Tag: trust

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Oceanastic

Good mornin’ all. Tuesday, August 16, 2024, finds me on the Oregon coast, where I’ll be spending the week. It’s 62 but the weather geeks claims it feels like 77 F. Good thing, as it’s sunny with some clouds, but will only crank up to 65 F here.

Our regular cat sitter is staying with the boys, Tucker and Papi. Tucker is happy with her but Papi, ever wary, is like, “Who are you and what did you do with my people?” She has only done this for us about fifteen years. It takes Papi time to trust.

I don’t know what we’re doing today. Been up a couple hours. Had my coffee. Listening to the others slowly awaken and begin talking about the day. Think I’ll just go for a walk on the beach.

Haven’t seen any news for today or yesterday. I’m comfortable with that for the moment. Color in song titles remains my theme concept for this week. I did “Red Red Wine” and “Dirty White Boy” in the last two days. so I’m going with blue today. When you think about songs with blue in their titles, a blue streak of songs roar through my mind. Or so The Neurons say, cranking out melodies from Elvis Presley, Elton John, Linda Ronstadt, Foreigner, U2, Badfinger, Willy Nelson, and on and on. The Neurons eventually introduced “Bell Bottom Blues” by Eric Clapton to the morning mental music stream (Trademark blue) but also Kenny Wayne Shepherd with “Blue on Black”. But then The Neurons found an old favorite among my memories, “Devil In A Blue Dress”, a 1966 song by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. We had that puppy on a 45, shorthand for a small vinyl record that runs at 45 RPM. I was ten then, and it made an impact on me like an asteroid hitting the earth.

Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue. Coffee is now circulating through my body. Yes, I know that’s not how it works, but it is how I visualize it, so there. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Well Done!

Holy Cow!

The ad is based on a poll question:

“A recent poll of swing state voters from The Bullfinch Group recently asked a question that gets to the heart of the ad’s message: Which candidate would you feel comfortable babysitting your kids? Harris was the clear favorite, with 45% picking the vice president, and only 20% choosing Donald Trump.”

Of course, we really want to know who had the other 35%?

Vote Blue.

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Say What?

I said to my wife (yet again), “I can’t believe that NBC hired Ronna McDaniel.”

I’ve told her this several times since the news was announced. Ronna McDaniel is the former RNC chair. “Wny? She has no integrity. She supports the idea that the 2020 POTUS election was stolen or not fair in some way.”

“She sold out her name,” my wife replied. “A person who sells out their name to take a job will see which way the wind is blowing and change. Give it a few months.”

“That’s my point,” I answered. “She has no spine. No integrity. She never acknowledged that Joe Biden fairly won the election. All those lawsuits that said, didn’t happen. All that lack of evidence.”

I went on for a few minutes but my wife had zoned out. Her eyes had shifted to her computer screen. She wasn’t even pretend nodding to show she was still listening.

Yes, I’m angry. I clearly remember news reports declaring that Federal officials in Trump’s government said, “There is no evidence that any voting system deleted or lost votes, changed votes or was in any way compromised.”

That didn’t matter to Ronna. No sir. She now belonged to Trump.

“I think saying that there were problems with 2020 is very real. I don’t think that’s election denying,” McDaniel told Wallace. “I’m from Wayne County. We had a woman send a note saying I’m being told to backdate ballots. We had to look into that. That’s deeply concerning. When you have friends who are poll-watching and being kicked out, that’s deeply concerning. We have every right to look at that.”

In the interview, Wallace pressed McDaniel if she believed Biden legitimately won the election.

“I think there were lots of problems with 2020. Ultimately, he won the election but there were lots of problems with the 2020 election,” she said. “But I don’t think he won it fair. I don’t. I’m not going to say that.”

Excuse me, can you produce any evidence, Ronna? LIke, what were the results when you looked into the note from a ‘woman being told to backdate ballots.’ Was there evidence that was true? Or are you just throwing up bullshit?

That’s my primary concern with Ronna McDaniel as a member of the network she’s been consistently attacking and lying about since she became RNC chair. She was full of crap, making accusations and statements without backing it up with facts.

And now, you, NBC, are promoting this voice of lies, amplifying her as a serious person with serious positions, bending over backwards in the name of ‘bothsides’.

That is why you, NBC, have become part of the problem with US politics. You’re promoting a deceiver, a liar.

Which really demonstrates your own lack of scruples. No wonder that trust in the media keeps declining in America.

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The War Dream

War was just becoming a reality in this dream. No details about who although I was alert for militia to and individuals or small groups to come in.

Details are likewise sparse about the location. Along a lazy ocean. Cloud-streak greyish blue sky. Sands and grasses, a desolate place. Nothing familiar.

I was in my forties or fifties. Friends and family were absent. But I belonged to some sort of community. I told them war was going to commence. The majority were doubtful but being pretty certain, I set off north to collect intel because I’d heard some opposition was up that way. I had a feeling they were preparing to come down to our location and cause problems.

I was in flatlands. Staying along a road that ran parallel to the coastline, I walked, taking my time. Others accosted me about who I was and what I was doing. Two of them, a man and a teenage male, joined me. The man carried a small dog. We all had handguns but that was it.

Some opposition was spotted. We hid in scrub grass and watched. Seemed like they were looking for us. I headed toward the water and circled around them. Backtracking down the coastline from the road’s other side, I saw my companions were spotted. A man was aiming a gun at them.

Hurrying, I found another long rifle on the ground sticking out of the grass. Grabbing it, I shot the gun man three times. I then slipped forward and shot another gun man. He had a WW II Nazi helmet on. His skin became ash and fell from his body, leaving a skeleton in clothing and a helmet laying in sand and grass.

Returning to the other two, I urged one to take the rifle because I thought myself a poor shot and believed they’d do better. Continuing north, we encountered others who wanted to join us. By the time we returned to the community where I’d started, fifty men, women, and children had joined me.

We had few weapons, though. From what I’d gathered, I decided I knew where the enemy would come and set up a series of ambushes for them. Someone reported to me that the Army was arriving. I went out and met some of them set up as a watch. Speaking with them, I urged them to move because they were out of position and would be overtaken by the attacking force. They told me that I didn’t know what I was talking about. I discussed it further with them. They threatened me so I snapped and dressed them down. The senior of them said that I needed to talk to the colonel.

I went off and made my case to the colonel about why his forces were placed wrong. He dismissed my concerns and basically claimed that he knew better. Writing him off, I returned to my force. They asked me about the Army. I told them that they weren’t moving but when the enemy came down, they’d eventually realize they were wrong and move.

I saw some enemy soldiers moving along the beach. “Here they come now,” I told the rest. “Don’t shoot until more are here. Try to take them alive if you can but don’t put yourself into danger.”

Dream end.

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The Writing Moment

I walked around for days like all was alright. Although I smiled and engaged with others, I was an empty puppet, dealing with anxiety. The writer was agitated. The novel’s finish was supposedly in sight. That was the theory. He — the writer — knew the scantest bit of what was supposed to happen, like saying, you know it’ll snow this month because it’s winter and that’s what supposed to happen. That’s how nebulous it all was. So I kept thinking about it. What’s going to happen? Different avenues were considered and tossed out almost at once for different reasons.

I told myself, “I need to think about this.” No, I answered; overthinking matters, overanalyzing them, is your biggest weakness. Trust yourself, the writer. Trust the muses trying to guide you. Trust the emerging story. Don’t think. Just sit, drink your coffee, and write.

That advice actually worked. Two hours and almost sixteen pages later, what emerged astonished me. Never saw it coming at all. Yet it built on so many throw-away elements I’d embedded in the story as small pieces of verisimilitude.

Trust. Hard to win, hard to keep, even when it’s only with yourself.

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A Dad Dream

I was at some wildly busy location, flitting between meeting people, attending parties, eating foods — especially desserts — and working on some new business.

I’d arrived there via a large, black and shiny car provided by my father. The car was luxurious, expensive, and impressive. After hunting for a parking space, I double-parked on the street because I was late. Promising myself to come back soon to move the car because I might be blocking another in, I rushed into the complex. Piles of food were on tables, and I was urged to eat. I did eat some finger food, and a small bit of dessert, just to be nice, I told them, all of us laughing. The food was fantastic, so I had a little more and then went on to meet with others.

I encountered Dad. He was involved in some new business venture. To support his business plan, he’d developed a table of projected aggregate growth and had me look it over. I did, then went to meet with his potential backers.

The backers’ side, people who were going to fund Dad’s business, included my mentor. The mentor — never actually seen in the dream but heard from via others — had worked up numbers for Dad’s new business, too. The numbers between the two camps were grossly different. The two sides used me as an intermediary to bridge the differences. I mostly dealt with Dad, telling him again and again that my mentor thought Dad’s numbers were overly optimistic. We argued the venture’s fine points. I wanted to see his business plan but piqued, he refused to show me. He wouldn’t even tell me what the business was about, annoying me.

I went back to the mentor and spoke to an assistant, explaining Dad’s logic, defending it, really, and then asked to see their plans and projections. They wouldn’t let me have them and sent me back to Dad.

I returned to my car to move it, but there still wasn’t anywhere else to put it. I needed to leave it there, which worried me, but another person, a stranger to me, assured me it was fine and not to worry about it. I put the car out of mind.

I went back to Dad. He and my mentor were going to meet later. Dad told me to check into my room, clean up and rest so that I could join them later.

I went outside to a huge round bricked plaza. Great crowds of people prowled and socialized there because some convention was going on. Finding the front desk, I was given my room key. It was round, with concentric wheels of numbers on it. Each wheel of numbers told me where I was to go to find my room, starting with the outer wheel. The numbers were all in gold but used different fonts. As I looked at the wheel, a smiling man sitting in a chair, holding a drink, legs crossed, told me that the outer wheel’s numbers referred to the stairs to use. He then explained in an aside to a woman sitting beside him that the keys often confused newcomers.

But I knew how to use the key and told him. The outer gold letters were 4-2. I went off and found the stairs labeled 4-2. Before I went up to my room, though, Dad came and gave me his business plan to look over. Sitting down, I discovered that he’d hugely scaled it down from what he’d told me. It seemed like a completely different idea from what he’d explained, too. This had to do with some kind of ice cream confectionary shop that served other food with the ice cream. They were going to start with twenty shops in seven locations.

The changes dismayed me. I warned him that competition already existed doing what he proposed, and that his plan wasn’t as unique or revolutionary as he seemed to think. He was unfazed because the mentor had told him it was a good idea, and they were going to proceed. I was summoned to go eat, so I left it at that and went to find my table.

Dream end.

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