Sunda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Yes, the United States is taking a deep nosedive into being an authoritarian state under Trump.

Didn’t start with him. No. We’ve been on this course almost since the nation’s inception. Growing differences in ideologies fed rising polarization. Voter apathy and a two-party system that often operates more like private clubs threw on heavy and recurring douses of high-octane fuel. One issue voters contributed. So did a professional class of politicians homesteading in Congress, more eager for continued employment and personal prestige and power than effective governing, or even the rules of order. A deliberate decision for several news outlets to blatantly skew news to promote their agendas helped the flames grow brighter and hotter.

Dark money in political donations is a cause. As is the growing wealth divide. That divide has always been there. We’ve had robber barons before. Railroad, oil, and ranching empires. Now we have power-hungry oligarchs corrupting the system and controlling the technology and means of communications. As our founders warned, don’t trust the bankers. Beware of the money men. And, as always, beware of religion taking over the state. Even if that religion revolves around the worship of cash and power.

With these issues, things are frequently simplified and boiled down to semantics. Sound bites. PR campaigns. Streaming and television ads. When does life begin? What is sex and gender? Who has the right to citizenship and due process? What is meant by a ‘well-regulated militia’?

Republicans in recent years have become effective bigfooting facts and the truth. Now they’re attacking science and education as the enemy. Outlawing words, history, books, and ideas. They’ve long wanted to reduce the size of the Federal government. We all know the famous quote about drowning it in the bathtub.

Of course, our eagerness as a nation and as individuals to embrace cults and saviors is complicit. We want order. But we want equal rights. Principled people are requested to make decisions and lead us. But principled people in charge are growing rarities. It costs money to run a political campaign. Big donors want something in return for their money. Bullying tactics are employed. Toe the line or you’re gone. Executive Orders become royal decrees. Doesn’t matter what Congress appropriated; a POTUS gets in office and attaches strings to the spending. My way or no way.

It’s little surprise that threats, bullying, and being obstinate is the usual political tactic of choice. Many of us learn it via parenting, from being parents or being ruled by parents. “Do it like this because I said so.” “Do your homework or you won’t get dessert.” That parenting and teaching style, that management style has been reinforced by popular culture via television shows and movies. It takes place in sports. How many players will simply ‘hold out’ for more money and better conditions? Workers are forced to strike for better conditions because executives and CEOs want greater profits even at the cost of workers’ health, lives, and safety. Being tough and strong means not backing down. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Except that’s exactly what we do. Taking it to the ultimate step, corporations and the wealthy demand conditions to build new factories. Tax breaks. Special rights. If they don’t get it, they’ll take their manufacturing elsewhere. For the affected communities, it’s often lose-lose. It is effectively financial terrorism as a negotiating ploy.

So it goes, a long and ugly downward spiral, the perfect mélange of power, money, capitalism, apathy, ignorance, and greed.

We are not the first nation to face this challenge. We were one of the first nations to attempt a democratic rule of the people, by the people, for the people. Catchy slogan, isn’t it? As always, who should be included as part of ‘the people’ is in disagreement. Women weren’t originally included. Blacks were marginally involved. Indians? No. Gays, lesbians? Never thought of. Many still don’t want to think of them. Claims that it’s against science. Or their religion. Or it personally offends them. Myths about it all are created and circulated. “Blacks are dumber.” “Gays groom children.” Anecdotal tales are held up as absolute truths. See Willy Horton. See ‘the welfare queen.’ Or for a more modern example, see ‘DEI’. Now many live in fear of the servant of the people, the current White House resident, unsure of how he’ll wield power, unsure what it’ll do to our lives, unsure what we can do about him, afraid of the economic and political forces he’s accumulating, afraid of him acting as a power of one.

We’ll probably survive this threat posed by Trump and the spineless GOTP and their base. But we’re not likely to address the structural deficiencies which brought us to this point. That’s hard work. Challenging. We disagree on too many elements to come together and fix it. Or many wealthy people want more wealth. Wealth spells improved comfort. More security. Greater freedom. So, aided by the wealthy, indifferent, and uninvolved, we’ll keep devolving until even our name is a mockery of who we pretend to be:

The United States of America.

Twosda’s Theme Music

At 4:07 AM, the cat announced, “Let’s go!” Yes, he batted and chatted me awake enough to sleep walk to the door and release him back into the wild. He didn’t stay in the wild long. Cold, wind, and hunger drove him back in. “Not that wild, are you?” I asked him. He meowed back.

Thus began Twosda, April 22, 2025, much as many other days begin. Twosda and Thirstdas are the worse for me in this regard. My wife gets up early on Mun-Wen-Fri to attend exercise class. She deals with the cat between 6:30 and 8 AM on those days. But today has Papi testing the limits, in and out. I suspect he has two twins and they’re taking turns at this.

It was 39 F at 4:30 AM. If you trust Alexa. I asked it the temperature after Papi came back in. I was curious because it felt cold to my half-naked body. Like Sun & Mun, today features a clear blue-sky sauce and a glaze of sunshine with a tincture of wind and mild temperatures that lose their punch in the mid to upper sixties.

Trump continues to pile instability on instability, crazy on crazy, losses on losses. Like all great leaders, he sets ridiculous goals using ideologically-driven data, fails to take many details and factors into account, and then pretends it’s going great as everyone else prepares to get out the toilet plunger because this shit is overwhelming the crapper. He is consistently terrible and proud of it. Living in a Teflon-coated bubble, he’ll probably never recognize his insanity and the disastrous, negative impact he delivered to millions of people.

Unless, of course, his secret goal is to completely undermine and destroy the United States. That’s also possible. He could well be in collusion with Russian and oil oligarchs and are busy setting the table up to establish a powerful global cabal. Makes as much sense as any other shit he spreads.

They say that the Roberts Court is finally getting a backbone. “They’ll reign Trump in.” Ha. I think Trump is already smirking at the Roberts Court as he says, “Hold my Big Mac.” Harvard and other universities are suing the Trusk Regime. He doesn’t care. He’s already destabilized and disrupted our education systems and research programs. A third of the national NOAA weather offices have lost their leases. We’ll see what that does to the ability to warn about weather disasters. Then, Trump and Noem have been dismantling FEMA, so when these disaster squat on communities and drop a load, the state and community will struggle to recover and rebuild. Meanwhile, DOGE is raiding personal data and will probably weaponize that on behalf of Russia. He’s truncated international alliances and friendships that effectively worked for over half a century, isolating our nation. Besides all that, he’s been running due process over with a golf court.

And Trump and his supporters think this is just great. Anyway…onward.

When I first heard this Led Zeppelin song when I was thirteen, I thought, holy fucking shit. That was a startling development because I’d never sworn before that. That’s when I took up coffee, too. It all seemed to go together.

The song — “How Many More Times” — is in my morning mental music stream for reasons which The Neurons have sealed. They have better security than Kristi Noem and keep secrets more effectively than Pet (Pete) Hegseth. Not saying much, given how terrible and sloppy the Trump Regime has demonstrated itself to be, outside of the Musk-driven DOGE dogs.

Here is the music. When I listened to it today, my inner thirteen-year-old sat up and said, “Holy fucking shit.” This is a recording of a live show. Anyone familiar with Zep knows it’s gonna be a jam and will vary a bit from what was on the album.

Coffee has again insinuated itself into my body’s systems. I’m prepared to rock another day, at least until nap time later today. Hope your day is as purpose-filled as you need it. Carpe diem. Cheers

Munda’s Theme Music

My body and mind were unanimous. More sleep was wanted. Yesterday was busy with an Easter Brunch. We’d been preparing all week. 10:15, we set off to go help with setup. By 11:30, all were there. A smorgasbord awaited. Mexican quiche, salmon with asparagus, salmon and cream cheese rolls. Dutch babies and lemon cake for dessert. Salads. Juices and libation to make it chippier. Easter egg hunt and korn hole. A half dozen present shared their latest stories about demonstrating against Trump in Ashland and Medford. 2 PM, it was all over.

Over to a friend’s house for his 93rd birthday. Just family and my wife and I. He has health issues and didn’t want a gathering. After singing the birthday song, witnessing the candle blowout, and visiting for two hours, we headed home to unpack and wash everything.

Blue skies were the day’s order. Light wind kept it from becoming too warm. 69 F was the tops. Today seems like it looked over yesterday’s shoulder and copied the weather.

I reminded my body and mind that sleeping in wasn’t an option. Today is Food & Friends deliveries. Crank up the car, pick up the food, and roll through the streets on route 3 to knock on doors and ring bells and drop off a small meal in southeastern Ashlandia. I’m the driver; my wife makes the deliveries.

Then, finally, it’ll be back to writing at the coffee shop for a few hours, and then home to wash clothes and attend yard work. The grass and weeds are gladded by the sunshine. It’s all shooting up fast.

Papi is beside himself with happiness by the time the air warms. It’s rolled up to 49 F now. He heads outside and sniffs out the sunshine. Then wind sniffs him out and he’s back in. It’s a never-ending game of ‘In & Out’!

The mountain air loads the night with temperatures that dribble down into the mid thirties. That temp feels colder. But we’re on the regular Ashlandia spring track. Only troubling thing is we’re not seeing any bees. They’re normally all over the place with their buzzing presence. Their absence disturbs.

Yesterday’s Easter Trump dump again illuminated his pathetic ways. That vitriol and lie-filled text mess is a sign of an insecure, demented, ignorant person. Trump’s dark forces again rose to show what a sinister and ugly place the United States is becoming under his hand as two young and wholly innocent German tourists were detained and deported, all for the crime of not having accommodations already reserved. Such fools are now in charge. Then there’s Trump’s undocumented bullshit broadside against Abrego Garcia. WTF, United States. Is this truly your vision?

With those thoughts spinning through my groovy organic thought machine, The Neurons spun up Aerosmith in the morning mental music stream: “Same Old Song and Dance”. Last time I used this ditty was in 2019. Trump occupied the White House then. I wrote back on that day,

Reading the news yesterday and today, I was shaking my head, partially laughing while crying. You know, it was the same old story.

That led to me streaming Aerosmith.

It’s the same old story
Same old song and dance, my friend
It’s the same old story
Same old story
Same old song and dance

It was an easy song to identify with when I was a teenager and the song was released. When you asked questions, you often heard, “That’s just how it is. That’s how it goes.” It was always the same old song and dance, no matter what you were asked.

So here we go. Trump is attacking and bullying whatever he can — law, courts, common sense, history, morality, it’s all open to a Trump attack. He’s like a puppy gnawing on clothes, shoes, and furniture. Nothing is safe from his brainless chewing. A puppy does far less damage, though. A puppy will grow out of it. Trump, with his deteriorating and aging mental capacity, will get worse.

Same ol’ story, same ol’ song and dance.

Have the best day you can, my friend. Fueled with coffee, I’ll rock on for another day, it seems. Cheers

The Learning Dream

My wife and I were at a pool. I somehow got involved in a swimming class. Others were doing it. There was a white cloth or panel on the pool’s bottom. Our guidance was to take a deep breath, dive to the bottom, get the item, swim to the other side of the pool and surfaced.

My wife laughed. “He’s a really strong swimmer. He’ll do that without trying.”

I did. I’m not a strong swimmer but I’m good at holding my breath.

After doing that on the first attempt, they set me loose in free-practice to keep getting better.

Next, we moved inside. Now I was helping with some kind of television or streaming shopping channel. I was to write on a piece of cardboard and then slid the info forward so some announcer could see it. The info was being given to me by another person, and I was to keep writing the new price as it came in and show it.

Well, I screwed it up the first two times. I did well the third time, and then the people told me to keep practicing. I did for a while and then someone came by and told me I had a new assignment. This involved reading textbooks. The assignment confused me. “I’m just supposed to read them all? Will there be tests?” Yes, I’m to read them all, astounding me. A large range of topics were included. Stacks of books awaited my eyes. And yes, I would be tested.

I began that assignment and was startled about how fast I discovered I could read and learn. After four of five books, I was just fanning the pages. Witnessing this, my wife chastised me. “You’re supposed to be learning this.” I laughed back. “I am. Give me a book. I’ll read it and you can ask me questions, and I’ll answer them.”

She gave me a book. I read it. She asked me three questions, and I answered them all.

Another instructor arrived. I was being taken to a new class. The instructor said, “In this class, you’ll be taught how to use energy to change things.” I asked, “What kind of things will I be able to change?”

She answered, “Wait and see.”

The dream ended as a cat tapped my hand and meowed.

It was a very uplifting and energizing dream.

Thirstda’s Wandering Political Thoughts

Once again, without much urging, I think, what fucking idiots.

Unfortunately, I’m in that frame of mind many times as I read the news. This time, the fucking idiots are lawyers.

Lawyers are supposedly smart people. That’s what I’ve always been told. Admittedly, the few lawyers I’ve personally encountered did reduce my appreciation for lawyers’ intelligence. Now, after watching the news for the last five years, I feel that they standards have been steadily dropping. Did you read their arguments about the ‘stolen election’? Did you see their performance in Trump’s trials? Did you read about the Roberts Court decision that Trump has immunity for his acts as POTUS? Sure, they tried to write around it and explain that it’s not absolute. You can bet your ass that Trump is thinking, “I’m President, and I’m making these decisions, and the Supreme Court said that I can’t be tried for that.”

Yes, it was a stupid fucking decision.

I’m telling you, lawyers are dumbing down. Soon, the requirements for being a lawyer will be, “Do you speak English, have five million dollars, and will vow allegiance to the great and mighty sacred god, Donald Trump? Here you go: you’re a lawyer.”

The kickoff for this new round of low regard for lawyers was a New York Times headline:

Law Firms Made Deals With Trump. Now He Wants More From Them.

“To avoid retribution, big firms agreed to provide free legal services for uncontroversial causes. To the White House, that could mean negotiating trade deals — or even defending the president and his allies.“

Absolute fucking fools, I think. Fucking idiots. Have these lawyers not been awake and aware of Donald fucking Trump for the last twenty years? He lacks honor. Has gone back on his word several times, describing it as being ‘flexible’. His only principle is, “How can I further enrich myself?” Secondary to that is, “How can I make others pay for making fun of me and not worshipping me as the greatest ever?” The man is a documented liar. He violated his marriage vows with affairs. He will cheat these law firms out of every fucking dollar and shred of dignity they have.

Capitulating to Trump is not the answer. Reading and thinking individuals know this. Michael Cohen warned us. So I want to know: how did these lawyers get their degrees and pass the bar without being able to fucking read and think?

The House Dream

I dreamed my wife and I were setting up a business. But we needed a place for that. Someone overheard us and said that they have such a place available: their house.

So, we, with the couple who owned their house and several of their friends, went to the people’s house. My wife and I walked around it. Beautiful place. Several levels. Large, off-white, a modern design, resembling something Frank Lloyd Wright may have designed in the way it used light, space, and materials, it was well-appointed with expensive furniture, appliances, and paintings.

My wife and I were impressed. The owners showed us a central rectangular room where they’d set up a small factory. My wife and I agreed, “This would be perfect for us.” Yes, others agreed. The way they said it cause some suspicions. Realizing that, the others tried reassuring me. My suspicions remained but I inquired about buying the house. It was agreed that we could buy it right then and move in.

The original owners had another house on their property. We were now neighbors. People had to go through our property on foot to reach the other house. My wife and I invited friends over for a small gathering. Our cat was with us, exploring the new home and giving its approval. We sat with our friends in the living room, talking, having drinks.

A man burst in through a door. Large, middle-aged, he was armed with several knives. He was also drunk. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his side. Then I wrangled him onto a sofa and shouted to my wife to grab the knives while I held him. She came over but did nothing. I repeated what I’d told her but she barely responded. Finally, exasperation seizing me, I held the man’s wrists and pried the knives way.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked my wife. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

She moved away and sat. It seemed like she was in shock.

I held onto the man’s shoulders and told him, “Don’t even think about running away.” Drunkenly grinning, he agreed. I told others to call the police.

The man looked familiar. A friend said, “Don’t you recognize him?”

I asked the man, “What’s your name?”

He said it, and my friend said, “He was an NFL quarterback.” I asked for confirmation. Beaming, the drunk guy replied, “That’s me.” Then he jumped up and ran out of the house. I started giving chase but stopped, thinking, WTF?

A large number of people were outside, moving like ants toward the other house. They were expensively dressed. I asked one, “What’s going on?” She explained that they were all invited to a party.

They were a quiet crowd. I guess several hundred were there. I organized them into a line along the path, although I don’t know why I did that. The bottleneck was the front door of the other house.

Dream end.

Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts

I read several headlines this morning about a former NFL player.

Former NFL tight end Don Hasselbeck dies of a heart attack at age 70

Former Buff, NFL tight end Don Hasselbeck dies of a heart attack at age 70

Ex-Giants TE dies after going into cardiac arrest: ‘There is a 6’ 7” hole in our hearts’

Former Super Bowl winning tight end Don Hasselbeck dies at 70

Former NFL TE Don Hasselbeck, father of Matt, dies at age 70

Ex-NFL TE Don Hasselbeck, father of former QBs Matt and Tim, dies at 70

NFL Legend Don Hasselbeck Passes Away at 70 

Don Hasselbeck dies at age 70: Former NFL tight end won Super Bowl with Raiders

It fascinates me how many different ways the headlines for the same story is presented. Some call Don Hasselbeck a legend. A few mention his sons, or just one of his sons. All mention his age, and that he was in the NFL. Most mention he’s a tight end or TE. Several call out the different teams he played for. A couple note that a heart attack killed him.

I probably saw him play on television, but I didn’t remember his name, as it happens with many pro athletes, musicians, actors, writers, and leaders. Only a few catch and hold our attention.

I guess they all give what they can, though. I respect that.

Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts

Planning for Easter Brunch is underway. I am fortunately a passive participant. My wife keeps me apprised of developments. She was searching for some Easter-themed drinks. I found some for her. She rejected them. I did find Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed at that.

“Prude wants to have a Prosecco bar,” my wife says. Prude and her hubby, Carl, are hosting the Easter brunch for the third consecutive year.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’ll chat with her. The brunch is getting big. Twenty-seven people are going to be there.”

“Twenty-seven.”

My wife nods in confirmation.

I do the math. “That’s almost twice as usual.”

“I know.”

My wife gives details of new invitees. Many are people I don’t know. I’ve heard about some of them via my wife’s recounting of ‘Tales from the Y.’ The main characters are all members of the Y, like my wife, and they bring a guest, like me. Most participate in Mary’s exercise class. Mary is celebrating her 50th anniversary of her class next year. The Y wants my wife to organize something for them. Mary’s exercise group has given birth to multiple friendships and activities, including a book club, New Year’s Eve gatherings, and nights out to go dancing.

“Deborah is in charge of the coffee,” my wife says. She’s talking about the brunch. “I mentioned the Chocolate Bunny Coffee. She laughed but said she is not buying that.”

I’m not surprised. Deborah takes her coffee as seriously as I do.

“Mary told me that she has champagne left from a party at her house last year that she’ll donate,” my wife says. “I told her it’s supposed to be Prosecco. Mary said that Prude told her that you and I are going to be there at 10:30 to help set up.”

“We are?” I helped with that last year. Everybody prepares and brings food. A buffet is set up in the kitchen and dining room. The drinks and coffee and dining tables are outside.

“I don’t know,” my wife says. “I’ll talk to Prude.”

I have to decide what to make. Last year I made a potato casserole. It seemed pretty popular. I don’t know what I’ll make this year. I was thinking about a French toast casserole.

Maybe I’ll just buy a fruit tray.

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