It’s just a bed.

 

The saga of the leaky ceiling had finally come to an end. In the long-ago days of this past summer, the external portion of the roof had been fixed but internally, the kids’ room was a hot mess. Eventually, a contractor was secured and he finished his task this week. The ceiling was better than new with nary a sag or hint of the mold that had forced the kids to camp out in the living room on couches for months. The time had come to move things back in and set it up for habitation again. The mother-in-law, naturally, took charge of proceedings; it is her house, after all, and there was always a terrible chance that things might go smoothly and stress-free.

Assembling Henry’s bed was straightforward, once all the pieces were finally located. The problem was Ewan’s bed or, more to the point, the lack thereof. You see, he decided a while back that he almost immediately regretted: he bought his buddy’s futon. In the act of getting rid of a perfectly serviceable bed to replace it with a combination of a substandard bed AND a mediocre couch, he had done himself quite a mischief. Luckily, we still had a bedframe and a box spring floating around; we just needed a mattress. Fortunately, I had a solution to that problem too…

I rolled into my room and began pulling down the top layers of a mountain. Two years’ worth of collected “I’ll sort that stuff someday”, “I’ll decide later if I even want to keep that”, and “When I make some room in the closet, I’ll hang that up”. When they make procrastination into an organized religion, I will be a high priest. After much tossing and flinging (mostly on to my own bed), I got to the layer I dreaded reaching. A pristinely made bed, topped off with a gaudy Christmas-themed fleece. Let me back up a bit… This is the bed of my wife, Cyndi. This was her bed from the day we moved to Oregon in 2015. This is the bed she slept in, spent most of her days in, and laid in while I gave her the countless dialysis treatments she endured, every single night for over seven years. This was the bed she laid in when I began to notice the awful red welts forming on her stomach and right breast, where I hoped she didn’t have cancer, and where she was when I found out she had something much, much worse…

I came home from Hospice House in Bend as a newly-minted widower on December 27^th, 2022 and did one of my maddest acts in a long list of denials: I completely stripped Cyndi’s bed and washed everything down to the last sheet and pillowcase. I remade her bed, fresh and spotless, and topped it off with the aforementioned Christmas fleece she so loved. A perfect bed, all ready for her, as if she was going to walk in the door any minute. Or ever again.

Let’s go back to the present. I’m in my disaster of a bedroom staring at a bed still waiting for it’s missing occupant, and I need to undo the bedding so Ewan can carry the mattress to his room. But I can’t. I just can’t do it, because the undoing of my work of almost two years ago is giving in to the fact that she is truly never going to sleep in this bed again. A brief emotional collapse later (and after being checked in on concernedly by both kids), I did it. Of course, I did, because if it were possible to hear her voice from what lies beyond, Cyndi would tell me that I have to do what’s best for our children, even though I have to do it alone now, even if it means moving on just a tiny bit.

So now, I’ve done what I needed to do: I have been at the verge of tears all day, but my children have proper places to sleep. I now have the mattress from the world’s worst futon piled on top of the box spring of Cyndi’s bed, and I have begun rebuilding the temple to the gods of procrastination on top of it. Because I can always sort that stuff out later.

 

And after all, it’s just a bed.

An hour of television worth remembering.

 Now, if I were to ask your opinion of "The Man from U.N.C.L.E.", I would expect a majority of you to have one of two responses: "What's that?" or "Wasn't that the bad Henry Cavil movie?"

(On a complete side tangent, it wasn't that bad; it wasn't great but it was ok. Also, Armie Hammer kind of killed any chance of a franchise, so there's that. Can we turn out one thing that Henry Cavil's passionate about and not screw it up, please?)

Back on topic, what I'm referring to is a great tv show from the 1960's that latched on to the spy mania that James Bond started and ran with it. I specifially want to draw your attention to one particular episode from the first season that is a personal favorite because of just how swinging '60s it is: "The Project Strigas Affair."

Now you have your leads, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, played by Robert Vaughn and David McCallum respectively. This time they hatch a caper to discredit a diplomat from some tiny fictional European country. Why? Who cares? Anyway, they lead him to believe that his country is going to be attacked with "Strike Gas" and he sets about to foil the plot. Napoleon and Illya enlist the help of a former chemist who now runs a small exteminator business to give their scheme an air of authenticity. They are unknowingly helped by the fact that the diplomat's assistant is a backstabbing little schemer himself and really wants his bosses' job. Hijinks ensue, the diplomat goes to great lengths to uncover the non-existent gas plot, makes an absolute ass of himself, gets ousted from his position and replaced by the assistant at the end; good guys win, bad guy loses, roll credits.

If that all sounds ridiculous, that's because it is. It's a swirl of tuxedos and evening gowns and cocktail parties stringing along a plan that doesn't make a lick of sense, but if you want to immerse yourself in the lifestyle of a spy for an hour minus commercials, this show's for you. Plus, I've saved the three best points for last:

1. The bumbling diplomat is played by none other than a pre-Hogan's Heroes Werner Klemperer, in classic form; if he didn't use this episode as his Colonel Klink audition reel, he should've.

2. Our slightly down on his luck exterminator is played by a pre-Star Trek William Shatner. Skinny, handsome, "aw, shucks" charm on full display.

3. The best of the lot, because he's taking what is essentiall the fifth male character and sinking his teeth into the scenery and having freshly graduated from the Keanu Reeves School of What The Hell Accent Is That Supposed To Be, is a pre-Star Trek Leonard Nimoy.

All that in one episode? That is ten pounds of the 1960's in a five pound bag all right.

With everything that's going on in the world right now, this show has been guilty pleasure escapism for me. If you Google "The Project Strigas Affair", you can find the episode online pretty easily, and who couldn't use 50 minutes of silly these days?

Independence Day: past, present, and future...

 Well, kids, the American Experiment made it to another birthday. I'm sure everyone celebrated appropriately, and I hope everyone still has the same number of fingers that they started with.

I had a memory surface this year. When the big one, the Bicentennial rolled around, I was a tiny schoolboy in the Pre-K class at the Horace Mann School in Washington D.C. At the end of the school year, they had a little pageant, of which I remember very little, save for exactly what I was wearing: I had a white button down with a red vest over it, with a little toothpick flag stuck in the lapel. Not just any flag, mind you, but one with a circle of stars with "76" in the center in place of the usual design. I had a pair of brown pants rolled up to the knees with long white socks beneath, ending in my shoes; my usual sneakers but with cardboard squares covered with tinfoil worked into the laces, giving the effect of buckles on the shoes. I looked positively colonial.

It dawned on me that whoever wins the Presidential election in the fall will be the President that will preside over the 250th Independence Day. The "Sestercentennial", and yes, I had to Google that, so you don't have to.

Now, we've all seen Donald Trump's gold gilded bathroom. We have a good idea of the man's sense of fashion and style. The gaudy spectacle that this man would inflict on this country would... honestly solidify a lot of the negative sterotypes held by the rest of the world about us. Joe Biden's probably would too, but his would be more beaches, barbeques, hot dogs, and fireworks; a simpler, more wholesome America. Plus, he won't plaster his name and his face all over gods-damned EVERYTHING. Eric Trump famously, incredulously stated that "His father built the New York skyline." (He didn't.) A couple of short years from now, Donald will be trying to put his face on Mount Rushmore.

So, I know some of you that read this are going to vote for Trump, and nothing I write will change your mind. (Who am I kidding; nobody reads this.) I just wanted to give those of you who, like me, are planning on voting for Biden (or whoever ISN'T Trump) just one more reason to do so. Let's have the party we deserve in 2026. Let's hope the American Experiment is still having birthdays by then.

True, if irrelevant facts

 I haven't touched this blog in almost four years, but I felt a long form rant coming on and, rather than inflict this on the people that follow me on the various social medias, I thought I'd pull the wooden stake from the heart of this blog and set it loose on the innocent townsfolk... that could be bothered click on the link. If you're reading this, thanks. Now, to beginneth the rant:

A lot of people are calling Donald Trump a liar. I know; Shock! Horror! A politician lied, alert the media! That is not, however, why he, and by extension his base, are dangerous. This is: his mastery of true, if irrelevant facts. I will further elaborate with my favorite example.

Donald Trump said, in one of his famous pep rally harangues, that "More people voted for him in 2020 than ever voted for any incumbent President running for re-election in history." If you get into the technicality weeds of the numbers, that statement is 100% true; every word. Now, if you say that, and only that, the average Trump voter thinks that he got the most votes, the election was stolen, etc., etc. There are two large caveats to that statement, however. The first is generational: the number of people that were, at the time of the 2016 election, aged 14-17, was much higher than the number of people that would die over the next four years, Covid-19 notwithstanding. Allow me to use 2019 as an example: even with the increase caused by Covid-19, 2.8 Million Americans died of all causes in 2019. However, over 4 Million Americans were born in 2001 and would have achieved voting age in 2019. (Google my numbers if you dispute me; it's a two minute search.)

Simply put: more people vote in every subsequent Presidential election because there are more people around for every subsequent Presidential election. Trump had nothing to do with it and, if you are a believer in vaccines and masks, you might say he actively worked against it, but that's not what we're covering here today.

The second caveat is simple: He got over 73 Million votes, making his statement, out of context, completely true. Joe Biden, however, got over 81 Million votes.

So, politicians lie. Donald Trump lies, Joe Biden lies, all politicians lie sometimes. You can pretty much tell when they're lying. Sometimes, it's when they're telling the truth that they do more damage; out of context, irrelevant truth.

I like Beto, but he's kind of an idiot; here's why:

Every time Beto O'Rourke looks into his shaving mirror, I'm reasonably sure he sees Jack Kennedy staring back at him, and that's a problem. The left has dreamt, deep down in their hearts, of banning assault rifles and taking them away from those that already owned them since long before anybody knew where Columbine was. Beto said it out loud and proud, and it was going to be mandatory. This was going to be his man-on-the-moon-by-the-end-of-the-decade moment, and he just knew it. 

That's not going to happen, not in the way he described, no way, no how. That's why you haven't heard much from him since.

A lofty, worthy ideal to be sure, but impossible. However, a slight modification of his plan would appeal even to some serious wackadoos. My humble suggestion follows... First off, mandatory confiscation of guns will never work; you have to make it voluntary, and nothing works better than cold hard cash. Buybacks won't work unless you make them attractive. I propose a buyback at double, triple, or even quadruple the going rate of what they sell for. Every one out of the public is a win. Now, for every one still out there, be it in private hands or in a gun shop, institute a transfer tax that would make the bluest tax-and-spend Democrat cringe. If you absolutely feel you need an AR-15, you can get one, assuming you are willing to 1) pay through the nose for it, 2) submit to the most invasive background check you've ever had in your life, and 3) accept the fact that if your particular AR-15 is used in the commission of a crime, you are, not to put too fine a point on it, fucked. It won't even matter if it wasn't you pulling the trigger; it will actually be worse on you if it wasn't.

This, of course, is stolen right out of the GOP playbook. In case you didn't recognize it, I'd like to see the left do to assault rifles what the right wants to do to abortions; they're perfectly legal to have under your 2nd Amendment rights. You just might not find them convenient to get. You might not be comfortable with giving up the amount of information you'll have to to get one. You just plain might not be able to afford one. Sound familiar?

In conclusion, Beto, you've got good intentions; I respect that. Your problem lies with your average American not liking being told he can't have something, especially when a very broad reading of the Constitution tells them they're "entitled" to it. And that is you fail...

Hey, we got one Republican to join us. Gather your torches and pitchforks!!!

You've been hearing tons of commentary about wanting to impeach Donald Trump. I know, so have I. A whole gallon of gasoline just got poured on to that fire courtesy of one Rep. Justin Amash (R). You've been hearing a lot from the younger members of the Democratic caucus wanting to push ahead, regardless of the caution that leadership members like Nancy Pelosi and Steny Hoyer have been espousing. I've heard that too.

Now, let me tell you why that would be a really, REALLY bad idea.

If you had wanted to impeach Trump, you had a razor thin window of time to do it. It still wouldn't have been your best move, but if you were going for the optics of change, you could have done this: use the period of time between the midterm elections and January to have your staffs draw up articles of impeachment and have them ready to go, and then bring it to a vote on the very first day you are in power. Hell, you should have brought it up as your first order of business.

My friends, that train has sailed.

The instant that the conventional wisdom became "Let's wait for the Mueller Report", the window for impeachment, even as a symbolic gesture, slammed shut. Now, it's way too late. Maybe, if the Mueller Report had come up with something like "When our third corroborating witness to what President Trump did to that sheep on top of the Resolute Desk provided us with 8x10 glossy photos, we knew we were on the right track...", you could have had something. No such luck. Barr got a chance to muddy the waters, the "big lie" of "No Collusion, No Obstruction" got a chance to take hold, and, and the most basic point of all, most people wouldn't understand the law if you hit them with it, fouled up everything Mueller was trying to do. The fact that there is all sorts of legal wrangling about the Mueller Report now, plus even more regarding the underlying evidence of the Report and the other records that the House Committees are trying to subpeona makes it, I'm sorry to say, almost useless for your purposes. But, like everything else in the universe, your biggest enemy was, and still is, Time.

It seems that every Democrat that got a whiff of their own musk and thought "My god, I smell positively Kennedy today!" is running to be the Democratic nominee for President. There are so many of them that the first debate is only a month away, almost a year and a half before election day. Necessary, of course, as the great majority of these folks are not going to get anywhere near shouting distance of making a serious, successful run and the dead weight needs to be winnowed down. But the first debate is important: we went through everybody's speeches and interviews and Joe Biden's "will he or won't he" phase, but when the first debate happens, it is officially GAME ON. When that happens, Donald Trump becomes not only President but also the Republican nominee-apparent for President. (I have no idea who Bill Weld thinks of when he smells his own musk, but more power to him.) If, after The Campaign has begun in earnest, the Democrats impeach him then, that will do more to energize that core group of lemmings that would follow Trump off the nearest cliff than a thousand Nuremburg rallies could dream of. Trump is never more dangerous than when he is being attacked and he can portray himself as The Innocent Victim to his base, and if you don't think he won't do that full throttle if the Democrats give him the opportunity, you haven't been paying attention.

Back to Justin Amash for a minute. (Warning: this is going to sound a tiny bit conspiracy theory; bear with me.) Who among us thinks that a Freedom Caucus, Tea Party Republican gives a damn what the liberal Left thinks or wants? Who thinks that, aside from wanting Trump impeached, that Justin Amash and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez agree on ANYTHING? Right, exactly nobody. Now, Justin Amash easily could be simply a very honorable man and is willing to speak his beliefs, regardless of the censure it might bring from his party and the extreme difficulty it will introduce into any reelection campaign. Then I remembered he's Republican, so that can't possibly be his angle. So what is? Maybe, just maybe, he's got deep rooted Conservative cred coupled with being in a very safe red district that he can afford to go off the reservation for a good cause: that if he goes turncoat, maybe he can goad the Democrats into blindly rushing ahead with impeachment, yelling "The Republicans are cracking and turning against him! Now's our chance!" If they do it, he can help lead them into a Democratic Charge of the Light Brigade and give Trump just the opportunity he wants; if they don't fall for it, Amash has a year and a half for this small blip on the radar to drop out of the collective memory of his district.

So, what should the Democrats do, you ask? As much as it may pain you to hear, they're doing it now. Neal and Nadler are flinging subpoenas at Trump and his minions, they're hauling them to court, and Nancy Pelosi is talking around impeachment. Not talking about it, mind you, but around it. "We'll see what happens in the courts, nothing is off the table", etc. These kind of tactics are, mark my words, making Trump apoplectic. The potential threat of impeachment is way, way worse than having the punch actually land and dealing with it. You, I, and even he knows that he will never be convicted in the Senate. He wants to get it over with, and go into Victim Mode. He wants nothing more than to keep saying "No Collusion, No Obstruction" and, in the manner of "There's no place like home", have it be true. But it isn't, and he's dying the death of a thousand cuts because of it. Patience, dear readers.

A focused, under attack and fighting back Donald Trump will win reelection in 2020. A distracted, worried Donald Trump won't. And that's what will get him out of the White House.

Shh... Come here. It's going to be ok.

Ok. I cleared everyone else out; it's just you and me here, and we need to talk. Now I know everything that's happened with the Mueller report and what Barr did to it looks bad. I get it! The right wing is doing victory laps and dancing jigs, looking for their pound of flesh from everyone who thinks did them wrong, and you're a little bummed.

Snap out of it!

There was no way that this was going to end with Mueller taking his report to Capitol Hill, and the House and Senate immediately lighting torches and grabbing pitchforks and marching to 1600 Pennsylvania; I hope you knew that. This was going to end exactly the way it ended: Mueller delivering his report, whoever was AG at the time declaring "Nothing to see here!", followed up by subpeonas and legal battles we haven't even begun to see yet.

It's ok. Really.

Some bad people have gone to jail, or are going soon. The Trump Foundation (aka The Family ATM) has been shuttered. This administration's days of ignoring or simply being rubber-stamped by 100% of Congress are over. And people are forgetting one important thing: Everyone is talking about the Mueller report, and no one has seen it yet; they've seen AG Barr's Cliff Notes version of it.

Imagine this scenario: You're taking a history of film class and you find out right before class that there will be a quiz on The Godfather which, inexplicably, you have never seen. (Just go with me here.) You immediately go to your phone and read the plot summary under the Wikipedia entry for The Godfather, to get the basic plot line down. Now, you may glean just enough to pass your quiz, you may not. One thing is for sure, you're missing a hell of a lot of details that Francis Ford Coppolla probably felt were important. Further complicating things is that the Wikipedia entry could have been written by somebody that loved the movie or somebody that hated the movie; with only a few minutes before class, you didn't have a lot of time or choice in the matter.

That's where we're at now. We haven't seen the Mueller report. We've seen the Wikipedia entry about the Mueller report, written by somebody who 1) wrote it in a very short amount time and 2) wasn't a fan. Until we get the chance to pop some popcorn and go over the whole thing two or three times and then break off into discussion groups about which Trump kid is Fredo, we haven't gotten the whole experience Francis Ford Mueller wants us to have.

The wheels turn slowly, but we've made it this long. Hang in there.