Tag: rock

Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: sour apple

We’re under one big cloud shield in Ashlandia, presenting us a gray, dim morning. It’s Thursday, June 20, 2024, and the summer equinox. Doesn’t seem it. Seems like spring rushed in for on more jolly. 58 F, though, we’re expecting the temperature measuring devices to show us temperatures in the high 80s.

For now, I’m hitting myself in the head regarding a series of ‘why didn’t I?’

Background: I have a toilet which won’t stop running. I’ve fixed these before so I wasn’t overly worried. That attitude didn’t help. I didn’t provide it the attention I should have. I fiddled with the flush valve and the water ceased flowing. Hurrah, right?

No, fool. I’m the fool. Not you.

I went out and bought replacement parts and I thought all was going well. So I took my time. Decided to address it late in the afternoon. Then I used the toilet and flushed. It started running; wouldn’t stop. Okay, time to fix it.

First move, turn off the water to the toilet.

It wouldn’t go off. I screwed around with that a bit. Then a bit more. And more. In fact, I wasted almost an hour on that. Okay, turn off the water to the house.

Where the hell is my shut off valve?

I walked around the house and looked for it but I’ve lived here a while and have never seen it. I researched on line for all the possibilities and searched them out. Not there, not there, not there, not there, not there. Finally found it where all said it should be, by the water meter, by the street, but it was buried. By now it’s after 8 PM. I tried turning off the water.

Couldn’t do it with my crescent wrench. Not the space to turn a crescent wrench in there, nor any other wrench. You need a special tool.

Of course! This is the age of special tools. (Cue singing, “This is the dawning of the age of special tools, age of special tools,” sung to the tune of The Fifth Dimension’s song, “Age of Aquarius”. My apologies for that. Also add a little snark about Trump and MAGAs being tools. Yeah, shame on me.)

Now this is where I really screwed up.

First, I didn’t think about rushing out and buying the special tool. My wife talked me into waiting until today to take care of it. But I can hear that water running. It’s not just a trickle, either. I can hear that waste.

Why didn’t I go to Home Depot, just a few miles up the road, and buy the tool? Why didn’t I call the city and say, hey, come turn off my water? I’d trapped myself with tunnel vision.

Obsessed with the running water sound, I woke up early and realized those things. Called the city. Asked them to send out someone to shut off the water. ‘Course, that’s not a real emergency, so it’ll take a while. Then I’ll go buy the tool so I have it on hand. And I’ll fix the shut off valve on the toilet and the stupid toilet. But I’m really disappointed in my poor judgement and weak thinking. Must not have had enough coffee.

Turning to the positive side of that, it distracted me from Mom’s situation, Dad’s hospitalization, my ankle, politics, and troubling news from around the world. Always a silver lining, isn’t there?

Finally, though, I harped on myself for not having the special tool on hand and for not knowing where my valve was. What if there had been a burst pipe in the house? I pride myself on being proactive and I was anything but all the way around with this.

People of course, will ask, why didn’t you just call a plumber? And here again, I’m up against myself: I like being self-sufficient. I like DIY. I dislike being ignorant about things and dependent on others. So, yeah, that’s all on the idiot I call me.

The incident of the toilet that won’t stop running inspired The Neurons, of course. They’ve programmed “Urgent” by Foreigner from 1981 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark: stuck).

Update: As I was typing, a worker arrived and shut off the water. I rushed out and spoke with him and learned about the dangers of turning if off myself — like breaking something, you know? A very nice guy, he’d heard the duty call phone ring while he was in a safety meeting and went out to hear the messages. Hearing mine, he left the meeting and came out and addressed my issue. Telling me to call back whenever I went it turned back on, he rushed back to the meeting. So easy; why didn’t I call them last night?

BTW, we did prepare for not having water by filling a water jug, a bucket, the coffee maker, the tea kettle, and the water pitcher in the frig. I hope that this isn’t shut off for long, but you know me, I’m an optimist.

Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is in me. I have a few things I need to go take care of now, so I’m gonna go. Here’s the music.

Happy first day of summer. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Humpnotized

I was gently serenaded awake by the dulcet tones of a cat upchucking somewhere nearby. Investigating, I found it was Tucker heaving up kibble and a hairball. Fortunately, I had an exercise towel down. It was for foot and leg exercises to cope with my ankle injury, based on recommendations from my sister, a physical therapist. Tucker and Papi had staked out the green towel as the new ideal napping spot in the house. That’s where Tucker was sleeping when I went to bed. Apparently, he slept there until he awoke and puked.

That’s how my Wednesday, June 19, 2024 began. Hope yours was better. I raise my coffee cup to Juneteenth and my fellow Americans who celebrate it for all the right reasons.

Spring’s hold is weakening in Ashlandia. Sprummer has burst back onto the scene. It is a beautiful blue skied morning. Sunshine baths runners, bikers, grooming cats, and everything else under the sky. 61 F, today’s high will bounce into the low 90s. With this abrupt weather shift will come high winds.

After the puke check, I squirmed back into bed, and then tumbled with dreams and thoughts. The thoughts went down a parental aisle. Dad in the hospital. Mom was there in April. The two are divorced, with new partners. They actually divorced over fifty years ago. Dad has been with his ‘new wife’ for 35 years, his third marriage. Mom has been with her beau since 2009. Family whispers say that she’s been married seven times. Mom has a secretive gene so vetting information is a challenge.

Mom professes to constant pain. She complains frequently and often about her existence, frequently demanding her daughters’ attention, repeatedly regaling all of us with tales hospital visits, doctor appointments, and health details. Going backwards, appendicities, and before that, a perforated appendix put her in the hospital. Her pacemaker was replaced. COVID hospitalization, spinal stenosis, swollen foot (but not edema, she tells me, although she had sixteen lymph nodes removed during foot surgery), and of course, fifteen years ago, the disastrous fall down the steps. She sleeps with a mask on to help with her breathing because of emphysema. Hardly able to walk, she insists on tottering around the house to clean it, though to most eyes, it’s immaculate. She takes dozens of medications, vitamins, minerals, and supplements.

Dad tells me from his hospital bed, “I’m fine,” with a chuckle. “They have a hundred doctors helping me. They want to put me on dialysis but at my age, they worry about whether I’d survive the procedure.” He’s been stented over ten years ago. Uses a wheelchair and a cane. Has oxygen at home, which he insists that he doesn’t use. Only his wife is there to help him.

Mom always complains about her beau. He can’t hear, she says, and I’ve witnessed the truth of the 94-year-old man’s hearing issues. “He’s forgetful,” she angrily hisses. “I always have to tell him things and make him lists.”

Dad’s wife laughs about Dad and his idiosyncrasies. He never says a harsh word about her.

What a difference their worlds are.

Today’s song choice by Les Neurons is a little ditty called “Twilight Zone (When the Bullet Hits the Bone)” by Golden Earring from 1982. A song inspired by an adventure spy novel, it’s presence in my morning mental music stream (Trademark split) is all on me. See, I was feeding the cats and somehow ended up singing, “You will come to know when the kibble hits the bowl.” That’s a variation of Twilight’s chorus, “You will come to know when the bullet hits the bone.”

Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue for 2024. Coffee has stolen into my body. Here is the music video. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: hyperhappy (could be due to coffee)

It was the best of rains. Falling lightly and fitfully, it wet the land and added a little rise to the streams but caused no issues. That’s the best of rains.

Today is Tuesday, June 18, 2024. Spring continues holding on. Low temps last night dipped into the bottom forties. Now it’s fifty. Sunshine and blue skies reign. A high of 80 F is expected. The wind is whispering, “It’ll be 90 tomorrow.”

My wife was over at the coffee pot, leaning over and whispering to it as the coffee dribble out. Looked like she might’ve been pleading with it. I don’t know. What goes on between a person and their coffee stays between them and their coffee.

Spoke with Dad’s wife last night. We discussed his situation and DNR and Advanced Directives. He has a kidney issue and congestive heart failure. Dialysis is on the table for him but can he survive the procedure is the question. We shall see.

I spoke with him on the phone this morning after putting it off because his wife said he didn’t want to talk. He’s as spirited and congenial as ever. Sounds just as he did twenty year ago.

For fun, I watched Jon Stewart addressing GOP fears about crime. In a coink-dink, I’d checked out FoxNews.com with my morning reading yesterday. I’d already checked out a bunch of ‘liberal’ sites like the NYTimes, WaPo, the HoustonChronicle and others, so I wanted to see what was being presented in the fair and balanced realm called FoxNews.

Well, holy macaroni, that is one dark space. Everything is crashing, burning, flooding, or dying in their world. Actually, that’s pretty much happening in our existence, too, but we don’t see everything and paint it as black as possible and hyper-sensationalized it. Mind boggling.

Anyway, Stewart’s take on the GOP’s take on crime was humorous. Despite what the FBI says about crime being down, the right ‘feels’ like it’s unsafe. As Stewart points out, could it be because rightwing news outlets, pundits, and politicians keep screaming about how dangerous the cities are, despite the statistics? But the most irritating point that Stewarts latches onto, just as most Democrats do, is that the Republicans are screaming about the gun violence even though their inaction against gun controls is what allows guns to flood our cities. Like teasing a cougar and then crying because it mauled you.

For music, The Neurons rolled “Clementine”, also known by some as “Oh My Darling Clementine”, into the morning mental music stream (Trademark edgy). Wikipedia credits the song with being around in 1884, well before my birth. But I’ve heard it in movies and cartoons, and even sang it myself, so I am familiar with it. I challenged The Neurons’ thinking on this song choice. but they stayed mute as a baby’s bottom. Sometime later, they changed the song to “Gimme Some Lovin'” by the Spencer Davis Group from 1966, though again, without revealing why that song was chosen. But I’ll stay with it ‘cuz I like its energy and that organ and the whole song’s upbeat vibe.

Off to the grower’s market. Happens every Tuesday from May to September in Ashlandia, where the produce is fresh and organic. Be strong, stay positive, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. Oh my darlin’, cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: weatherflective

It’s Monday, June 17, 2024. Ashlandia is drying out from yesterday’s late afternoon rain and more precipitation decorating the night. Branches are tangoing with the wind and a blue sky as dazzling as a diamond suggests, we have a nice day lined up for you, folks. It’s 50 degrees F out with humidity floating in the eighties and a chance for the thermometer to breach the upper sixties. Spring rules again, although all is fully bloomed, waiting for our entrance. I’m a little sneezy and itchy-eyed with allergies.

The neighborhood is so quiet, you can hear a cat meow. A flying crow chastises us as he beats wings to somewhere else. Cars roll up with stoic indifference, delivering a gentle rumble from engine and tires.

No updates on Dad. They were to call when opportunity for us to chat came. So, sigh, I wait.

Meanwhile, back in Pennsylvania, Mom is stirring up issues by claiming her beau made up an invitation that included Mom to go to a party with his family. She went to the party but did not enjoy herself because, she said, they were surprised to see her. She doesn’t think she was invited; my sister suggested, “Mom, you told them you weren’t coming. Of course they’re surprised when you showed up.”

But no, the invitation didn’t include her; it was manufactured. We don’t understand why he’d do that; discussing it logically with her is a task for someone with stronger shoulders. She doesn’t hear us, and doesn’t want to hear us. I remember taking conversations with her about this same matter fifteen years ago. It’s coloring our memories of her, making her bitter, angry, and hostile in our memories. That’s the problem with aging and living longer: we begin with a vision of who we want to be, and push efforts that way, and then our mind and body twist, erasing our vision.

Dinner with friends last night was entertaining. A jigsaw puzzle was begun. Featuring odd-shaped pieces, it’s not as fun as those with uniform shapes, even though it was an interesting scene from a museum with patrons.

This morning, we deliver for Food & Friends, and then I’m going to slip on my customary writing routine, and frequent the coffee shop. Ankle is wrapped. Swelling remains a matter to address but I don’t know how much is ankle injury and how much is my recurring edema. Ice, elevate, rest, but it’s tedious and mood-altering.

Songs came together today from thoughts of summer. Specifically, the heat wave riding others in the U.S. Out of that train, The Neurons pulled in “Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand” from 1996 by Primitive Radio Gods. Starting with that B.B. King sample, it plays and repeats in the morning mental music stream (Trademark chillin’). See, it has a line in there, “Does summer come for everyone?” I think the ground for this song and its lazy, reflective tone by a song on another blog the other day, “Tom’s Diner” by Suzanna Vega. They have similiar feels to me.

Coffee is making the trip between the lips. Be positive, stay strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Let’s go get ’em, tiger. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: Springtied

Spring has hardened its grip on its final days in Ashlandia, pulling us back out of sprummer. Cloudy, chilly, blustery, partly sunny, it’s a ‘y’ day. Temperature is hanging onto 60 F now, up from the low in the 40s. In fact, the heat came on this morning because the house’s inside temperature dropped to around 66. The horror of it all. Today’s high is expected to squeeze close to 67 F.

No matter, the cats have found outside places to chill. Tucker is under the bush off the patio right beside the front door. Papi is on the other side of the yard, under the bushes by the wooden fence. With these positions, they have the entire yard covered. These two positions have been coveted and held by cats since we first moved here in 2006.

Our Father’s Day plans don’t include fathers. I’m still waiting for an update on Dad. I spoke to his wife yesterday. He was in good spirits in the hospital and the fluid around his heart was being removed. She said she’d have him call me when the chance came. My wife’s father passed away back in 1991, just after he retired, right after he turned 65.

But we have this monthly thing with friends. Social people, about my parents’ ages, they’ve become housebound with health issues so once a month, we go to dinner at their house. Food is provided by a local restaurant. We take turns paying. Sometimes we watch sumpthin’ on TV; once in a while we work on a jigsaw puzzle. More often, we just chat and visit. We missed the engagement in May as I was in Pittsburgh (well, Penn Hills) visiting Mom and family.

I have the Rolling Stones singing “The Last Time” from 1965 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark fused). The Neurons didn’t reveal a reason for the song but I’d guess it has something to do with Dad being in the hospital.

Be strong, stay positive, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is making its way through my system, and here is the music video. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music*

*Began publishing this as Sunday’s theme music. Because I thought it was Sunday. My internal calendar is untethered with my routines disrupted. My apologies.

Mood: Springflective

Spring has taken over Ashlandia on this day in June’s middle. A flotilla of menacing clouds have surmounted the mountains surrounding the valley, blocking the sun’s effects, and holding our temperature hostage in the low fifties. Saturday, June 15, 2024, will likely only face high temperatures in the upper sixties today, ending our unusually warm streak — for this time of year, of course.

Fire season has begun and there are already several on the maps to be watched to see how they grow, what direction they take, how long until they’re under control, and what happens with the smoke.

Dad went into the hospital yesterday. He’s in his early nineties so a visit there once in a while isn’t a great surprise. I mean, he grew up during the cigarette’s heyday and was a smoker, first of Lucky Strikes, and then shifting to pipes and cigars. He quit smoking thirty to forty years ago but the damage was done. He also spent 20 years in the military and was exposed to carcinogenic stuff during his tours, and survived a tour of Vietnam, too.

His current issues began with an enlarged prostrate which blocked his bladder. One kidney has apparently failed, quite some time ago, according to his wife, though Dad never mentioned this. Nor has he ever mentioned that they wanted to start him on dialysis. But the issue du jour is fluid around his heart. He’s been stented before and has had edema issues but this is a new one. So they’re going to drain away that fluid. The stay is basically observation, they said *cough cough*.

Dad, though, was recalcitrant to go into the hospital. His wife said that after the doctor saw Dad’s test results, Doc called Dad and asked him to go to ER, which Dad did. But when they wanted to admit him for obs, he refused to give his permission. Went on for hours. Dad demanded a second opinion. So a second team came in and evaluated him, and agreed, he should be admitted to the hospital. Dad finally gave his permission at 12:30 AM Friday morning after arriving Thursday afternoon. His wife said she left the hospital bone tired but encountered a huge thunderstorm. Not wanting to drive the highways and Interstates of San Antonio, Texas, in the rain, she found a chair and spent the night sleeping in it.

Gotta call them to get the lowdown on here and now.

If you ever read my blog, you can imagine how The Neurons reacted to news about Dad and his health. All manner of songs, poetry, and essays skated through the mental scene while I reflected about who I think Dad is and how he influenced me. As I’m still trying to figure him at with me at 68 years old, I ended up with “Alive” by Pearl Jam from 1991 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark grandfathered). Of course, figuring out Dad is a moving target. I’m changing in slow ways most days, and so is he. We don’t see one another often — he lives in Texas and I live in Oregon — and we don’t talk often. We try, and we mean to, but we’re the same in that way, sort of strange loners who socialize well but aren’t terribly sentimental. We can hazard the company of others but we’re very satisfied being on our own.

Stay strong, be well, keep positive. Endure, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Got my coffee so we can rock on. Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Coffpestuous

Overnight temps dipped us into the forties, so cool air, warm sunshine, and a dusty blue sky opened Friday, June 14, 2024. Happy Flag Day for the U.S. attendees today.

A pattern of frothy flat clouds dot Ashlandia’s blueways. Expect it to be like that all day as sprummer dips back toward springmer. 62 F now in the late morning, today’s high will stall at ’round 74 F. The surrounding hills are whole green shows. Cherries are ripening on the trees, and the peaches are swelling ever larger as they slowly shed their green tinge.

I hear on the news that heatwaves are striking other parts of the nation and that Florida has taken on flooding. Hope all is well with my fellow Americans in those zones and they survive and recover.

Last night, ’bout 12:30, I opened the front door to collect the cats. There, an on the grass at the end of the front porch, was a large, resting doe. Cats weren’t there, so I closed the door and let the doe be. She was gone his morning.

My injured foot swelled up in a big way yesterday, hindering movement and plans, and rendering my toes into small, fat, sausages. Spent the day RICE-ing away. After returning from the show, I elevated my foot and watched the swelling completely dissipate. Little swelling today that I see but I still try not to use it. When I do, it’s with ginger attention.

We attended the OSF Green Show last night with a group of friends and enjoyed The Rogue Suspects doing an Aretha Franklin tribute. Fanastic. Those women can belt it out, and the rest of the band are right up there, note for note and on time. It was a large crowd on blankets and chairs as the temperature dipped below 80 F and the sun slipped through the blue sky to coyly hide behind the mountains. There was a contingent of fans down there on the bricks beside the stage, singing and dancing in ages from two to 80 or 90. Lot of energy on display on stage and in the audience as the Suspects ripped though “I Say A Little Prayer”, “Chain of Fools”, “Pink Cadillac”, “Jumping Jack Flash” and others. Good times, brothers and sisters, good times.

Naturally, I thought one song would hook The Neurons. It did. The blighters brought the duet, “Knew You Were Waiting” with Aretha Franklin and George Michael. The Suspects did cover the song last night as well.

Time to fly. Be strong and stay positive and Vote Blue in 2024. I’ll do the same. Coffee has been consumed. Here’s the music video. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: Slowed

Thursday, June 13, 2024, begins with a front’s impact. Chilliness rules the night and fends off the morning sun’s advances, rising through the fifties into the sixties, holding off on the seventies until afternoon. It sounds like I’m talking about decades or periods, but I’m referencing the temperatures in Fahrenheit. Right now, we’ve settled on a comfy 80 F.

While I’m still RICE-ing my right ankle, we plan to see the Green Show on the Oregon Shakespeare Festival bricks tonight. The performing band, Rogue Suspects, is one of our favorite. Through regular attendance of their shows, we’ve become friends with several of them. Can’t wait to enjoy their music tonight. They cover a wide range of rock, blues, pop. Sometimes they’re focus on a specific performer, like Aretha Franklin or The Eagles. Don’t know what we’ll get tonight, but they always give us a solid performance.

The Rogue Suspects 2023

Some good news from the Supremes about the abortion pill, mifepristone, was read this morning. Naturally I thought, man, ain’t that good news. That thought triggered The Neurons into starting the Sam Cooke song, “Ain’t That Good New” from 1964, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark still legal). Had to pause a mo’ to reflect that this recorded performance was sixty years ago.

Be positive and strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s Sam Cooke. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: smooottthhh

Sprummer still thrives in Ashlandia in southern Oregon. Clouds have departed again, leaving our June 12, 2024, coated with blue. Temperatures sitting a 65 F, they’re getting ready to stand and take us into the low to mid 80s. Windows are open and a winterish zephyr is snaking through our Wednesday, depositing chill pockets. It’s fresh, invigorating, and pleasant.

I’m hanging about the house with a bum ankle. RICE is the recipe – rest, ice, compress, and elevate — so I’m nixing my coffee shop routine. Writing at home as much as possible around interruptions. No beer with friends tonight, either.

I enjoy music and read several posts each day where they incorporate music. ‘Classic rock’ tops my list but I enjoy other sounds beyond that. I’m always surprised by how often people will say that a song isn’t to their liking.

Then I get reflective about what I mean about that. Many songs exist that I enjoyed at one point which know doesn’t work for me. Part of that I suppose is because my tastes have changed, or it could be that at some point I was overexposed to the song and became sick of it. “My Sharona” is one of these songs which now make me change the station. Several other syrupy songs are on my perpetual do-not-play-change-channel-list, like “Sugar Sugar.” Woof. But the whole process led me down a road where I wondered, am I just not discriminating about music?

Today’s song was called up by The Neurons because I was waiting for several phone calls. I’d earlier decided to slow down and take it easy, encouraging The Neurons to plug up the morning mental music stream (Trademark lazing) with everything from Frank Sinatra (“Nice & Easy Does It”) to The Eagles (“Taking It Easy”), Foreigner (“Walking Slow”), and “Slow Ride” (Foghat). But then, checking the time and wondering about the calls had The Neurons bring Blondie and “Call Me” from 1982 storming in. So that’s le music du jour.

Looking for a video to share, I found Deborah Harry performing with an orchestra at something called “Night of the Proms” (Rotterdam, Netherlands, 1997). It was fun and energetic performance. Hope you find it as fascinating as moi.

Meanwhile, looking up “Night of the Proms”, I discovered holy smoke, this is a pretty big, serious dealio in Europe. It even happens here in the U.S. Color me embarassed by my ignorance. After that, I watched a half dozen more “Night of the Proms” videos.

Stay positive and test negative (COVID is rising again) and Vote Bleu in 2024. Coffee has been swallowed, calls have been received. Time to make like a banana and slip away. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: ouchy

Sprummer continues its Ashlandia rule, with signs of summer leaking in. Already 72 F and intensely sunny, clouds have shifted in, and our high will crest at 87 F. Meanwhile, cooler temps are petering in, according to forecasts, with highs dropping into the upper seventies.

I injured my right ankle again last night. Just stepped up onto the door’s threshold and that thing went snap crack and I was down and in pain. A night of RICE helped and I can hobble today but I need to follow up with ortho and pursue the answer to the question, what the heck?

The cats’ responses to my injury and condition was amusing and interesting. When I sang my song of pain and flopped down, Papi reacted, “Run away!” Tucker came over and rubbed his head against mine and purred.

Later, when my wife had set me up with my RICE package, Papi wanted out. Now, he normally pays little attention to my wife. This time, he came in, walked past me, and appealed to her to let him out.

Meanwhile, Tucker was yelling for food in the night’s depths. This was despite his bowl full of kibble. I shouted back that I was in pain and couldn’t help him so please have some empathy and shut the fuck up. Well, he was immediately quiet, and then came to me on the bed, settled himself against me and purred.

I owe Marjorie Taylor Greene for today’s music in the morning mental music stream (Trademark drifing). In an interview with convicted liar Paul Bannon (cough, cough) about Greene’s stand on defunding NATO, MTG accused Rachel Maddow of being the fringe. She of the wildfire-causing space lasers said, “It’s not fringe at all. It’s also not fringe because most Americans also agree that the United States should not be funding a war in Ukraine.”

“So when we’re going to talk about the question, we’re going to ask the question, who is fringe?” she added. “It’s actually Rachel Maddow is the fringe person in this story. It’s not me. It’s Rachel Maddow.”

Guess that makes me fringe, as I support NATO. See, I remember why NATO was created in WWII’s aftermath. And I support Ukraine in the face of Russia’s wars and attempts to forcibly rebuild the USSR.

Anyway, as I laughed at MTG, The Neurons pulled up Bob Dylan’s song, “It Ain’t Me Babe”. There are several versons but I went with Dylan’s original. I just like its simplicity.

Stay positive, remain strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music. See you on the other side of midnight. Cheers

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