Home-Style Cooking

 Back from another successful trip searching for cultchur in NYC. One bad meal, two great museums, three swell plays. And even the meal wasn't that bad, as long as you don't count the food. Let's start with the meal.

It was a joint called Carmine's (you've heard of it, right?) in the Theater District - just down from Sardi's.  Apparently, it's a chain (here). Of course, you don't expect clip joints in the Times Square vicinity to be all that good. Gotta say: Carmine's went the extra step. I would rather have eaten at Church's Chicken.

It was a crush when we got there, but we scored two stools at the bar, and broke our January liquor fast with two perfectly poured Negronis. Five points for bartending. We were seated at a nice table near the window in the front of the house after a not-unreasonable wait. We each ordered a glass of wine that came in a a hey-we're-just-a-homestyle-Italian joint pair of glasses. Small-ish glasses. Three points. The waiter was what you'd expect in a hey-we're-just etc. He informed us that Carmine's is famous for it's (home-style, blah blah) massive plates of food - apparently newcomers to the place expect normal-sized plates of food. Forewarned, we enquired about the hot antipasti appetizer and were assured that it was ample for two. We ordered the antipasti and a couple of stuffed artichokes.

Oh, what a sad decision. The artichokes were heavily breaded and cooked to within an inch of composting. One of the two had literally sagged into the plate. The remaining giant platter of miscellaneous items was variously over-baked, over-fried, over-breaded, over-greased, over-cheesed, over-sauced and 1. too hot, or 2. too cold (mostly the latter). We have never had such a mis-mash of nearly inedible stuff in our long dining experience. Minus five points, and minus two for the not-so-hot waiter who wisely did not ask us how we enjoyed our meal as he disposed of half of it and delivered our check. Total = one point. But, hey, it's a big family-style-Italian joint point. My guess is that the wise guys go there for the drinks.

We wound up the night (after a terrific play that will be the subject of a later post) at Sardi's. From the ridiculous to the sublime. It was such a delight to be drinking a Sardi's upstairs bar, uncrowded and well-served (our bartender is studying to be a biochemist), that we could barely tear ourselves away. Thus endth our dry January, and the first day of our latest  travels.

Just Released

 Best response to someone telling you that masks are no longer necessary:

"It's a condition of my parole."

In other news,  we'll be traveling to NYC tomorrow for a few days, hence there will be no updates until probably next week. I mention this knowing that the only person currently reading this blog is going with me, and knows our travel plans perfectly well. I might also mention that the only other person reading this blog has apparently STOPPED reading this blog, which I know from the handy statistics provided by Blogger.com. So, there's that.

My Home Town

 Sooo, the lead discussion on "Nextdoor" this morning was generated by neighbour Mimi Chitty, who said "Please do not put your dog poop in my trash cans. You are so annoying!"

Ignoring, for the moment, that she has called us "annoying" despite - to the best of my knowledge - never having met us, I have to say that I wholeheartedly disagree with her demand. Several rebuttal points were made, and I list them here:

1. Would you rather we leave it on your lawn, sidewalk or street? Does this look like San Francisco?

2. It's not "your" trash can. The city provides them for your use. I'm sure the city has no preference if the poop is in your trash or mine.

3. There is a legal presumption - backed up by precedent - that the owner of trash moved to the curb in anticipation of removal by trash collectors no longer has an of expectation of privacy over the material. In other words, we may remove (or add to) discarded trash as we see fit.

4. It is one thing to ask us to pick up poop, which we, as dog owners, are properly responsible to do. It is another thing to demand that we walk around the neighbourhood and chat with the neighbours while holding a steaming bag of dog doo.

5. In general, the shit is in bags (I can't imagine otherwise). As such, it is less likely to smell or draw flies that most of the other crap you put in your bin.

Finally, we have Nick Mothershed, who had what I thought was the best response: "Get a hobby," he said. To which Mimi responded "FU." Chitty thing to say, Mimi. Way to give up the high ground.

Dining Out

 

CBS17.com: Kathryn Hubbard

DURHAM, N.C. (WNCN) — A restaurant in Durham received a ‘C’ grade for several health and safety violations, according to a report.

The restaurant, Church’s Chicken, located at 942 North Miami Boulevard, also had 12 critical violations, according to the N.C. Department of Environmental Health.

According to the report, a manager was not seen during the inspection and the person in charge could not answer any of the inspector’s questions. The facility did not have an updated health employee policy stating the reportable foodborne illness or associated symptoms, according to the inspection on Jan. 10.

The report also said that raw meat was uncovered in the walk-in cooler, and other foods were not temperature controlled. The report said that multiple food items did not have labels including expiration dates. The inspector noted that all three sinks cannot drain at the same time without causing the small drain in the floor to flood.

The inspector noted a repeat violation of “soiled walls (food debris and grease) and floors throughout the facility.”

The inspector “observed a container of raw chicken stored uncovered in the walk-in cooler with mold, dust, and debris build-up on condenser fans and ceiling over the food.”

Whoops. Somebody greased everything but the inspector. According to the article, a "C" grade means that the restaurant's permit will be "immediately revoked."

Authenticity

 People, well, person, asks, "is it real bolognese if there's no milk in it?"

By "real," I assume one means "authentic," as in the original way things were done when the dish was invented. 

Obviously, there are various levels of authentic. For instance, I am not cooking the dish in a cast iron sauté  pan over a wood-fired stove, somewhere on the Amalfi coast.

Our Supreme Court struggles with these same questions. A couple of them likely insist on wood-burning stoves and meat freshly slaughtered in the courtyard. They wouldn't be caught dead cooking, though, because that's women's work.

For me, it's real bolognese enough, milk or no milk. Shut up and eat.

High Finance

 In today's news, Mystic Distillers, a local (Durham, NC) producer of bourbon and such, has decided to send their product into space. Teaming up with SpaceX, they plan to send 5 casks of bourbon into space in 2024 to age for a year. Upon recovery, the casks will yield 1,500 750ml bottles of product, of which 1,000 will be sold. It's not clear what will become of the remaining 500 bottles, however, buyers will also receive a 50ml shot of the liquor so they can taste it without having to open the original bottle.

The price tag? That's the kicker. Buyers will be issued an NFT (remember those?) for their investment of a mere - drumroll - $75,000 a bottle.

Words fail me.  Bottles are expected to be available after some further time on ground, probably 2028.

In other news, the debt ceiling is upon us once again, and some nitwits in Congress are going to try to hold raising the limit hostage to, oh, I dunno, exterminating all newborn Democrats at birth, or something similar. Other wits (less nit, more wit) have pointed to a law that allows the Treasury to mint any kind of collectable coin it should so choose, and to make said coins legal tender. All the Pres has to do is have Treasury mint a trillion-dollar coin, and use that legal tender to pay off debts. Presto! The expectation is that at some point rational minds will prevail (when did this ever happen?) and the coin spending can be replaced with "normal debt," whatever that is.

There's more to this all than meets they eye. Congress passed a spending bill back in December that requires the President and executive branch to "operate the government at specific spending levels through the end of the fiscal year . . .".* The failure to raise the debt ceiling exchanges one illegal act for another.  Actually, it appears there's a legal way out of this bind - ignore the debt ceiling, and take the matter to SCOTUS. The 14th Amendment to the Constitution states in part “The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by law … shall not be questioned.” Scholars will debate whether "questioned" means "thwarted," and in the newspeak of the current Supreme Court it probably doesn't, but it's worth a try.

*January 18, 2023, at https://www.msnbc.com/opinion/msnbc-opinion/avoid-debt-limit-biden-learn-love-platinum-coin-rcna66316

Mastodon

 

I do not like the TV news, don’t care for false neutrality

The anchors lead with that which bleeds, invest in triviality

Newspapers speak in measured tones, reducing to banality

While the internet, as bought and sold, is ruled by partiality

 

I prefer a more uncertain form, a freedom of expression

Woodstock without the pouring rain, a live nation federation

Of all manner of poets, artists, ideas - a rich conglomeration

A place to practice and to fail; to soar with wit, imagination 

And The Word Went Forth

 Turns out George Santos is a foreign agent working for the Russians (possibly true), a drag queen from Brazil (probably true) and safe in office because the Republicans would put up with Satan herself if it meant having a majority in the House (absolutely true). He's going to linger and malinger until he is either impeached, arrested or deported. Impeachment could come in a couple of years (unlikely), likewise deportation (ditto). The DOJ will never arrest him because as we have seen time and again lately, the DOJ is loath to arrest anyone where it might cause a ruckus at the Legislature.

DOJ: You're under arrest!

George: No, YOU'RE under arrest!

DOJ: Wait - you can't do that! Can he do that?

McCarthy: Well, sure. According to the new commandments, there are good people on both sides.

Will there be snacks?

 So while everyone is chirping and moaning about whether or not to give up their gas stove, Wyoming legislators are resolving to outlaw electric vehicle sales in the state after 2035. 

"The proliferation of electric vehicles at the expense of gas-powered vehicles will have deleterious impacts on Wyoming's communities and will be detrimental to Wyoming's economy and the ability for the country to efficiently engage in commerce," the resolution says.

And that, folks, right there - performative politics at its finest, tied tightly to the fiction of "individual rights" (responsibilities be damned) and the worship of capitalism - is why I no longer believe in the survival of our species, and the end of our reign is probably a good thing. Nature (who is still kicking herself) was doing just fine until we came along.

No Fries, Cheeps

 There's been a small debate among certain members of my family lately on whether or not a baked/air fried round of squashed cauliflower dusted with parmesan qualifies as a chip. Well, of course it's a "chip," in much the same manner as "cow chips," but is it an adequate substitute for potato chips?

Let's settle this. Potato chips (the American kind, not the English version of French Fry) have a long, rich and varied history. And in that regard, I will say flatly that a cauliflower floret, ground up, flattened and seasoned, and cooked in any other manner than deep-frying, is not a "chip." Evidence for this? Pringles. I rest my case.

Least one argue, perforce, that cauliflower chips are healthier than potato chips - not so much. There may be an argument to be made that air-frying is healthier than deep frying, just as one might suggest that a steak with most of the fat and sinew boiled out is healthier than a steak seared  on the grill. You can always make something healthier if you don't care how it tastes. More to the point, the recipe for Cauliflower Chips identifies the following virtues: Egg-free (duh), gluten-free, low carbohydrate (this is where cauliflower wins, but not by all that much), nut-free, soy-free and vegetarian (again, egg-free. Also, beef-free). So, unless you're frying your potato chips in bacon fat (yum!, now that I think about it), cauliflower has a negligible edge in the health department. Also, it tastes like cauliflower. Which is fine, but not as a substitute for a bag of Utz's Wavy. I hope that clears things up.

MLK Day, 2023

 The fact that historically oppressed people - particularly Black and Native Americans - are now ascending to certain political posts for the first time in American history says all you need to know about the current state of race relations in this country. That is: 1) it is very good that we are finally expanding our political diversity, and 2) it is a stunning indictment of us that we are STILL expanding our political diversity, inch by begrudging inch.

Alabama and Mississippi celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert E. Lee on the same day - today. Sort of like inviting John Wayne Gacy to a Boy Scout brunch. I used to think that Confederates were all those raggedy decrepit old nose-pickers with their bellies sticking out from under their flannel shirts and skinny women with patchy hair, missing teeth and shrill voices, all carrying Confederate flags and guns of various sort, usually about 7 of them showing up to protest whatever. Tip of the iceberg, as it turns out.

That Southerners still celebrate their treasonous past, their racist history and their happy plantation fantasies is not as uncommon as I once thought. Actually, like many people my age, I see-sawed back and forth on the matter. When I was young I watched the race wars on TV and was terrified; the South seemed like some evil country where the powerful put innocents up for sacrifice. As I got older I began to recognize the subtle and not-so-subtle ways racism was practiced in the North, and began to understand the structural nature of the beast. In the meantime the South settled down and I started to believe that King's dream of overcoming was a real possibility. It peaked with the election of Barack Obama.

It's been all downhill since. I don't need to review the evidence. I don't like living in the South, but only marginally less than I like living anywhere in the USA. I'd go back to where I came from but I'm not sure where that is. My family has been in this country since sometime in the 1700s. So far, it just hasn't really worked out as we might have hoped.

Rhymes

There once was a fellow from Dur’m

Who had nothing to say or affirm

He wrote in his blog

It became quite a slog

Swimming upstream like a trout

Wine In Cans

So the current stink in the news (pun intended) is word that gas stoves are major pollutants, and calls by some environmentalists for them to be eliminated (Outlawed! Cancel Culture!) and replaced by electric models. Politics of this aside, I confess that I have a gas cooktop, very deliberately, and I'll give it up when they pry my cold dead fingers etc. Oven is electric - dual fuel. Very trendy.

Electric stoves will not solve the climate crisis. What WILL solve the climate crisis is a general agreement across all strata of society that things like gas stoves are a bad idea and should generally be eliminated. This is a perspective with which I heatedly agree (yes, there's another one) but I'm not gonna be the first guy on my block to solve all the problems. My gas range will go the way of all things in time, in the meantime, I'm UP TO FUCKING HERE with being made to feel guilty because I use plastic bags while the real polluters and the voting public and the governments-at-large merrily continue to manufacture, support, and purchase all manner of earth-destroying chemicals and implements.

I'll tell you what - you start drinking wine out of cans and I'll consider taking my cooktop off-line. Wine in cans? Yes, as it turns out, the most carbon-producing, inefficient step in the production of wine is producing glass bottles in which to contain it. Wine bottles generate tons of carbon to make - more than the transportation costs for the vino - and contrary to what you may think, only about 1/3 are actually recycled. What? Wine doesn't age in aluminium cans! So what? The vast majority of wine is produced to be consumed immediately or within the next few years. Ageing wine is mostly a hobby for vineyard owners and the incels who count themselves as connoisseurs. I'll gladly take mine in a can, or carton.

This defending the environment is tricky business. I was down with it on the very first Earth day, and in my younger years considered myself particularly virtuous for riding my bike to work. But at this end of the string, I'm not going to shoulder the whole go on my own. I'm not trying to lead, but if the real polluters ever do take the lead - not in my lifetime, probably - I'll consider falling in line. 

Tennis

 Played tennis yesterday. Our former group of eight or ten souls who would take turns signing up to play - sometimes eight on two courts - has whittled down to four, on a good day. More often than not we are three, and we play a game we call cutthroat, in which the serving player (using a singles court) goes up against the other two, using the doubles court. Every game we rotate and each person serves once every three games. All I have to say about this is what I said on the court yesterday: "I have been playing this game for 39 years and I STILL haven't learned to watch the fucking ball!" It seems to be a common lament.

Musk and Bardin and Zuckerberg, Oh My!

 There are presently three social media sites listed under my "usual" bookmark: Mastodon, Post, and FaceBook. (I also have a link to Patreon, but that's in connection to a writer we support and follow, and I am also on Instagram as far as I know, which tells you how often I log into Instagram.)

I bailed on the bird site (as it is not so affectionately known) about the same time that Elon let Mike Flynn back on (Jan. 6th), for that and similar reasons. I have nothing more to say about Twitter that hasn't already been said better by others. I wish it and its "owner" all the worst. In the news this am, Singapore police escorted Twitter employees from their Singapore building for failure to pay rent. In the immortal words of another noxious cretin: So Much Winning!

As for Post, I haven't made up my mind. It's sort of Twitter lite, no surprise there since it and the bird site were created by the same guy. I have many reservations, not the least among which the element of capitalism present in having people tip others, presumably for posts that the readers enjoy. Seems to me that posts people enjoy bring in revenue for Post, and maybe it's Post that should be doing the tipping, but what do I know? When I open Post it takes me to a feed of my "favorites." Despite my having "favored" a number of people, most of the posts in this feed are from Seth Abramson. Slow down, Seth - take a breath! Post clearly has him in its crack-like grip. So sad. I usually quickly move on to "Explore," and, shrug. It's okay.

Big fan of Mastodon. It is quirky and there's a learning curve, but I like the set-up, I like the federated nature of the beast, particularly in that no one, or not even several, hold the reins. Most of all, I enjoy the posts, clever posts, deep posts, dazzling photos and art, and sufficient snark to fulfil my curmudgeonly needs. There are lots of nice touches. I can only urge you to try it for yourself.

I desperately want FB to be what it could be, and hang on mainly because it's my only connection to certain people and so far, Meta hasn't COMPLETELY pissed me off. But close. So close.

Travel notes

 I'm buying tickets here and there, almost frantically, flights and lodging, theater and museum. It is my respite from the ennui of Winter, my rejection of social media - well, Twitter, anyway - the few days this year that I am sober. Old habits die hard.

So at the end of this month is NYC, then Denver to Ess Eff in March, followed (not finally, I trust) a trip from Regensberg to Budapest on the Danube in April. Along the way irritants arise - some carriers will not let us select our seats, hotel rooms overpriced, rental cars in short supply. My life is so hard. 

I have no plan to slacken the pace. The best cure for that sense of being trapped and wriggling on the wall ("to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways," thank you Dr. Eliot) is mania. Run away fast and don't look back, run until it's safe again. Run in circles if you must - measure out your life in Apple watch activities. Whatever works, when the world is closing in and breathing down your neck.

Pronouns

 George Santos has disappeared again - not from the House, this time, but from the news cycle. We've moved on to voting on the new House rules, e.g., {Pronoun} Who Smelt It, Dealt It, that sort of thing. Except there's a raging argument over the use of {Pronoun}, with the 20-or-so Freedom Caucus members - an Orwellian designation, to say the least - in unison complaining that it's obviously "He," it's always "He." Anyhow, I think it's a mistake to let G. Santos slip from our focus, next thing you know he be swinging with Sean Spicer, dressed up in a tutu and dancing with the stars.

Who is George Santos, really? That's the question on the mind of every New York Post aficionado. It would probably be best if we find out before he runs for President, although it would be fun to see him and Donald Trump in a debate.

Donald: I am the greatest!

George: I am the best greatest!

Donald: I am rich beyond imagination!

George: I'll buy your imagination for 44 Billion dollars!

And so on.

On a mostly unrelated note, I am dazzled by what I assume to be the storyline of Jurassic World Dominion. Of course, I've only watched about 5 minutes of it, but here's my hypothetical synopsis:

        Dinosaurs, escaping from captivity in the previous iteration of the franchise, begin to breed in the wild, and eventually become so commonplace as to be something of an occasionally fatal nuisance, at which point we hunt them into extinction once again.

What terrific high concept. It has all the trappings of anthropocentrism, genetic engineering and just a soupçon of master race. Brilliant! I can't wait to see George Santos in his tragic role as "the last T-Rex."

Choices

 I see that law enforcement up in Iredell County has arrested 22 people for drug crimes over the weekend; a sweep, a roundup, an excuse to bust down doors and drag people out by their hair, a long awaited cleansing breath that will end drug use in Statesville for, what, a day? Maybe two? Less than a week, certainly. Drug dealers deplore a vacuum. 

I've stopped believing in crime. At least, I don't believe in the kind of crime that puts most people in prison. I don't think desperation is a crime, and don't give me all that sanctimonious bullshit about choices. Choices are for people who still think they have something to lose. Choices are for people who have a position from which to negotiate. Choices. Sure. But whether they had a choice or not, for most people incarceration is not the optimal outcome - for them or us.

After 50 years in the business I have a lot to say on this topic. I am not going to say it all today. Let me just start with this. We used to house crazy people in "mental hospitals," mostly whether they liked it or not. There wasn't much treatment involved, unless you could afford a private facility. Well, old Ronnie Reagan came along and said "this is wrong, it shouldn't be so." He rightly concluded that people should receive treatment in their own communities, among their friends and neighbours, and not hauled off to some state-run facility to be dropped on a locked ward and forgotten. Reagan proposed closing those mental hospitals and sending the mentally ill to community mental health centers. Everyone nodded and agreed and shouted "Huzzah," and it was done. Well, part of it was done. They closed the mental hospitals. But there was never any federal funding for community mental health centers and the states were not about to foot the bill. 

Upshot? We now house our mentally ill in jails and prisons. They are a significant chunk of the population. Don't tell me about choices.

Survival

 I just received word from my second oldest friend (we go back around 56-57 years) that my oldest friend (~60 years) is doing better in in care, and is being made comfortable with the terminal illness she has stood up to for longer than anyone expected - particularly the medicos, and particularly because she elected to forgo the usual round of crap that accompanies acute intervention. My mother had the same ailment and opted for the intervention - she lasted 10 years, a feat that my friend may have already surpassed. My second oldest friend - himself an MD, among other more sterling qualities - is lamenting the fact that he now has to deal with cardiologists (whom he doesn't like, much) to deal with an arrhythmia that he is convinced will kill him sooner than later.

I confess here that I am somewhat a fan of modern medicine, because, unlike my old pal, I've not so much seen how it's practiced as I have had it practiced on me. The sausage is always tastier when you don't have to see how it's made. I started with Type II diabetes and an arrhythmia of my own, leading to the prescription of various blood glucose meds and, eventually, a pacemaker. More recently, I had open heart surgery to replace two valves. Along the way I picked up a couple of lens to replace the ones that had cataracts, and a new right knee. 

I imagine that if you don't know me, you'd guess that I'm totally an invalid at this point. Au contraire. I play one or another racket sport two or three times a week, I shop, I cook, I travel, I take out the recycle, I clean the pool. I hate cleaning the pool. Anyhow, I'm the fucking million dollar man (thank you, Medicare) and the only part that's obvious are some scars and the thing I share with everyone else my age: we're all pretty damned old.

Flip-Flop Follies

 Today is January 7th, 2023. It is the two-year and one-day anniversary of Kevin McCarthy voting to overturn the 2020 election results, and exactly two years minus 6 days when the same Representative went on TV to fault Donald Trump for the January 6th insurrection (albeit he did not call for Trump's impeachment). McCarthy's incredible progress as a chameleon, championing any platform on which he happens to be standing at the moment, has led, finally, after 15 votes plus some pushing and shoving, to McCarthy being elected Speaker of the House, not to mention Flip-Flopper in Chief. He has demonstrated for all the world to watch how a terrible negotiator can give away everything and still get little in return. I say this because McCarthy now rules from a vastly weakened position, and we don't expect to see him long in the role. It depends, mostly, on how willing he is to be Lauren Boebert's bitch. From all appearances, he is eager to strap on the ball-gag and bend to the whip.

We opted for pizza last night, for those of you breathlessly awaiting that decision.

Pizza Friday

 Not to sound like some middle-aged Karen with two kids and a husband in finance ("Well, we're comfortable. We have some little indulgences - the Maserati and Lake Como in the Spring - really,  though, we're just regular folk. . .") but the hardest thing I do on a daily basis is try to decide what to have for dinner. Shmandie, quire reasonably, doesn't want everything to be beef sautéed in pork fat, and I get that. On the other hand, did you read the article about how vegans have more depression than meat eaters? No doy! Anyway, Wednesday when it rained it was beef stew, and yesterday was chicken Tiki Masala - from a jar, what am I, Chef Bhatia? - and Aloo Gobi. Yes, I can follow a simple recipe. Today I'm going to mix it up again (more Beef with Veg), in this case Porterhouse steak, salad, and maybe a side of pesto pasta. Or pizza and save the steak for another day. I remain undecided.

Still no Speaker of the House, and still on the wagon. Do you think there's a connection?

Profiles in Ignorance

 The title of this post is the title of a book by Andy Borowitz, in which he traces the decay of the US Presidency from Dan Quayle onward to Donald Trump. It's a book that is as distressing as it is amusing. In the epilogue, Borowitz offers the recommendation that criticising politics is a mere spectator sport, and is of little intrinsic value, because - oh, I dunno, because everyone has an opinion, I suppose. He cautions that if you really want to have a effect on politics you must get "involved" and engage is such things as deep canvassing, so you and your neighbours can hone a more finely developed hatred of one another - kidding, of course, sort of. I have two non-exclusive responses to Borowitz's suggestion:

1. Borowitz has made a healthy living off of criticising politicians, and in squarely in the circle-jerk of political fundraising, in which he plays a part by selling books to those of us who want to be amused by what assholes the Republicans are in their day-to-day lives.

2. I don't want to be "involved." I have NEVER wanted to be involved. I would have stopped voting a long time ago except that friends and loved ones hectored me into it. I would no more knock on someone's door to advance a political cause that I would pass out "Lighthouse" tracts.

Just sayin'.

Day 3 - No Speaker of the House in sight. Send water and provisions.

You Don't Need a Weatherman

 In today's episode of how screwed up is Congress, Kevin McCarthy is still not Speaker of the House after three votes, and George Santos has disappeared again. Voting resumes today at 3:00. I fully expect to see George Santos show up in a powdered wig, cape, and jodhpur boots, claiming to have amnesia and speaking with a German accent.

In the weather, following some of the coldest days we've seen across the country in late December, comes a 73-degree day in North Carolina and a bomb cyclone set to hit San Francisco, with untold flooding forecast for the West Coast. I'd encourage y'all to sell your trucks and install solar and recycle and shit as I have done, but realistically, it won't help. Global Climate change is a corporate-funded Titanic, and the capitalists are the captains of this ship. The World Wide Working poor: Fucked since 1066 and before. 

At least we have pickle ball.

Incredibly, I'm still sober.

The Eeyore in the Room

 Robert Reich has posted today about the implosion/end of the Republican Party. In the fact-free manner of critics everywhere, may I say that predicting the demise of the GOP is not only premature, it is probably never going to happen. Names may change, new people may come and go, but there are (as I see it) at least four groups of people who are relatively entrenched in American politics: from left to right - 1. Socialists, Social Democrats and Progressives, 2. Moderate (corporate) Democrats, 3. Moderate (non-evangelical/neo-conservativet) Republicans, and 4. Evangelicals, White Supremacists, and assorted Fascists. You can quibble around the edges with this, of course, everyone thinks they're special, but these groups have been around in some iteration since the beginning of the Republic, and they're pretty much here to stay.

In a further welcoming gesture to the soon-to-arrive dystopian future (in which I hope to play no more than a cameo), we have mounted a ring camera/light/motion detector on the corner of our house, so we'll have a record of it when they come for us.

January 2, 2023

   

For the third time, today is the second day of 2023. In an unusual turn of events, not much has happened so far this year. I am going on the wagon today. It is 9:30 am and I have not yet had a drink. I'll keep you posted.

Addendum: I should mention that I am restarting this blog after a 2 3/4 year hiatus brought on by the Trump administration, Covid, and general malaise. It is now 10:22 am and I am still sober. That's the kind of hard-hitting news you can expect to find here.