’t anticipated. Snow might be on the way. Or rain.

The primary roads have been plowed here but get off them and yer on yer own. Sidewalks on not cleared, so people must walk on the streets. Everyone gives pedestrians on the roads wide passage but given the environment, I imagine people walking worry with every step about someone losing control of their vehicle.

Weather caused cancellation of my first two lymphedema massage therapy sessions. Another one is scheduled for tomorrow. Also have an appointment for Papi the ginger blade, aka butter butt, Meep, and butter booger, to see what’s going on about his fur shedding.

The Ban Man is at it. Trump bans with a petulant thump. “Ban transsexuals in women’s sports.” Thump. “If I can’t have fun and play sports, neither can they.” “Ban DEI. I’m a rich white guy, born into a wealthy white household. I don’t understand how that was an advantage over others.” Thump. “Ban it all, everything that isn’t me.” Thump.

Of course, the craziness of the first term is still flowering. ‘The U.S. will take over Gaza. Move the Palestinians out.’ What? Friggin’ nuts. Then his ‘team’ scrambles to make it sound sane, plausible, and supported by everyone, and then Trump realizes how nuts he sounded and tries to change what he said. Brother.

It was a busy morning. Friend called to ask advice about his ailing cat. Another called for help with his recalcitrant computer. And, caught up with Mom drama via texts with Mom and a sis. Mom fell again. She refuses assistance and she’s been at war with her live-in boyfriend for months. She’s 89 and he’s 94. I have never witnessed him be anything but polite and nice to her but she declares him mean. My siblings and I have a lifetime of Mom so her claims draw leeriness as a first response. It’s unfortunate but she’s been married multiple times and has had several boyfriends, and drama is her drug. She makes everything contentious with everyone. It’s a sigh-inducing relationship with her.

With that gray-tinged white world staring back at us, it’s no surprise that The Neurons pulled a Cream song, “White Room”, into the morning mental music stream. It’s a Cream favorite o’ mine. A poet, Pete Brown, was responsible for the lyrics, which strike many as enigmatic. I think iyhat pushes me to look inside myself.

My favorite part is this stanza, followed by the chorus.

You said no strings could secure you at the station
Platform ticket, restless diesels,goodbye windows
I walked into such a sad time at the station
As I walked out, felt my own need, just beginning

[Chorus]
I’ll wait in the queue when the trains come back
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves

h/t to genius.com

I like the way the stanza is belted out, angry, defiant, challenging, before the softly resigned introspection presented by the chorus.

Then, too, there are three phenomenal rock performers demonstrating their craft with bass guitar, lead guitar, and drums. Awesome.

Coffee and I introduced ourselves to one another again and I’m indulging in more caffeine-infused dark goodness. Hope your day offers some escape from the world’s woes and some satisfaction to your plans. Cheers

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Greetings from snowy Ashland. It’s Wenzda, February 5, 2025. Our first snowstorm of 2025 came in, kicked our asses, stamped its feet, and moved on.

The entire time that it snowed, there was no wind. The snow fell straight down. The temperatures hung between 31 and 33 degrees. When the snow ceased late yesterday afternoon, the light shifted. Rosy hues colored the snow. Probably sunset from behind clouds, I speculated. Then, it all went gray.

Next, the temperature, released from its obligation to remain at freezing while the snow fell, shed nine degrees in three hours. Clouds now sail through blue skies and sunshine. Trees and utility lines are shedding large clumps of melting snow. It’s up to 29 degrees F. A high of 38 F is possible, ‘they’ tell us. When all the snow stopped falling, my yard was buried under 14 inches.

Watching all that snow falling yesterday, my wife summarized the day well for us: “I guess it’s good to be retired and not need to go anywhere.”

Yes, good thing, because the storm dropped a ton of chaos on our little town. White stuff falling from the sky really confused people’s sensibilities. Didn’t help that the city on which we depend on services seemed really confused by what was happening. Or maybe it was people out sick, miscommunications, or people overcome with two much going on. Roads weren’t getting plowed — no, some roads were getting plowed. Several roads were plowed over and over while other roads, particularly on the newer south end of town, didn’t see plows at all. For the record, our road was just plowed for the first time. It’s not a major matter, as it’s not that long and only has about forty houses on it.

FB photo of I-5 in the valley not far from Ashland. If you zoom in on the road, you’ll see what looks like a train. Those are actually semis stopped in traffic because the Interstate is closed.

Other factors threw complications into the mix. Trees and branches found new resting places on the ground. So did power lines. People who lived on hills parked down where the roads were flat and walked home. Snow convinced some folks to just stop their cars where they were and walk away.

Without much local media, we were at a disadvantage. The city did nothing to bridge that gap. We have an emergency text message system but that wasn’t engaged much, other to say, “It’s snowing. Stay home.” Our best tool turned out to be Facebook. Friends in three other parts of town reported their situation. Between the four of us, we could compare notes and track developments.

One thing that puzzled my household as we surveyed activities from our window: why were so many people out in light jackets without hats and gloves?

But it’s over. Lessons learned? Probably not.

Our snowstorm stirred memories of another snowstorm. This one was in 1978. I’d just returned from a tour of duty in the Philippines. My wife was living with her family in WV while I was overseas. Now, with me back in the U.S., we bought a car and were driving to a new duty location by San Antonio, Texas. A huge blizzard struck. We made the decision to get the hell out of there and drove several hundred miles through blinding snow.

Thinking back on that time, I looked through a pop list, remembering songs. I’d been overseas. This was pre-Internet, pre-satellite TV, etc. When I returned to the U.S., I felt a deep disconnection with the nation. Looking at a list of songs from that time, I saw “Follow You Follow Me”. I know the song but there’s no memories connected to it, much like a lot of music I know from that period. It’s just there, floating in my mind, unmoored to anything.

One good thing emerging from the two snow days for us is that we used the time to clean the oven and pantry. My wife was the major mover on the pantry, emptying it, tossing outdated stuff, wiping the shelves. I only helped with the reorg and handing things to her.

The bad thing about the snow days is that she kept getting sucked into the bad news cycle. Infuriating to watch the checks and balances disintegrating in the face of GOP complicity.

Coffee and I have ran into each other in the kitchen, so we sat and had a cup to talk about the day. Hope you enjoy a good one. Cheers

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Munda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Recently caught two Paul Krugman articles. I read one yesterday. This was the post where he shared his tale about why he left the New York Times.

His story illuminated a lot for me. As 2024 progressed and I read his opinions, I thought, what is wrong with Paul Krugman? He is so much less insightful and he seems to be leaning toward the NYT bothsiderism plague. I often found myself begin to read him and then close it because, meh. After he left the Times and began writing on his own, I discovered that he’d regained his sharpness. I’m so much happier to have him out of the NYT yoke and free to comment on the world again, especially the Trumpworld.

Times editors — who deny this — became heavy-handed about Mr. Krugman’s opinions and insights. They rewrote his column, forcing him to rewrite the rewrites. It all became so dumbed down that it wasn’t worth reading.

But he’s back, baby.

That’s a natural transition to Mr. Krugman’s column today: Trump Is Doing Exactly What He Said He Would. Who Could Have Predicted That?

When democracies die, big business and wealthy individuals often play a crucial role in their demise. They provide a would-be strongman with financial support; their control of or influence over news media ensures that he receives favorable coverage, while his opponents are trashed. They do this because they expect to be rewarded with policies that favor their interests and imagine that they will in effect be shareholders in the new autocracy.

What comes next is familiar to anyone who studies history (which the oligarchs don’t.) Eventually it becomes clear that they don’t own the dictator they’ve helped install; he owns them. Maybe they’ll like some of his policies, maybe they won’t, but in any case they’re not in control — and they soon learn that criticizing the big man isn’t just fruitless, it’s dangerous.

In the past this script has typically taken a few years to play out, but this is the internet age, so right now in America the process seems to be taking only a few weeks.

Yep, Paul Krugman nailed it. Trump forced the GOP to be remade in his own image as the Grand Ol’ Trump Party. He brought on billionaires who are interested in having power and money. So guess what, GOP stalwarts? You guys aren’t needed any longer.

MAGA supporters? Naw, Trump can show now that he doesn’t give a shit about you, either.

Rural voters and Evangelicals who said that he shares your values, tells us like it is, and says what we’re thinking? You must have been thinking that th United States doesn’t need a democratic republic any longer. You must have thought that your freedoms and rights would be okay because Trump is like us.

If you haven’t realized yet, he is not like you, not unless you’re white, male, wealthy, selfish, racist, and sexist.

As for you folks who thought he would end wars, cut inflation, and make the United States a better place to live, man are you in for a fucking awakening. Talk ’bout woke! You’ll be woke as the deficit climbs and supply shortages and high prices gut the economy. Bet you’ll be woke as inflation rises and rises.

Those of you who wrung your hands and whined, “The Democrats don’t care about the cost of living enough, so I’m voting for Trump,” have fucked around. If you haven’t found out, you will.

I’ll take it back to Paul Krugman’s post from today to close.

As I get ready to hit the publish button, stock futures are down — but not nearly as much as the situation seems to warrant. Investors still seem to believe that there’s a good chance that Trump will use some minor concessions (about what?) to declare victory and dial the tariffs back. As I wrote about the same time Goldman and Dimon were telling us to chill out, this market complacency is a self-defeating prophecy: muted market reaction makes it likely that Trump will continue and expand his trade war.

And even if some of the tariffs prove temporary, the Rubicon has been crossed. We now know that when the United States signs an agreement, on trade or anything else, the president will treat that agreement as a mere suggestion to be ignored whenever he feels like it. That revelation in itself will do huge long-term damage.

All of this was entirely predictable. But there are none so blind as those who will not see.

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Munda’s Theme Music

It’s a snow day. We could do with a little snow in Ashlandia but no, why do a little when there’s a lot available?

It’s Munda, Feb. 3, 2025. Thick snow is falling and accumulating, dissing visibility. We have a few inches around our house. But the temperature is hovering right at 32 F here. ‘They’ tell us it will climb to 39 F. What will that do to the snow? Well the traffic cameras tell the story. The storm is coming from the south and east. West and north, there’s less impact. We have variable conditions all around us and it’ll stay like that until tonight, when freezing temperatures take over. Everyone who deals with snow, rain, and freezing overnight temperatures know that outcome.

As for sunshine — what sunshine? Clouds? They’re not visible for the snow. As far as we know, the sky is falling in as small white flakes.

The cats have taken well to the snow. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has little interest in going out unless the sun is bright, full, and warm. And he’s grown accustomed to this season not being so. Papi, though, always challenges us about being let out. We let him out twice. Second time found him sitting on the porch, watching the snow. He was back in after three minutes. Both then retired to the living room, where the fireplace is going and the blower is kicking warm air across the room.

On to the big news. Beyoncé wins album of the year Grammy. Okay, it was a country album, but still, big accomplishment, right? Big news to fill the weekend gulf when Musk, acting on Trump’s orders, illegally took over computer systems with unvetted people without security clearances or actual positions with the government.

Why, that ol’ Trump. He sure knows how to give the people what they want! They didn’t want all that AID stuff. NO! If they’d wanted that, they would have elected people to Congress to represent them. Then, those people in Congress would have passed an act creating and funding that function.

Which all did happen. The U.S. Agency for International Development was formed in 1961. Congress directs it what to do and provides its funding. As part of the Executive branch the agency then does that. That’s how it’s supposed to work. It’s all part of the checks and balances built into our government’s processes and functions. One man cannot simply say stop.

But he did because Trump gives less than a morning bowel movement about laws and Congress. The GOP is already in his pocket. The Supreme Court ruled that anything he does as POTUS is legal. Or that’s how Trump takes it.

He should be impeached. We know that won’t happen with the GOP in charge. We’ve been down this road before. Few of them have the spine to stand up to Trump. But, hey, the people elected them, too, right?

And this is how the system breaks. This is the fallout of the system coming apart.

I mentioned the Grammy Award because my wife was spitting out curses like a drunken sailor this weekend as she looked at the news. “Look at this news coverage,” I will summarize her as saying, “no wonder this country is going to shit.” Yes, as many of us have noticed, we have infotainment more than news these days. Here’s thirty seconds about Trump, Musk, and the government, and twenty minutes on the Grammies, and a minute on the weather, and five minutes on the NFL Pro Bowl. Now on to sports!

Today, The Neurons have installed “Drive” by R.E.M. in my morning mental music stream. The 1991 song came up because as I thought about all the crap Trump and his minions did this weekend, The Neurons said, “Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.”

Because essentially, the clock is running on inflation, the stock market, the U.S. and economy, after Trump’s moves. And we have judges ruling on his freeze order. And…yes, it’s a list, a list of crimes and transgressions. A list of activity against history, law, and common sense. So…tick. Tock. As the ride commences, we wait for the fallout.

The snow still falls. I’m off to do my writing and then off to a medical appointment. Be safe, and be strong, wherever you are, and whatever you’re doing. Cheers

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Sunda, February 2, 2025, arrived in Ashlandia as inviting as a gray, wet mop. Sunshine feels like an alien life form. 35 F, the thermometer says the air temp is, and ‘they’ tell me that the temperature will punch up to 36 F. Light snow is falling.

Kind of light snow is falling. Sometimes, it’s rain, sometimes it’s sleet. A position can’t be staked and claimed for the local weather. Reactions on NextDoor about the weather are frequently amusing about this. “The forecast is for rain. Or snow! Maybe we’ll get zero inches, maybe we’ll get 88! Who knows?!!!” I can imagine someone looking a little wild-eyed and giggling to themselves typing this up. But she has aptly captured the general flow of thoughts.

Part of all this is elevation. Ashland is built on a series of southern mountain slopes. Weather changes are experienced as you slipslide up and down. Our house resides around 2100 feet. Looking up the street, where elevation increases a few hundred more, snow is visible lining roofs.

A winter storm warning is out for our area, so ‘they’ think it’s gonna be something. The rest of us are giving the forecast a jaundiced ‘we’ll see’ gaze. It is good soup weather. Soup, with hot buttered bread, as been conditioned into me. Mom had a practice of dishing out soup on days like this. Campbell’s had advertising campaigns predicated on the need. My wife is also out of that school. Her eyes and expression gain a little light as she states the idea, “This looks like a good soup day.” Best of all on a day like this, with trouble in the news — I haven’t looked but this is now the Trump era, and that’s all there is since he’s been installed as POTUS — would be a big bowl of Mom’s chili. She had an awesome recipe, and I could eat that stuff eight days a week.

Today’s theme music emerges from more conversations with my wife. A lifelong feminist who took on the ideology that everyone is born with equal rights regardless of anything else at an early age, the Trump’s administration to break the world and shove us back into the 1800s has her GRRRRRRR cranked up to eleven. The match point from the convos is that Trump respects nothing. We suspect that he doesn’t even have much self-respect; although he blusters about how great it is, his statements ring with a desperate need to be believed. That’s why he lieks his rallies, where the gullibles line up to worship him as he needs.

The other portion of these talks is that Elon Musk doesn’t respect the Trumpet at all. Being genuinely more intelligent, craven, and cruel, Musk is eagerly taking advantage of Trump to plunder the United States, with eyes on plundering the world. He has no respect for anyone but himself.

All these talking about respect invited The Neurons to pulled up a song from my teen years and dropped it into the moring mental music stream. “Respect Yourself” begins with the lyrics, “If you disrespect everbody that you run into, how in the world do you think anybody’s gonna respect you?” Trump thinks he can get respect by bullying everyone; he’s convinced himself that’s how it works, and his sycophants feed him a steady diet of ‘you got that right, sir’, so he never hears — or learns — otherwise. So this 1971 tune by The Staple Singers is dedicated to Trump and the Grand Ol’ Trump Party as they go about disrespected all others. No one is gonna give you respect in return.

Beyond the sentiments of the song, I love the funkiness dropped by the electric piano and bass. What a sweet sound. With its beat and vocals, it’s an excellent song to sing along with as you dance around the house. Feel free to turn it up loud.

Coffee has suggested that I have a cup. I didn’t want to be rude, so I agreed. And off we go, into the gray and white yonder. Look, it’s raining again. Or is that snow?

Cheers

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