Happy Halloween

 

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Drowning in Symbolism

Using Madison Square Garden for his rally scratched two itches  - his fascism and his narcissism.  

It was also a very New York thing to do.  

The Nazi rally starring Charles Lindbergh in Madison Square Garden is a familiar and distasteful image to every New Yorker.  Only a person with no respect for what makes America America would want to reenact it. 

And a massive ego demands The Worlds Greatest Arena. I imagine that experience has been on his bucket list for a long time. 

He's telling us and showing us who he is and who he will be.  I don't understand how the polls say this is so close. 

It Happened

We were buying bikes for the Prince Elementary School Fall Festival raffle when JannyLou and I had the same thought at the same time.  

What if it's the wrong size?

And so, when I noticed a small kerfuffle around the winner of the final prize, I was not surprised that he'd won a bike that was as big as he was.  

His dad was trying to make it work.  Blocks on the pedals.... moving the seat... but there was no way to fix the main problem.  Like they say in basketball, you can't teach height.

His teacher was sympathetic.  The social worker felt his pain.  I tried to see if the tags were still attached so that they could return it to Walmart.

Then I stopped.  

What color bike would you like? Blue. The helmet, too? OK, Grandma Suzi will bring you a blue bike and a blue helmet and a lock on Monday when you come to school.  

His response was classic little kid - can I go play now?

All the grown ups were teary eyed.  The big brother sitting on the too big bike looked very comfortable. 

Do you have a bike?  

No.  

Well, how do you like the fact that I've just finagled you a bike and you did absolutely nothing to make it happen, except be bigger than your brother?

His Wait?! I get to keep this?!! is why JannyLou and I do this.

And if that weren't enough to warm the cockles of your heart, by sheer happenstance the little guy's teacher happened to walk through the lobby at the moment I wheeled in the bike. We agreed that the social worker's room was a better resting place than her classroom, and I left her kvelling over these chromed out training wheels.

Being in the right place at the right time with the right friends backing me up feels really good.

Friday Night (No Lights)

The Spring Festival transformed itself into the Fall Festival this year at Prince Elementary School.  The playground had inflatables of gigantic size and games accessible to all.  Tickets were 4 for $1.

Current staff's presence is mandatory.  The presence of the retired kindergarten teacher who came to volunteer was not.  But she represented the best part of the event - meeting old friends.  Her former colleagues were delighted to see her.  If they hadn't matured into teenagers I might have recognized the Prince alumni who hoped that I remembered them as they clearly remembered me.

Of course I do, sweetheart.  Look at how grown up you are!  It works every time.

I filled paper containers with chips for nachos.  I made sure the middle school and high school volunteers were supplied with water and confidence.  Then I looked for a chair.

Two kindergarten teachers were in charge of the hobby horse race, located at the back of the event, with a good view of the whole scene.  They were happy to share their space.  I relocated a chair, sat off to the side, and smiled.

Can you guess who won that race?  After practicing galloping (NOT running - put one foot in front of the other and jump) I called the start and off they went, the teachers gallantly matching their stride to his as he pulled away into the lead.  Much cheering ensued.

After their triumphs, winners picked a prize from the carefully curated Oriental Trading Company tchotchkes.  So many colors of plastic vampire teeth, so many squishy window cling ons,  Jolly Ranchers in every flavor imaginable - choosing was as much fun as racing.

And I do believe that these two wonderful teachers had just as much fun as their students.
 

I'm Trying

I don't know why I'm trying, but I am.  Perhaps because I care about the person who asked me to listen to Theo Von's podcast with jdvance.  I'm not linking to it because no one else should have to suffer.  It's 2 hours and 2 minutes long.  I have 1 hour and 47 minutes left.  

That may not be possible without recreational enhancements.

The only thing I found to like in these first 15 minutes was that our wannabe vp likes the Chicago Bulls of the 1990's.  That's a fairly innocuous choice; everybody likes the Michael Jordan, 6-peat, Bulls....unless you're a Pistons fan.

But after that, he fell short.  I live with a die hard Ohio State fan and I can tell you that he, unlike the wannabe vp, knows when Ohio State lost to Michigan and when they didn't, and he knows the margin of victory of every one of those game s.

Listening to those two fumble through what had the potential to be a sports conversation I could follow with enthusiasm left me wanting.  Ah, yes, another persona for him to adopt - a fervent Buckeye fan.

And yes, of course, it gets worse.  He began to recount Tales from the Crypt.

There's a story about a Michigan fan shoving a fistful of mud into our wannabe vp's mouth.  Really??  Was that before or after the miscreant ate a pet?  And what did our not yet a wannabe vp say to provoke such an assault.

His friend made a 9 year old Michigan fan cry by telling him his team sucked.  These two adult men, one who wants to be one obese heartbeat away from the Presidency, laughed and took creepily eerie delight in the long lasting effect that must have had on the now grown kid.

It was like Eddie Haskell, a bully relishing his win.

Another story, another punch in the mouth, then the host calling the collection of stories like a wedding in Appalachia... an appellation the wannabe vp agreed was apt.

But what irked me the most, what is most indicative of his character, was his entrance to this rabbit hole.

He thought he might be on his way to Ohio State for a football game next weekend, although when you're running for vp you never know where you are. 

His children are coming; it's their first football game.  As the conversation turned to tailgating, our wannabe vp mused at some length about the inappropriate for my kids (7,4,2) activities that might ensue.  They moved on after this, and I quote exactly:

Maybe my wife will take them somewhere and I'll enjoy the tailgate.

Damn.

Just when the Great Dad persona was coming into view, the controlling man-child powered through. 

I just figured out how to listen at 2x speed.  Maybe that will help.

(For Tim)

Something New In A Book

don't worry, it's typed out below

A Marin acquaintance has published a book.  I took it out of the library.  As I do with every book I hold in my hands, I read all the pages in the front. 

I skimmed the laudatory blurbs.  I felt the paper (lovely, heavy, with a slight yellow cast that makes reading a pleasure).  I read the title, on a page all its own. I read the dedications (no one I recognized).  I read the copyright page (I'm sure it has a name all its own; I just don't know what it is.)

This is all relevant to the point of this post.  

The paragraph introducing this post appears at the bottom of that page, below the publisher's information and the ISBN.  It reads:

NO AI TRAINING:  Without in any way limiting the author's (and publisher's) exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to "train" generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited.  The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

I have never seen this warning on any other book.  Perhaps, because Simon and Schuster says this is a speculative fiction adventure and love story about family, genetic privacy, and the onrushing future of surveillance technology, the warning serves as an introduction to the story itself.  

I don't know yet.  I haven't read a word.  But I'm in love with the experience already.  AI may write books, but I won't feel connected the way I do when I'm holding an actual book.  

If trees must be slaughtered and reused, I'm glad to be able to thank them by reading real books.

If my words are being scraped to teach AI how to speak, I ought to receive a small token of appreciation, don't you think?  

All this, and I haven't read a word. I can't wait.

Really?

 

That warning, penned onto the container holding our club sandwich from Cheesecake Factory, made us wonder who needed to be reminded not to get poked by a toothpic(k).

Club sandwiches always come with toothpicks holding the four quarters upright; those tiny triangles can't manage on their own.  Perhaps this was intended for a newbie.

Cheesecake Factory's toothpicks have colorful cellophane wrapped around one end.  It's pretty obviously the only inorganic material in the box.  It stands out.  Who needs to be reminded not to eat the decorations?  

Perhaps there was a lawsuit, like the woman who spilled drive through hot coffee in her lap.  

Or is it something more sinister?  Are the toothpicks coming to life, four of them dancing across the living room, out to get us?  

Who knows?

Grandma's Garden Is Open

Fall arrived on Friday.  TBG and I were both wearing sweatshirts when we left in the morning.  Not-Kathy and I enjoyed our cocktails al fresco while the husbands watched more football in the evening.  We had the windows open all weekend long.  I began wearing my new walking sneakers up and around the neighborhood.  

Monday morning found me at the front door of the school, watching as the newest member of the landscaping crew muscled a 3cu foot bag of soil onto his dolly which he then rolled all the way and into the garden bed where the scholars will incorporated it into the soil they are aerating, which is to say they are digging with great glee.

I'm still not sure why they were filling up the wheelbarrow then dumping the soil right back into the garden bed, but they were happy with the shovels so I let them be.  

4th graders followed this fellow

around the fence, admiring the legs and the wings

and the huge eyeballs.  

By then it was hot, so I climbed up onto the stump to untie the umbrella.  What are you doing up there? turned into a interesting conversation about umbrella ribs and the wonder of shade.  I was up there long enough to capture the moment.  (And yes, she is wearing pj's and slippers - it was Pajama Day.)

And we planted.  I bought zinnias and stevia and we planted them in the soil we rehabilitated one day when it was too hot to do anything else.  The stevia leaves were too sweet for some, but had others coming back for seconds and thirds.  

The pinwheels are fun to hold over your head as you run around the playground so long as you bring them back.  These two accepted the returns and were pleased with my anyplace you want them to be to their question.

Happy Happy Joy Joy.

A Culinary Digression

Nannie opened and heated several of the microwave-able packets for Thanksgiving leftovers.

In graduate school, it was a special treat, when I could afford all the ingredients.  

As newly-weds, it was a satisfying dinner that TBG was happy to prepare; it was certainly not kosher and therefore most certainly did not come from my side of the family.

It was a meal that satisfied the entire family when The Cuters were at home.  

Stouffer's stopped making those square, orange boxes somewhere in the last decade or so.  (The older I get, the more time compresses... but that's fodder for another post)  

No more uncovering the plastic container of frozen cheese, designed to be poured over turkey, tomato, bacon, and hard boiled egg slices resting on a freshly toasted Thomas' English Muffin.  It was a real loss to the limited repertoire of delicious and acceptable dishes I was capable of recreating, reliably, without consternation, on auto-pilot.  

Cooking Blue Apron dinners opened my eyes to the fact, given the right guidance, I was capable of creating other acceptable and delicious meals.  When the Penzey's store opened here in Tucson, perfectly placed along my most frequent routes,  I tossed out or donated everything else and began to season with gusto.... sometimes too much gusto.... but I learned what worked and now there are a few more regulars in the rotation.

At some point I decided to try my own Welsh Rarebit.  I found a recipe with ingredients  I could manage,  and began the quest.  I've been working on it for years, with some notable  failures (last Christmas) and one or two successes, but nothing I could repeat.

It's not been a total disaster.  My procedure is more refined than it was when I started.  I use the same utensils and pot. I line up the ingredients in order.  I bring out the recipe to double check myself (a lesson learned from sad experience), but it's become more rote over time.  

My latest attempt at greatness involved redefining low heat, as in Cook over low heat.  I have learned (again, from sad experience) to be a literalist when it comes to recipes.  My cooktop has a low setting.  

Easy peasy, right? 

Apparently not.

Tonight I decided that turning the gas a little higher, to somewhere between 2 and 3, was  low heat.  That's lower than 6, which the appliance tells me is medium.  Therefore. I reasoned, low heat.  And so I did everything I always did, only with just a little more heat. 

And I was right.  It wasn't too thin and it wasn't too thick.  It wasn't the usual tasty but soupy version.  It didn't drip all over the plate.  It even had little granules of freshly grated sharp cheddar.  

See for yourself:

I said It looks just like Stouffers!!!!

Now I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. 

 

I do know that thinking it made me laugh.

Sending My Regrets

The invitation was just like the one to the Tim Walz rally.

Doors open at.... go to Table.... no this that and the other thing allowed within... wear comfy, campaign related attire... you can't share the invitation....bring a picture id.  I expected all of that.

When they got to the no designated parking information I began to worry.  I'm familiar enough with the area to know that means a walk of a mile or so, unless I parked at Amster's and Ubered back and forth.  

And then there was this:  **Please note that this is a primarily standing rally - there is limited seating for ADA guests ***

Doors open at 1:30; I'd have to be there a lot earlier than that.  It is billed as a late afternoon early evening event;  I was exhausted just figuring out how long I would be on my feet.  7 hours, conservatively.  

After discussing the situation with family and friends and my body, I've opted out. 

Comfortable on the couch,  I'll make a point of watching it all on television.  It will be harder to feel the energy, but Mr. Obama has never had trouble bringing me to tears and to hope and to action.  That's been true since his DNC speech in 2004 up to and past the time he spent talking to me in my hospital bed in 2011.  

I was up close and personal with the man.  That's going to have to be enough.

Today's Contribution

I took Michelle Obama's DNC call to action to heart.  Every day, I've tried to do something to defeat the crypto-fascist-felon.

Today I took these around town, 

trying to put them into the dry, compacted, rocky, hot dirt at well traveled intersections.  

I used the rubber mallet, but pounding just bent the ends of the frame while making no downward progress at all. 

There were many likely places, but I soon learned to choose those with vegetation.  The roots loosen the soil somewhat.  I was able to set out a few before Grandma's Garden called.  

That's why I still have some in the trunk of the UV.  I'm going to finish the task tomorrow, spreading out my contribution without having to do much thinking.  

Thinking is emotionally dangerous right now.  There is so much at stake.

And Now, It's Obama

I received an email invitation to submit my details for a possible invitation to a GOTV rally for Kamala and Tim, headlined by President Barack Obama.

My President. 

It took me no time at all to fill out the form and click send.

And then I fell into a funk.  Remembering those Obama years led me straight into the lair of the Lying Liar.

How can people not notice that the man has no moral center.  No one who worked for him will work for him again, and their reasons are chilling.

From there, I spiraled further.

Polls show the race is tied - how can this be?  He tried to over throw the government, and his (I can't bring myself to capitalize it for him) veep choice thinks there was a peaceful transfer of power in 2021.  

He dances with himself on stage for 38 minutes.... an unusually long time in one media outlet's description... and it's not disqualifying. 

He's a proud racist and the polls say young black men are in his corner.

Gov. Walz pulled me out of my last turn down the rabbit hole of despair.  Friday's rally can't come soon enough.  I'm losing my mind.  

 

T-Shirts For Tim

I could comment, but the shirts speak for themselves.

Enjoy!

VOTE Tell them Ruth sent you

this woman is fierce!

he got applause

This was how the whole event felt.

Fingers crossed.