I was in the living room, doing light exercises and watching the television.
It was 10 PM. The temperature had hit 101.5 F at our house. Now it had dropped to 80. I’d gone around, opening the windows to cool us off.
Strong skunk smells began coming in with the cool air. Cursing, I went around closing the windows I’d opened about ten minutes before.
As I was doing this, my wife came in. “I heard something knock over a garbage can.”
“Our garbage can?” I asked. It’s behind a fence so –
“I don’t know where it was. I think it was on the street.”
Confirming that Papi was safely inside, my wife went to the front door. Picking up a flashlight, I joined her, turning on the porch light and unlocking the door. She did a little start. As I went out, she took hold of my shirt and followed.
I shined the flashlight along the dark street. Sirens were rising. Emergency vehicles raced along the main road about a hundred feet below us.
“See any trashcans?” my wife asked.
“Just that one.” I shone the light on a bulky shape across the street.
“That trashcan has eyes,” my wife said.
“It does,” I agree.
At that point, we knew it was a bear. Black bears are common in our area. Down on all fours, the bear looked about four feet tall at its shoulders. It casually turned and took a few steps toward us.
My wife took a few steps backwards.
I laughed.
The bear disappeared behind some bushes lining the street. “Let’s go in the house,” I suggested.
“Okay.” As we went in, my wife said, “I was ready to give you a quick push and then shuffle backwards into the house.”
I chuckled. “I wasn’t worried. I know I’m faster than you.”
She laughed.
I looked back with the flashlight. The beer loped up the street.
It’s cool now but heat and fire weather warnings are up. Our present temp is 68 F but we’re bracing for a 96 F high as the heat dome comes our way. Will the jet stream save us? If it doesn’t they warn us, brace yourself for temperatures over 100 with a heat index that pushes it much higher.
My wife and I had the case of the missing mangos this morning. “Hey, didn’t we buy mangos?” she asked, looking around.
Yes, I agreed, also looked around. We began a search. Not in the frig, on the counter anywhere. Didn’t ‘somehow’ get left in the car. At last: the last place we looked: with the potatoes.
My wife said. “I was tired when we were putting the food away.”
Case solved.
This is unlike the case of the missing senator.“He’s alive,” the GOP proclaims, but Mitch McConnell still hasn’t been seen in public for almost two months. It’s starting to be a lot like Trump’s war.
Trump’s war with Iran is also in a limbo states. Back in March, Trump and Hegseth claimed the war was over, with Trump declaring it was an “unmitigated success”.
That was six months ago.
Then Trump has gone on and off the record about what’s happening, swatting away any attempt to being held accountable to We the People. “I’m gonna bomb them,” he texts, then reverses himself. Oil prices rise and drop. Oil companies are making record profits. The rest of us scramble to deal with rising prices. That’s standard under GOP guidance: the rich get richer, the poor are told to suck rocks.
The Iran war is just one of many incomplete Trump mysteries. Other is, what happened to releasing the Epstein files? Trump promised he would release the files. A law was passed that they must be released. After months of distraction, Trumpnions are still holding them back on behalf of the bossman.
Thanks to Pirro’s terrible legal skills in leading the DoJ, the case about the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool is much stronger. Let the records show that it’s just as we thought, that Trump’s contractor botched the job and Trump scrambled to save face by screaming, “Vandals! Plots! Democrats!” Just as he does every time he screws up.
Yes, it’s been the summer of Trump failures. Building toward a year.
Except for grifting; as always, he’s taking care of himself, making a ton of money by making the Oval Office into a crime boss’s golden lair. Between his ruthless need to be honored and his insane hunger to appear rich and powerful, he’s become a Bond villain caricature, which is something, since they’re often caricatures to begin.
Except, also, for the tournament he won at one of his golf courses. He won that. Everyone outside of his grift circle immediately questioned whether he cheated. This is because he’s Donald Trump, a known liar, adulterer, and cheater. Just pick a topic. Look what he promised and claimed. If you’re a MAGAt or Republican, you’re fine because the ends justify the means for you. So, Trump Double Standards are employed.
But they’ll reach that final FAFO moment when they’ve burned it all down. Given their recent history, they’ll pivot: create conspiracies. Blame others about what went wrong.
Just like their leader, Donald J. Trump.
Your Trump Quote(s) of the Day:
Trump on Jeffrey Epstein:
Trump on Affordability:
And the only truth Trump has ever uttered:
Today’s occupant in the morning mental music stream is “Power Failure” by Procol Harum. Released in 1971, it’s an old favorite of mine from a distant era. The song is about bands and the struggles they face. But I think it translates well to politics.
Lyrics (h/t to AZLyrics.com)
Climbing out of open windows Crashing down from broken stairs Keeping watch on smoking cinders Falling over burning chairs Tossed and crossed and screwed in transit Broken , splintered, bruised and thrown Badly shattered, gale force frighty Rrushed across and shown alone Speech reduced by poor relations Strung from weeks of self abuse Chopped up, churned out weeks of greazy Spark plugs burned up, power’s fused
That imagery spells Trump failure and GOP collapse.
Hope your Monday — or whatever day — sparkles with magic that invigorates and moves you on to new heights and familiar joys.
I don’t usually keep my phone near me when I’m in bed. Had a lifetime in the military, along with my time in marketing. People always wanted me immediately available.
Well, no longer! It’s one of the declarations of independence I made when I retired from all that work stuff. The phone stays in the other room.
Except, yesterday, it didn’t. I wasn’t feeling well. My car was in the shop for routine maintenance. I was waiting for them to call or text to tell me it was ready. So I had the phone on my nightstand.
They called about four-ish, asking if they could keep it overnight. No, nothing major found; they were just short-handed and overscheduled.
Shrugging it off, I agreed, sure. “Call me in the morning when it’s ready.”
I went back to sleep, off and on, and forgot about the phone.
Until six AM this morning.
The phone pinged with a message. In irritation, I thought, sisters. That was more a matter of my mood than anything. My sisters have habits of getting up early and sending texts early. They’re on the east coast of the US, so they’re three hours ahead of me. Texts that they’re sending at 8 AM are pinging on my phone at 5 AM.
But it wasn’t my sisters.
Nor was it the car repair shop.
No, it was Google Health, formerly known as Fitbit.
Google Health pinged me awake at 6 AM to tell me that I didn’t have a good night of sleep.
We were in the home office, each quietly doing computer things. Sitting back, I turned my chair to face her. “You know how that garage door light bulb went out?”
The background: there’s a light that goes on when you press the button to raise or lower the garage door. It was no longer going on.
She nodded, waiting for me to drop the other shoe.
“Well, when you were out the other day, I replaced the bulb. That didn’t fix it, though.”
“Oh,” my wife said.
“Anyway.” I gestured at the computer. “I figure, must be something else. So I’m researching online. One of the things I came across was that I should use a light bulb specifically made for garage door lifts.”
My wife frowned. “What?”
I laughed. “Exactly. We’ve lived here twenty years. I think I replaced the bulb one before. I replaced our Half Moon Bay garage door light one time. I’ve never bought a special bulb for it.”
“Why would the garage door need a special bulb?” my wife asked.
“It’s supposed to be ‘more rugged’.”
She and I both laughed. “I think that’s crap,” she said.
Michael Seidel, writer 