Musings on Sex and Power

Eric Swalwell was MSNBC's favorite panelist until he wasn't any more.  He vanished in an instant, withdrawing from California's gubernatorial race (and why isn't that governatorial?) amid allegations of sexual misconduct by numerous women.

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John Kennedy engaged in numerous acts of sexual misconduct during his presidency..... that we know of.  Were women too frightened to come forward then?  Or was he just so charming that no one could say no?  

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Graham Platner managed to defuse his tattoo disaster only to fall upon yet another allegation of rape.  Bernie Sanders, an early supporter, wants him to withdraw from the Senate race.  Seems like we'll be watching Susan Collins be shocked and surprised for 6 more years.

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Ruben Gallego, once a good friend of Eric Swalwell, now regrets their relationship.  Ruben used to be a regular on MSNBC, too.  We haven't seen him in a while.  Is the stain of that relationship souring his status among the Dems, or just the media?

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Bill Gates regrets his friendship with Jeffrey Epstein.... and where are those files, anyway?  

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Would Thomas Jefferson be allowed anywhere near our founding documents today if his children with Sally Hemings became known?  

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Time passes and mores change and most of that is good.  It's too bad that behavior doesn't change that much.

And The Beat Goes On

After ruining my 4th of July, FFOTUS decided to trash my World cup fun, too.

Was the red card an overreaction?  Do we like VAR?  They won without him with only 10 players on the field so maybe it doesn't matter?

All that was interesting to consider as we waited for tonight's match.  Then the Corruption Hotline fired up and our felon was talking to FIFA's crook and afterwards the red card disappeared.

Note: the rules say a red card cannot be overturned.

Note: the two guys on the phone have never, will never, can never play by the rules.

So now, instead of watching the US men triumph or collapse under adversity, we're faced with a match whose outcome has already been marked with an asterisk.

Everything the man touches dies.

What A Flop

America couldn't throw itself a birthday party.  Everyone seemed to lose interest once it became all about FFOTUS.  

There was no bunting.  

There were no American flags put out for the occasion (except ours, because he doesn't get to take that memory away from me).  

There were no 250th Birthday Sales.  Our Mexican restaurant did offer me a $6 margarita (which I happily accepted) and volunteered to change the tv channel (is that even a thing anymore?) so that we could both watch the soccer with ease.  We didn't inconvenience anyone; we were the only patrons.

For some reason known only to himself, TBG turned our television to Fox and invited FFOTUS into our living room.  God, Communism, and your beautiful 2nd Amendment later, he began introducing very old veterans who were to salute very old flags and then take their very old selves off FFOTUS's stage.  

Some of them didn't get the memo and seemed to overstay their welcome.  The crowd kept clapping.  FFOTUS's Thank you very much noise kept coming from the podium, sounding more like a command than a gratuity as the applause grew.

Such a small man in such a large space.

Then there was music.  The Joint Armed Forces Orchestra (who knew?) performed admirably.  The US Army band belted its way through explosions, accompanied by the lamest singers imaginable.  To make it worse, they tried to gyrate while wearing dress whites.  It left cringe-worthy behind before it really got started.  

The crowd seemed to love it, though, so maybe we're just old.  Or maybe we have better taste than people who will stick around for hours to listen to an old man ramble.

And then the fireworks began. 51,000 individual pieces, according to one of the talking heads on Fox (before I muted the sound) and I don't know where to begin.  I've tried for the last few minutes to organize a coherent train of thought.  But, like the fireworks, the details have gotten lost in the smoke.

There was so much smoke it looked like the War of 1812 all over again.

There was a pond near (I think) the WWII memorial that periodically sent up giant flares.

The director couldn't decide where to place the cameras.  There was no best angle.  It was an unholy mess.  Zoom in and the sparkles vanish into the smoke.  Zoom out and it really does look like the city is on fire.  

And really, it didn't make any difference.  Like most things associated with the man, his celebration was all sound and no fury.  There were no interesting configurations.  There was no red white and blue theme.  There were just balls of similar color, some occasionally twinkling. And it went on for almost 45 minutes.

It was finally over and the people who brought their babies (none of whom wore noise cancelling headphones) could now take them home and put them to bed where they probably should have been all night long.  It was a mostly white crowd, who seemed thrilled to be sharing their MAGAness with other likeminded individuals.  

But there's one more thing you have to know, and, like the savvy story teller I am, I've saved the best for last.  

There was not one person of color on the stage throughout the entire performance.  

Not among the veterans nor the orchestra nor the band nor the featured singers.  I'm not sure how he organized that feat, but I'm having a hard time convincing myself that it was happenstance.  

Among all his other crimes and misdemeanors and felonies and general repulsiveness, he hijacked what could have been a really fun four day weekend.  How many times can he spit in America's face and still remain in office?

Happy 4th of July

This is how I feel about America right now - droopy.  But there was a time when I felt hopeful, even enthusiastic about our standing in the world.  That's when I originally wrote the post I'm reprinting below the sad flag.  I'm going to let those memories take me back in time for the 4th of July.

And it turns out that I will put on our country's colors and not give in to the despair I feel.  I cannot let him take this away from me, too.

The sky is pure blue,  painted that way as G'ma said every time she looked up.  The occasional fluffy white cloud drifts by, and I'm hearing G'ma remark on that, too.  The flag in front of the house is swaying, the pole wedged between the base and the capital of one of the front columns, secured with thin, silver, crafting wire.  

It's an elegant solution to TBG's reluctance to put holes in his house;  I feel like Daddooooo every time I wrap another ring around the post.

Daddooooo was big on ingenious remedies to intractable problems.  He was also big on flags and the 4th of July.  We always went to the beach.  We always stopped at Custom Bakers on the way home, where the owners always let us go back and stick our fingers in the vats of frosting.

We always went to the Boardwalk in Long Beach, arriving as the sun was setting.  Skeeball and mechanical fortune tellers and the smell of the ocean, too black to be seen but too noisy to go unnoticed, occupied us as we waited for night to fall.  We practiced our ooohs and aahhhs; we were in fine form by the time the booms and the bangs began.

Through it all, the flags were flying.

There was a big one in the bracket beside the garage door, until the house was painted and further holes were frowned upon (is this some kind of male thing I just don't get?). A pole-holding-tube was sunk into the flower box, and while it was neither sturdy nor attractive, it did the job and as far as Daddooooo was concerned that was that.

There was always a plastic flag attached to the car's antenna, and all our bicycles had flags on the handlebars.   

I'm not letting the tradition fade away. 

I'll be wearing my red white and blue tie dye - the dress, the tank top, the even bigger tank top - as I go through my day. 

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I'm So Disappointed

I'm not in the mood to celebrate or look back on happier times.

I should have no problem with my closet this weekend.  I have a plastic tote filled with red, white, and blue tie dye, with flag adorned t-shirts, with sweaters fastened with patriotic buttons.  It's our country's 250th birthday party and we all should be celebrating.

But there's nothing going on.  No Happy Birthday America sales, no bunting, no flags, no nothing.

I feel somewhat awkward putting on any of the celebratory finery. 

FFOTUS has preempted America's birthday party.  He's crashed the event, made it all about himself, and in doing so ruined it for the rest of us.  It's hard for me to feel proud of America's exceptionalism when FFOTUS has smeared it with feces.

Take a look at these pictures Brother took on Tuesday afternoon at Trump's American State Fair on the National Mall in DC.

From Brother's accompanying text: The temporary buildings are synthetic stucco and canvas murals and air conditioned. The state and government departments are in 30 foot square rooms not connected. Go in look at the freebies turn around and leave.  Several sound stages with no performances.  No cows pigs goats or sheep or crowds of humans. The best part was the exit.

Sister wondered if there was food.  Doesn't look like there were many takers.

It looks like I'm not alone in my disdain.

I want to sing God Bless America at a neighborhood fireworks party.

I want to put my flag embossed pin wheels on my car.

I want to smile at the other people who are wearing USA colors and gear.

I want to feel good about America again.

November cannot come soon enough.

Really, Mr. Chief Justice?

John Roberts wrote both decisions.

In one, he says the President can fire anyone he wants, in any Federal agency, even those created by Congress to be independent of the political party in power.  Goodbye FTC Commissioner Slaughter.

In the other, he says the President can't touch the Federal Reserve Board.   Member Cook keeps her job.

Justice Amy Coney Barrett took him to task, pointing out the tension between the two rulings.

If you're still wondering whether the Supreme Court is acting as an independent body, beholden to the Constitution and the American people, I'd love it if you can explain this.

All I've got is that the money-ed class does not want the global economy rocked any more than FFOTUS has done already.  They are less concerned about big businesses merging and driving up prices while lowering competition and worsening the situation of those American people they're supposed to be serving.

My Congressman is running tv ads saying I work for YOU!  His office was unable to explain to me how this makes my life better.

A Conversation While Swimming

I find swimming laps to be unbearably boring.  There's nothing to read and, while my head is submerged, there's nothing to hear.  There are just my thoughts and me.  When I'm not thinking about using my muscles appropriately, I'm running ideas for The Burrow or wondering about my offspring and their offspring or the memories the songs on the speakers evoke.

Slow dancing in the twilight at 6th grade graduation parties.  Standing in the cafeteria line for breakfast during my freshman year in college.  The Beatles. The Stones. Grace Slick in all her configurations.  They each bring something to the party.

But yesterday I was flummoxed.  I ran the conversation over and over in my head until they played a song I didn't like and I got out of the pool and enlisted TBG in solving the problem.  He laughed, of course he knew what was what, and then he proceeded to stumble over it all just as I was.  So, for your confusion/edification/delight, here's the problem:

Everybody's talkin' at me..... can't hear a word they're sayin'.... only the echoes of my mind......

That's what I heard when I came up for air.  

I got as far as Ratso Rizzo, Dustin Hoffman, and Jon Voigt.  But the name of the movie escaped me?

Rhinestone Cowboy?  Certainly that fit with the naive young man's background and occupation.

Or was that the one with Robert Redford and Willie Nelson and Jane Fonda and the horse paraded in lights and rhinestones through the Vegas strip?

But it's in NYC, so maybe Urban Cowboy?

But there's the John Travolta movie where he rides the bucking bronco in the bar, and maybe that was it.

I was very confused.  So was TBG.  I resisted looking for the answer from the Google, but succumbed before frustration set in.

It's Midnight Cowboy, The Electric Horseman, and Urban Cowboy, in that order.  

And Rhinestone Cowboy, the title that started the whole situation?  It's just a song.

 

Somedays

There are times when I feel like a hero, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Today, I'm looking askance at curbstones.

I'll be back tomorrow, with thoughts. I'm not in a position to have many of those right now. 

An American Tragedy

I'm too worn out for original thought, though everything is going just as planned (for once).  Instead,  I'm giving you a link to why I think Mayor Pete's Sunday appearance with Joanna Mendoza here in Tucson was abruptly cancelled this afternoon.  

TBG and I planned to attend, had signed up on line, were waiting for the exact location to be revealed.  Instead, we received a this event is cancelled email with no explanation at all.

Later on, I opened Substack and read this, by my favorite Mayor and Presidential Candidate:

        A Terrible Thing Happened to My Family by Pete Buttigieg

Even in today's climate, there should be one fundamental principle everyone respects: whatever you think about someone in politics, you leave their kids alone.

Someone decided to hurt our family this week. I’m furious, and I want to share what happened.

Read on Substack.  There's the link.  There's no paywall.  You don't need a subscription.  

Read it and weep.

The NBA Draft

I cannot believe that I watched it.  I was enthralled, captivated, drawn in the way a good movie draws you in - slowly, the anticipation growing then the climax and then it starts all over again.  It's usually a dull, boring, repetitive process.  

Not this year.  This year I recognized most of the players.  This year I remembered the Iowa State games and the Houston games and how Arizona's Wildcats fared against them.  I had opinions on scoring and defense and attitude.

I could take issue with the talking heads about who should go one or two.  Lacking knowledge of the NBA teams' particular needs, I relied on TBG's somewhat greater insight, although he warned me that his information came solely from other talking heads.  Was Burries too short for .... where is Koa Peat..... Veesaar as one of Jay Bilas's prime picks halfway through the first round?

Tommy Lloyd's recruiting progeny are strewn over the college landscape, as NIL and the transfer portal become the highway to success.  For me, the follow one team and otherwise a casual fan, that resulted in a remarkably interesting Draft Day.

As the next day unfolded, Koa was chosen and Burries was traded and now, I think, all things basketball must be put on the shelf until next season.  I'm switching my sports calendar to the FIFA World Cup... USA and Cape Verde and Messi and Ronaldo.... does anyone know where I can get one of those long knit scarves?

In Case You Missed It

For those of you who were otherwise engaged in more substantive pursuits, allow me to share the highlights of the hours it streamed on my laptop as I watched the NBA Finals unfold.  

I tuned in after the right section of the scaffolding had been erected.  The work resumed after a lengthy rain delay, and those minions on the left are handing the metal rods onward and upwrd.

They got higher and the night got muggier and anyone who has ever had the misfortune to be in the District in the summer knows that the air is thick even when it's not between storms.

The moisture in the air must have made the support beams quite slippery.  I beame concerned when the workers got up to the piano keys.

Fortunately, most of them were tethered, as the arrows indicate.  But what about this guy out on the beam, way at the top on the right?  There wee no tarps covering the material that's being lifted, and the humidity was intense, yet he's hanging out on a board above concrete without a net.

And then it began to rain again and it was well after the court's deadline and it was tomorrow morning already so they exited, descending scaffolding left.  

I can't bear reprinting the shower curtain that appeared the next day.  This will have to suffice.
 

And Now It's Tuesday

And we're home and life is much better.

A hospitalist listened and questioned and followed him from the hallway to the private room (Be very grateful about this!) spending all the time needed to figure out what came next.  She was the first person to consider the why, to share the lab results and what they might and eventually did reveal, and to help us create a viable plan going forward.

There are still so many floating pieces, so many appointments and tests and treatments to schedule.  There's so much to understand.  We have insurance and the means to pay for it (and all its hefty deductible and co-pays).  We have no work or child care obligations.  We have smart and supportive family and friends, and we're not afraid to abuse them.  I am comfortable dealing with the system.

I've spent all day watching soccer and swimming and cooking and recognizing that I live a very privileged life.  A change in any one of those pieces would throw everything else out of kilter.  Two or three blips and chaos looms.

Most of America does live one kidney stone away from disaster.  I'm anxious and exhausted and living on the edge of overwhelmed and there's nothing I need that I don't have or can't get.  And I'm not most of America.

The Hospital is Full

We arrived at the Emergency Room yesterday about 2pm. TBG's pain and nausea were treated well and efficiently..... in the hall. 

There were 50+ patients waiting for beds in the hospital.  We were seated in the hallway 

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That was the start of Friday's post, written Thursday afternoon, on my phone, still in the hallway. the patient no longer seated but able to lie down on a stretcher in a screen-divided, open to all passersby cubby.

Those hours, all eighteen of them in the Emergency Room hallways before a room became available, revealed the open wound that is America's health care system.  Without a curtain separating us from our fellow captives, we saw and heard it all.

Sir, are you living outside? 

The strong smell of urine as the bedraggled man struggled by us on his way to the restroom; and the lengthy clean up afterwards.

The EMT's from car accidents all over the county and beyond.  The Yuma EMT who explained their four hour drive to his gurney riding patient this way: The nearer hospitals are closing departments and now not all of them have everything you might need.  But this is a University hospital and they have all the bells and whistles. So, here we are.

Nurses doing yeoman's work on twelve and a half hour shifts, with a 30 minute lunch break.... unless it's overwhelmingly busy.  We felt well tended.  It took only a bit of my pushy personality to find TBG a place to lie down and at least pretend to be comfortable.  His needs were met almost instantaneously, since he was open to all the action and all the actors all the time.

This isn't how it should be.  

The uninsured are once again showing up at hospitals instead of clinics.  The underfed and untreated are not turned away.

Instead, our Medicare Advantage plans went up 30 and 40 percent, respectively.  No one in the hospital, from the cashier in the cafeteria to the hospitalist who solved TBG's problem, received a thirty or forty percent bump in their salary.

This isn't how it should be.

The bill from his last hospitalization was $121,239.50.   We have insurance that covered it all.  It's easy to see how the uninsured are one kidney stone away from bankruptcy.

This isn't how it should be.