Shades of the Sixties

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Students at Columbia University in New York City made national and international news in April of 1968 when they swarmed the campus and took over five buildings including the president's office as a protest against US involvement in the war in Vietnam.  The students were also protesting the university's work in military research, racism and discrimination on campus, and the proposed expansion of the university into a local park with the construction of a new gym.   There were some injuries to both students and police during the protests and campus takeover, but it ended peacefully after several days.   The event was a defining moment of the times which helped to galvanize public opposition to the Vietnam War.

Fifty-six years later and once again in the cruel month of April, Columbia University is back in the news with another student protest, the focus this time being the on-going genocide in Gaza.

This Wednesday morning while the President of Columbia University, Nemat "Minouche" Shafik, was in Washington, DC, testifying before Congress regarding congressional concerns over anti-semitism on campus, students and faculty members were busy setting up an encampment of tents and signs on the university grounds.   Some of those involved in the protest were from Columbia's sister school, Barnard College, a women's liberal arts school that is adjacent to Columbia.

According to an article on CNN.com this morning, the "Gaza Solidarity Encampment" was focused on Columbia University's investment in "corporations that profit from Israeli apartheid, genocide, and military occupation of Palestine."   The protest was organized by a student-led coalition of over 120 campus organizations.  A competing group in support of Israel also gathered at the scene.

It was a formidable protest, so significant, in fact, that the university felt compelled to call in the New York Police Department yesterday to break it up - and more than one hundred arrests were made, mostly on a preliminary charge of criminal trespass with Columbia University being named as the complainant.

Shades of the sixties.

There was a news story yesterday stating that three Barnard students had been suspended for their involvement in the encampment and protest, and one of the three was Isra Hirsi, a 21-year-old junior at Barnard who happens to be the daughter of US Representative Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, one of three Muslim members of Congress.  That should certainly give the conservative extremists in Congress something tangible to chew on for a few weeks.

This old hillbilly retiree actually knows a Barnard student, one of my grand-nieces who is finishing her first year at that exceptionally fine academic institution.  I'm sure she is keenly aware of all that is happening around her and learning from the experience.  A major portion of a college education happens outside of the classroom.  Grab it all, Lauren, grab it all!

And damn it, Joe, either rein Bibi in or cut him loose.  I don't want my tax dollars being used for the extermination of a race of people!

Don Snoreleone

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Donald John Trump, the elderly politician who is presumptive Republican nominee for President in 2024, once reportedly paid a porn star to spank him with a copy of Forbes Magazine.  Now he has again been spanked with a major publication, only this time assault on his dignity was more figurative than it was literal.

Trump's first criminal trial began this past Monday morning in New York City, and the consummate performer showed up where he predictably played the victim for the press before going inside and making history as the first former US President to ever be prosecuted in a criminal trial, this one alleging that he used his business accounts to hide hush money payments to a porn star (the same one who claims to have spanked him with the magazine) to keep her from revealing their months-long sexual relationship to the press and possibly cost him votes in the 2016 presidential election.  

The first day of the trial centered on hearing instructions from the judge and getting the jury selection process started.   It must have been tedious because, according to Maggie Haberman, a reporter for The New York Times, Trump fell asleep during the process.   Haberman, who is obviously not one of Trump's favorite reporters, shared a fairly graphic description of Trump zonking out while sitting at the defense table.  She noted that he "appeared to nod off a few times" with "his mouth going slack and his head drooping onto his chest."   Haberman's description ended with this jewel:  "Trump has apparently jolted back awake, noticing the notes his lawyer passed him several minutes ago."

Maggie Haberman's unflattering description of Trump was already being read by the general public by the time the trial recessed, and it was certainly not helpful to an aging politician who routinely refers to his opponent as "Sleepy Joe."

"Drowsy, Don," anyone?

One internet hitman even went so far as to refer to the GOP political boss as "Don Snoreleone!"  

Priceless!

Now instead of just being able to brag about having his butt beaten with a copy of Forbes, Trump can also boast about the spanking he just took from The New York Times!

Savor the moment, Don.

Glory days!

Pa Rock's Plan to Save the U.S. Postal Service

 

by Pa Rock

Man with a Plan

With the advent of "forever" stamps seventeen years ago, many people no longer have any idea how much money they spend to send a letter.  We used to know, when the price of first-class postage was printed right on the stamps that we would affix to our letters, but those days are long gone, and now we are forced to use a mail system whose rates are cloaked in government subterfuge.

In 1948 when I was born, the cost of mailing an ordinary first-class letter from any place in the United States to anyplace else in the United States was three cents.  Three damned pennies!  It had been that way since 1932 when it was raised from two cents for a first-class letter stamp, and the two-cent price had been in effect since 1885 - with a one-year exception during World War I when it had skyrocketed to three cents.

And it wasn't the occasion of my birth that started the out-of-control rise in the cost of postage.  I was several months past my tenth birthday when the price of a first-class stamp went to four cents, an event that caused a national howl that was almost as loud as the one five years after that when the mail service introduced zip codes.

I was getting ready to go into fifth grade when postage went to four cents, and I was in high school less than five years later when it was bumped to five cents.  Postage was kicked up to six cents per first-class letter while I was in college.  The cost of mailing an ordinary letter was eight cents when my oldest son was born in 1973, thirteen cents when my daughter was born in 1976, and fifteen cents when my youngest son arrived in 1979.  Postage was literally increasing faster than the size of my family!

And since then, of course, it has gotten even crazier.

Postage rose from fifteen cents to twenty-five cents during the 1980's, twenty-five cents to thirty-three cents in the 1990's, thirty-three cents to forty-four cents in the 2000's, and forty-four cents to fifty-five cents in the 2010's.  

The price of a first-class stamp did not rise again until August of 2021 when it went to fifty-eight cents.  Postage for an ordinary letter jumped to sixty cents in July of 2022, sixty-three cents in January of 2023,  and on to sixty-six cents less than six months after that in early July of 2023.

This year, 2024, the cost of mailing an ordinary letter went up two more cents in January to sixty-eight cents and the postal service has already announced plans to bump it another nickel in July.  In less than three months Americans will be paying seventy-three cents to mail a first-class letter, whether they realize it or not.

Party hearty, Louie!

The United States Postal Service struck gold on April 12th, 2007, when it launched the concept of "forever" stamps.  The price was removed from the stamps so consumers were often  unaware of how much they were spending to send individual letters, and instead the stamp, once printed and sold, was good "forever" even if the price of postage went up before it was used.  It was a short-term bargain and a long-term clandestine operation.  If the price of a stamp suddenly jumps a nickel, no one is the wiser unless they happen to notice  something in a newspaper or on-line - and then it isn't an immediate concern because they have a sheet of forever stamps in a drawer at home.

The rising cost of "forever" stamps is obviously a postal racket, but it could also be an income stream for wise investors because clearly the cost of postage stamps is rising faster than the interest rates that banks pay on savings' accounts.   People could conceivably buy "forever" stamps en masse, secure them someplace safe, and in a few years offload their stamps for a nice profit - if they could find a ready buyer.  The US Postal Service currently WILL NOT buy them back - I checked!)

But how about this for an option:

The government has already been talking about the notion of returning to some form of postal banking where people could do their general banking right at the post office.  What if the post office could be used for investing as well?  Instead of just selling stamps at the going "forever" rate,  What if Congress passed a law directing the post office to sell stamp stocks at the same rate, one stamp (or one hundred stamps) equals one share, and then have the post office buy those shares back at the new going rate whenever a stockholder wants to sell.  The post office could continue to make their revenue off of its stamp sales, and savvy investors could get in on the action as well while providing the postal service with another revenue stream for running its day-to-day operations.  Win, win!

In the end  '"Pa Rock's Plan to Save the Postal Service"  might even help to tamp down the exorbitant cost of postage - and that would certainly be an unexpected helping of gravy!

Gettysburg. Wow.

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

The original Gettysburg Address, one of the most famous speeches in American history, was penned by President Abraham Lincoln on the back of an envelope and delivered at the dedication of the Soldiers' National Cemetery near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, on November 19th, 1863, the site of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War.  Lincoln's speech that day was known for its brevity and eloquence, and it was such a masterpiece of writing and oration that school students for generations were tasked with memorizing and reciting it.

Ninety-eight years later there was a second Gettysburg address connected to the American presidency, a physical location, when Ike and Mamie Eisenhower left the White House in January of 1961 and moved to the small farm that they had purchased which was situated on a Gettysburg rural route.

And now, sixty-three years further on, another American President has chosen to return the nation's focus to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.  Donald Trump went off in a wandering diatribe about the Civil War battle at Gettysburg last Saturday while he was attempting to give a political speech in Schnecksville, Pennsylvania.  I had seen his basically incoherent remarks not long after they fell from his mouth, and chose to disregard them, but today a favorite cousin in California emailed them to me (thanks, Susanna!), and I decided that they were of such a unique nature that they should be preserved in The Ramble.  It is very doubtful, however, that any remarks of Donald Trump's will ever merit being memorized and recited by school children.

You might want to tighten your seat belt because Donald John tends to swerve while he talks, but here is what the former President had to say about Gettysburg:

"Gettysburg, what an unbelievable battle that was.  The Battle of Gettysburg.  What an unbelievable - I mean it was so much and so interesting, and so vicious and horrible, and so beautiful in so many different ways.  It represented such a big portion of the success of this country.

"Gettysburg.  Wow.   I go to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to look and to watch.   And the statement of Robert E. Lee - who's no longer in favor - did you ever notice that?  No longer in favor - 'Never fight uphill, me boys,  never fight uphill.'    They were fighting uphill.  He said, 'Wow, that was a big mistake.'  He lost his big general, and they were fighting.  'Never fight uphill, me boys!'  But it was too late."

Mondo bizarro!

Do the parents of America's young men and women really want their sons and daughters fighting in a military that is under the control of someone with such an amorphous mind?  Shouldn't all people who work in the White House, and especially the President, have the ability to speak in complete sentences that make sense?  Is it too much to expect a President of the United States to at least have the equivalent of a third-grader's knowledge of American history?

Three former United States Presidents (all Republicans) have connections to a Gettysburg address.  Two were recognized dynamic leaders who worked tirelessly to bring our nation together and make it stronger and better, and the third was Trump.

Gettysburg.  Wow.

Gypsy Goes on Another Walk-About

by Pa Rock

Dogsitter

Two days ago I had a really good morning with Gypsy, our large, playful pup who loves the Great Outdoors.  I could not find her leash, and consequently let her run free outside twice, and both times she did her business promptly and returned to the house.  Sometimes Gypsy has selective hearing issues and cannot hear commands or pleas to return home, but Saturday morning was not one of those times.

Sunday morning, however, was a different story.  

Yesterday I did have access to Gypsy's leash, but since I don't like being pulled around the yard by an eighty-pound dog any more than she enjoys pulling me,  I let her out at 6:00 a.m. without the leash.  Rosie and I walked with her, and Gyspy behaved - for a while.  Gypsy had disappeared by the time Rosie and I were ready to go in, so I brought the little dog into the house and went back outside, leash-in-hand, to look for the truant canine.

I couldn't find "the Traveler," as I've taken to calling her, and eventually came back in the house to deal with other domestic chores.  At 10:00 in the morning when Gypsy was still not home, I got in the car and drove a couple of miles in three directions looking for her.  One of my stops was a Galloway Park where she had spent a morning on a previous walk-about playing with people in the park.  Gypsy is especially fond of kids, of which we have none at our house.  At Galloway I drove along the edge of the park for about a half-mile, and drove into the facility's parking lot and turned around, but did not see the runaway anywhere.  

I came home without the dog, and for the rest of the day would occasionally go outside and walk the property line calling her name.  But no luck.  By the end of the day I had convinced myself that she had probably hopped in a car with strangers and gone to live somewhere else.  I had caught her hopping in a car with strangers one other time, but they did not want her and threw her out.

Later, at around 7:00 p.m., I heard a light tapping on the front door and knew before I ever up to open the door that the missing canine had probably found a ride home.  Two high school students were standing on the front porch with along with Gypsy.  "Is this your dog, mister?" the boy asked. "We've been to several houses and nobody knows her."  

"I know her," I admitted.  "This is her home."  

The kids told me that Gypsy had spent the day playing with them at Galloway Park and that she had eaten well all day long.  (She is on a diet when she is at home.). As we were talking, the very tired Gypsy stepped out into the yard and fell asleep in the grass.  When I finally got her into the house, she promptly ate Rosie's dinner and then fell asleep for the night.  She arose for an hour or so this morning and is now back asleep.  Playing all day must be really hard work!

I still suspect that Gypsy is preparing to live up to her name and move on down the road, which is a shame because she has had a really good run here whether she realizes it or not.  She has had her shots and been spayed while living at our house, and she has a new bed.  She also has an abundance of yard to run and play in, something which once was plenty but now seems to be too confining.  But, alas, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

This is real life, and we'll just have to see how it plays out.  I hope Gypsy decides to stick around.   We are just now getting used to each other's obstinate behaviors.

War! What Is It Good For?

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Late yesterday evening the country of Iran launched a drone and missile attack against the country of Israel in retaliation for Israel's strike against an Iranian consular building in Damascus, Syria, earlier this month.   The Israeli attack had killed members of Iran's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps including two senior commanders.  It was widely assumed in the international community that Iran would retaliate, and US President Joe Biden had been saying for days that an attack by Iran against Israel was imminent.

To the surprise of literally no one, that attack occurred last night.

Israel has a supposedly "impenetrable" air defense system which they call the "Iron Dome," but even with that they were glad to have US and British assistance in warding off the attack.   Iran launched more than 300 missiles and drones toward Israel and all but a few were shot down before they reached Israeli air space.  One ten-year-old Israeli girl was reportedly seriously injured in the attack, and thirty-one other Israelis were given medical treatment for anxiety or injuries received while rushing to shelter.

Israel, of course, has promised to retaliate for the retaliatory attack.  That's the way war goes.

Clearly the only winners in last night's flare-up in the Middle East were the world's arms' manufacturers and weapons' dealers.    War has always been, and apparently always will be, good business, and it trades well on the stock market.

And what politician isn't pleased to pocket political donations from these merchants of death?

The 1960's were a lot of fun, but obviously nothing got fixed.

Being the Wild Goose

 

by Pa Rock

Road Warrior

When you see an old person driving down the road, chances are fairly good that they are heading to or from a doctor's office, pharmacy, or the grocery store.  Our lives are steeped in excitement.

Yesterday I was up and out of the house well before daylight in order to be at a medical appointment in Springfield (101 miles from my house) by 7:20 a.m.   The first part of the appointment was a "fasting" lab, which meant that I made the nearly two-hour drive without benefit of breakfast or caffeine stimulant.  But the drive was quiet, peaceful, in fact, and when I arrived I was in a good frame of mind for discussing my medical concerns with the doctor.  The drive home was also pleasant and uneventful, and provided plenty of time for thinking.

One of the things I thought about was how much I was enjoying the solitude of rolling down the road on my own.  I also thought about my annual trip to Oregon to see three of my grandchildren and how much I hate the airport experience associated with flying.   There are two primary options for going to Oregon:  flying is the quickest, cheapest and most aggravating infuriating, and driving takes far longer with numerous restaurant and motel or camping stops along the way.  (Going by bus or train are also options, but both are exceedingly complicated, expensive, and take several days.)

I have driven to Oregon three times, once from Phoenix and twice from Missouri, and enjoyed all three  of those expeditions enormously.  My last drive there was with my grandson, Boone, in 2014.  I have threatened to drive the past couple of years, but things always came up that interfered with those plans. Last summer, for instance, proved to be the summer of "stents," when much of my time was focused on keeping my tired old body repaired and functioning.

But by the time I got home yesterday I had made up my mind to drive to Oregon one more time - within the next couple of months.   I am going to do it by myself so that I can enjoy the peace and solitude and not worry about meeting other people's needs.  I'll stop where I want, stay where I want, and drive off on spur-of-the-moment detours whenever the spirit moves me.

This morning, while I was out taking Rosie on her constitutional, I heard a wild goose honking in the distance.  I looked to the skies expecting to see a ragged "vee" of geese heading north for the summer, but instead was surprised to see one lone goose flying low and heading southwest.  

"Wrong way, Corrigan,"

I shouted to the sky.

"Honk, honk,"

Came his reply.

Maybe when I leave for Oregon I will head off in the wrong direction, too, but if I stay on the road long enough I should eventually get someplace other than a doctor's office, pharmacy, or the grocery store.  It will be a nice break from my routine - which is getting very, very old.

Taking Down a School Shooter's Enablers

 

by Pa Rock

Former Principal

There were a couple of significant court actions over the past week regarding America’s ongoing lack of success in stopping, or even slowing, incidents of school shootings.
 
The first involved the case of Ethan Crumbley, who was a fifteen-year-old when he brought an automatic pistol that his parents had purchased for him to his Michigan high school on November 30, 2021, and killed four teenage students while seriously wounding several others.  This past December a Michigan court found Ethan Crumbley guilty of murder and a judge sentenced him to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
 
There was a lot of neglect and bad parenting at play in that boy’s situation, and it is hard, for me at least, to feel good about the judicial result.  The father had purchased the 9mm automatic handgun and he and the boy’s mother gave it to their son as a gift for his fifteenth birthday.  The parents had ignored signs of mental health distress in their son and even his own pleadings for help with his emotional issues.  They had even met with school officials on the day of the shooting (before it happened) and had declined the school’s request that Ethan be taken home for the remainder of the day.  

At one point Ethan had told his parents that he was hearing voices, to which his father replied "Suck it up."   At another point the boy texted a friend and said that he felt like he was "mentally and physically dying."  Clearly he was seeking help, but none was forthcoming.
 
Guns were glorified in the home by both parents, and if they had any type of parenting plan, it was fatally flawed.   But, nevertheless, the kid is going to prison for the rest of his natural life with no chance of parole.
 
This past week James and Jennifer Crumbley, Ethan’s parents who immediately went into hiding after the shooting and have been incarcerated for most of the two years since the shooting, were each sentenced to ten-to-fifteen years in prison for manslaughter as a result of their actions in purchasing the murder weapon for their son, failing to supervise his access to the weapon, and failing to act on his mental distress and seek appropriate treatment.
 
I am uncomfortable with the sentence imposed on Ethan Crumbley because of the extenuating circumstances and sad way that he was raised, all of which helped to turn him into such a damaged adolescent – but I have no qualms at all about the sentences given to his parents, other than a strong feeling that they should have been sent down for an even longer period of time.  Perhaps there are other parents out there who will view the Crumbleys' situation as a wake-up call and suddenly start paying closer attention to the behaviors of their own children – particularly if those behaviors could lead to lethal results.
 
Let parents reap a portion of what they have sown.
 
The second case is more near and dear to my heart because it involves a school principal, and I served as a school principal for more than a dozen years.  It is a high-pressure and very hard job.  
 
An old joke that used to go around the principal community went something like this:
 

A mother goes into her son’s bedroom to wake him for school, but he pretends to be sick and says that he doesn’t want to go.  The mother, knowing that her son is not physically ill, questions him as to why he doesn’t want to go to school.  “Because,” the son replies, “everybody hates me.  The kids hate me, the teachers hate me, the cooks and the bus drivers hate me, the secretary hates me, and even the superintendent hates me.”
 
“But son,” his mother pleads, “you can’t stay home.  You must go to school.  You’re the principal!”

 
In January of 2023 a first-grade teacher was shot in the stomach and gravely wounded by a six-year-old in her classroom at an elementary school in Newport News, Virginia.   This week the Commonwealth of Virginia announced that it was bringing eight counts of felony child abuse against the young lady who was the assistant principal of the school at the time the teacher was shot.  The Commonwealth contends that the assistant principal ignored three warnings from individual teachers that the child might be carrying a gun, and that when a school counselor suggested that the administrator check his backpack for a gun, she declined to do so.  The negligent assistant principal resigned shortly after the shooting.  The teacher is suing the school for $40 million. 
 
(The mother in this case is also doing time.  Last summer she was sentenced to 21 months in prison on federal charges of using marijuana while owning a gun and of lying about her drug use on her application to purchase a weapon.)
 
Even as someone who knows firsthand how beat-down, unappreciated, and vulnerable principals can feel, I am still of a mind that teachers and administrators, like parents, also bear some responsibility regarding some actions of some students, and their culpability should not be automatically ignored in the wake of a school shooting.
 
Taking a serious look at the extenuating circumstances at play in a school shooting and then holding negligent party’s accountable sounds like a commonsense approach that could help to decrease the incidents of tragedy and bloodshed.  I’m glad to see this week’s court actions.  

The Alice

 

by Pa Rock

TV Junkie

I am seventy-six now and have been for almost a month, and one thing I have learned during my seventy-six orbits around the sun is that each passing year goes by a little faster.  I now suspect that my time to travel, especially great distances, is coming to an end, or perhaps it is already over, and my biggest regret on that front is that I never made it south of the equator to see the "Southern Cross."  If I had somehow managed to sail into the Southern Hemisphere, I would have liked to have landed in Australia, the land down under, and spent a few months exploring all that unique continent has to offer.

I would have enjoyed being shuttled through all of the tourist stuff like the Sydney Opera House and the iconic bridge that crosses Sydney Harbor, Bondi Beach, and the Great Barrier Reef, as well as seeing the koala bears, kangaroos, and other unique life forms that inhabit the enormous island continent.

Australia has five cities whose populations exceed a million individuals:  Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, and Adelaide, as well as several others whose residents number in the hundreds of thousands, and I am sure each of those would  be worth a couple of days of exploration, but there is one other, very out of the way Australian community, that has always held my interest:  Alice Springs (in the desert Outback) with a population of around 30,000 hardy souls.  Alice Springs, or "The Alice" as some of the locals refer to it, is in the Northern Territory and far removed from the tourist meccas of the south.  It is not a standard stop on many tourist itineraries.

I became aware of Alice Springs - whose population totals about two-and-a-half times that of the small Missouri city near which I reside - through a couple of college geography courses, but did not have a feel for the town or the rugged terrain in which it is ensconced until I saw the film "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert," in the late 1990's.  In that movie three drag queens - two gay males and one transgendered female - drive south to north across Australia from Sydney to Alice Springs - in a large pink tourbus, and have several colorful misadventures along the way.   It was filmed on location with much of the action taking place in the red desert of the Outback.

Alice Springs had the look and feel of a place that would be very interesting to visit.

A few weeks ago while program surfing on Prime, I came across a 22-episode mini-series that had been filmed in Alice Springs in 2005-2006.  The show was called "The Alice," and it featured a large and very talented cast of Australian actors, none of with whom I was familiar.  So I watched one episode and immediately became hooked.  Last night I finished the series, and I have nothing but high praise for the show, its clever writers, and its many fine actors.

The teaser on "The Alice's" IMDB page on the internet reads:  "The show follows the lives of the locals, wrapped in the mystical veil of Aboriginal legends."  It is a comedy, of sorts, with strong dramatic undertones.  The characters are quirky without becoming tiresomely so, and the settings are reminiscent of the rough edges of small town America fifty years or so ago.  There are plenty of dirt roads and lots of local color including a bar where quite a bit of the action takes place, local versions of basketball and football, a camel race, love triangles, an omni-present ghost who only one of the characters can see, and even a pair of tour guides who, as they explain the unique town and area attractions to the tourists on the show, are also educating the viewing public at home.

If you feel restless and confined, but are getting too old to travel, "The Alice" might be just the break you need.  It even offers a couple of nice views of the "Southern Cross!"

Jason Smith Plays Political Games with Easter

 

by Pa Rock

Missouri Voter

My congressman, Republican Jason Smith of southeast Missouri, is a forty-three-year-old bachelor politician who sleeps in his office at the Capitol (a government complex dubbed by some as a "homeless shelter" for congressmen).  Smith regards himself as a mover and shaker in Congress and is, in fact, the current chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, a fact that he brings up ad nauseam in his weekly email newsletter to a few of his constituents.

I somehow made it onto Smith's email newsletter list a few years ago, and, so far, have not been removed.  It comes out on Mondays, and I always make reading it a priority.  I also take and read newsletters from Rep. Debbie Lesko  and Rep. Paul Gosar, both of Arizona.  Lesko's is fairly balanced and informative, even for a conservative from a strong conservative area, and Gosar's, as you might expect, is steeped in crazy, but always funny.  

Jason Smith's newsletter, on the other hand, is dry and formulaic.  The first third-to-half of the missive is always an attack on Joe Biden and/or his family and/or administration.  Jason rushes around during the week trying to secure speaking spots on right-wing sewage disposal outlets like Fox, Breitbart, and Newsmax, and then scatters links to those brushes with fame throughout the political portion of his newsletter.  The remainder of his newsletter is focused on news from back in the district:  area residents, and especially students, who are in the news for noteworthy achievements, as well as occasional congressional visits to area farms.  The newsletters begin with a good dose of political drivel, but are saved by the far more friendly and respectful local section.

This week's newsletter from Jason Smith began with a standard shot at the President.  This time Smith chose to lead with the false charge that Biden had declared "Easter Sunday as Transgender Visibility Day,"  a claim that had been completely debunked a full week before.   But it contained a couple of elements sure to rile Jason's voters back home, and he just could not help himself.   Even though it was not true, it was just too good politically not to print!

The International Day of Transgender Visibility has been celebrated on the same day - March 31st - for the past fifteen years.  Easter Sunday, as any practicing Christian knows, falls on a different day every year - but always on a Sunday.  This year the events happened to occur on the same day, purely a calendrical coincidence and not some nefarious Biden plot.    Jason Smith knew that, and the fact that he chose to make Easter a political issue by tying it International Transgender Visibility Day says more about Smith's disregard for the intelligence of his voters than it does about any supposed affront to Christianity.

Easter is a holy day celebrated by Christians around the globe.  It should be focused on love and acceptance, not acrimony and efforts to keep us divided.

Easter was marked with the ugly stain of politics this year, but Joe Biden wasn't the one who stained it.

Mowing, Mowing, Mown

 

by Pa Rock

Cutter of Grass

The mowing season at Rock's Roost officially got underway last Saturday when I climbed aboard my monster mower well before the noon hour and mowed for nearly six hours with only one brief break.  The weather forecast has been for lots of rain, though it hasn't happened yet, and once I started the mowing I wanted to get it all done - and not leave the yard partially completed like some mullet of a lawnscape.  It was in nice shape for our visitors yesterday, and today the dogwoods are bursting through in all their glory, so the yard still looks extra special.

But now that I have started, it will require continuous mowings about every two weeks until about November.  It's so nice to have a purpose in life!

I always think of my dad when I begin the mowing season.  I send my mower in for a complete refurbishment every winter, and when I hop on in the spring it is ready to go.  My dad, however, who grew up in the Great Depression, did not believe in paying anyone to do anything that he could do himself, (even if it wasn't cost efficient), and he spent many years trying to teach me a variety of maintenance arts.  One of those was how to take proper care of a lawnmower.

If, God forbid, I ever needed to borrow my dad's dependable push mower, it was never just a simple borrow it, use it, and return it.  No, my dad could not go anywhere near a mower without putting on a full-scale production.  He had a grinding wheel on his workbench which he loved, and always insisted on taking the mower blade off and sharpening it, regardless of how many times he had sharpened it in the past couple of weeks.  He would spend thirty minutes or so adjusting the carburetor to insure that the machine was operating optimally, and he would scrub the body down thoroughly and make sure there was no no old grass underneath the mower frame to interfere with the rotation of the blade.

I've even seen him rotate the wheels!

Dad would also change the mower's oil about every time he used it, and every bolt, lever, sprocket, or part that could possibly move got a good dose of WD-40 before the mower rolled out of the garage.

Preparing the lawnmower for a couple of hours work was a ceremony to my father.  I've never had time for ceremonies - I just want to get the damned yard mowed!

Last Saturday I was able to get the yard mowed, instead of spending the entire day pretending that I was part of a NASCAR pit crew - and today my yard looks great!

The moral of this story is do what you like to do.  If working on lawnmowers is your thing, do that - maybe even open a shop, but if that's not your thing, let someone do it who wants to be doing it.  It's good for your nerves - and the economy!

Dad would have been one hundred later this year, and he would have still been fixing and maintaining his own stuff.   Rest well, old man, and know that your oldest is still mowing, and mowing, and mowing!

Eclipse Comes and Goes

 

by Pa Rock

Stargazer Geezer

The City of West Plains, Missouri, has been planning an Eclipse Party for more than two years, and the big celestial event finally came to pass early this afternoon - for a couple of minutes - and then the sun came back out, as the educated world knew that it would.  

My good friends, Ranger Bob and Sandy Randall, arrived around 9:30 this morning, giving us time for a delicious and healthy brunch which Sandy brought, a good visit, and a tour of the town.   There was lots of traffic in town, much more so than yesterday, but we didn't encounter any traffic blockages, snarls, or wrecks.    Bob said that the Missouri State Highway Patrol had been well represented along Highway 60 between Springfield and West Plains.  

This Modern World:  Although I know for a fact that my old college roommate is an exceedingly cautious driver, he did say that he has a phone app which successfully alerted them to speed trap on the road to West Plains this morning.  I guess "fuzz busters" are now a thing of the past.

We had lunch while sitting in the backyard as the sky slowly darkened.  Our meal consisted of wonderful chicken salad sandwiches on croissants followed by delicious homemade chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies, all of which Sandy brought,   It had been a bird-chirpy spring day when the event started, but Sandy noticed that as the darkness came on, most of the birds became silent.   Gypsy, who was outside on a leash, just sat through the brief darkness and looked curious, but it scared Rosie who went and hid behind Nick's truck.  (She loved having company, but did not appreciate them turning off the sun!)

Nick and Ranger Bob seemed to hit it off very well.  Nick told of a mountain lion encounter that he had experienced, and Bob shared a story about when he and another park ranger in Louisiana had captured and bound a large alligator and then relocated him.  My friend still has both hands and feet, so he obviously knew what he was doing!

Our company is headed home now, but they left us with many good memories - and Sandy left enough food to last Nick and I most of the week!  

Old friends are the best, and sharing an eclipse with them was extra special.  I can hardly wait for the next one!

Nothing But Blue Skies Do I See

 

by Pa Rock

Stargazer Geezer

Eclipse day is finally here and the skies over West Plains, Missouri, are delightfully clear and blue, but soon, of course, they will be black as darkness settles in.  But for the time being the skies are sunny and the day is beautiful!

Alexa has been telling me for several days that it would be "partly sunny" on Monday, but she was wrong, as she often is, because it is now Monday and it is "plenty sunny."    (I need to so some research and try to ascertain just what the difference is between "partly sunny" and "partly cloudy.")

I have company headed this way to view the big celestial event.   Ranger Bob and his lovely wife, Sandy, are driving over from Springfield.  I haven't seen them since Bob and I went on a big treasure hunt to McDonald County last November when I tried and failed to find the time capsule that I had buried sixty years ago.  Maybe we can give it another shot this fall after all of the tourists go home.

I live about a mile north of West Plains, and yesterday I drove into town to see all of the crowds who had supposedly shown up for the four-day eclipse "Party in the Path."   I diligently searched every part of town where I would expect crowds to be gathered - and came up with zilch.  There appeared to be fewer people in town than would have been there on a normal Sunday afternoon.  I heard later that some were at the fairgrounds where hot air balloons were putting on a show.  (I hadn't thought to check the fairgrounds, which are about a mile due west of my home.  Last night there were fireworks at the fairgrounds, but I was already in bed reading, so I just listened to the noise.)

One extraneous thought:  I wonder if some enterprising insurance salesman in Georgia thought to sell Marge Greene a rider on her homeowner's policy that would cover eclipses?  You can never have too much protection, Marge!

Darkness beckons!

The Traveler

 

by Pa Rock

Minder of Dogs

Rosie is an older dog.  She will be ten in July which, I understand, is the equivalent to seventy in human years.  Next year I will be seventy-seven and so will she!  Rosie is very sedentary.  She likes being indoors and napping.  Going outside is a bother.

Gypsy, on the other hand, is a mere pup who just turned one this past week.  She is seven in human years, or roughly a second grader -  and she tends to bounce around live a severed power line.  Gypsy lives for running free in the great outdoors.

My son named Gypsy, and I have never asked where he came up with the name.  I know that he and his friends - all forty-and-fifty-somethings - followed the sensational news stories about Gypsy Rose Blanchard, the Munchausen victim from nearby Springfield.    Those stories were winding down around the time our dog showed up.  (Ironically, none of them had heard of Gypsy Rose Lee!  Somesbody is showing their age, and I guess it's me!)

Whatever my son's logic was in naming Gypsy, he could not have come up with a more fitting moniker because, like her nomadic namesakes, the gypsies of central and eastern Europe who are often referred to as Roma or Romani -  or Travelers - our Gypsy is, deep in her heart, a traveler.

Gypsy was traveling when she found us while on an extended walk-about several miles from her home.  It took a couple off weeks, but my son was eventually able to locate her family and they came and took her home.  But Gypsy had been out and seen the world, and her wanderlust was not sated.  Soon her owners called and asked if she could come back and live with us again - and we happily welcomed her back into our home.

But Gypsy is a free spirit who likes to run free.  Our ten acres kept her satisfied for awhile, and she was very good about not straying from the property.  Gypsy is a smart young lady who knows what's what, and where she can go, and what is beyond her limit.

For awhile I could turn her out to do her business and not have to worry.  She would be back on the porch in just a few minutes ready to come back in.  But her visits outside gradually began to increase in length and she became more difficult to rein-in.  It got to where as soon as I would step out on the back porch to look and call for her, she would step behind a building or a tree and act like she could not hear me.  She was a typical seven-year-old child who wanted to set her own schedule.

Then a male dog showed up and began leading her on a merry chase.  Suddenly she thought she was an adolescent!   A trip to the vet cooled that romance.

But Gypsy still had the urge to travel.  This past Friday I let her out twice in the morning and she came back promptly both times, so I thought we were in for a good day, but when I let her out at noon she took off and was gone the rest of the day.  My son, who can be decidedly less pleasant than me when it comes to dealing with wandering canines, rounded her up when he got home from work.

Yesterday morning Gypsy and Rosie and I were again out for our constitutional just after daylight when four young boys, probably junior high students, ran down the lane looking as though they were practicing for track.  Gypsy thought that looked like great fun, but I held her tightly by the collar until they had passed and finally rounded the bend and headed off in another direction.  When I eventually let her go, she took off like a shot to catch up with the runners and make some new friends.

They were about a quarter of a mile away, but I could see them all making introductions.  After a few minutes the runners went on and Gypsy came home.

We walked some more up and down the driveway and across the yard and should have gone in, but it was a nice morning and we were in no hurry.   That was a mistake because the young runners came back by heading in the direction from which they had originally come, and Gypsy raced off to follow her new friends.  Rosie and I stayed out a while longer assuming that Gypsy would return, but she didn't.   I knew my son, who had been at work since before dawn, would soon be home, so I didn't worry - he could deal with her.

Around ten o'clock, after Gypsy had been AWOL for nearly three hours, a strange car pulled into the drive and a nice-looking woman in outdoor attire stepped out and came to the door.  "Are you missing a black and white dog?"  she said.  I admitted that I was, and we went to the car and retrieved The Traveler.  The lady, who was apparently a parent-coach, said that they were having a track meet at Galloway Park - which is about a mile from my house - and that the "sweet" dog had been there helping to run the meet.

This morning when I took Gypsy out, she was on a leash.  She does not like being on a leash.  That is not who she is.

I suspect that as I type this, Gypsy is plotting her next move on down the road.

Rosie would not leave here for love nor money.

Dogs are as different as people.

Cole Porter's hit song from 1934 could have been written for our "sweet" dog who loves to travel:

Don't Fence Me In

by Cole Porter

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above
Don't fence me in
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love
Don't fence me in

Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Send me off forever but I ask you please
Don't fence me in

 

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle
Underneath the western skies
On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise

 

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can't look at hovels and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in

 

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies
Don't fence me in
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love
Don't fence me in

Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Send me off forever but I ask you please
Don't fence me in

 

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle
Underneath the western skies
On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise

 

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in

The Eclipse as God's Wrath

 

by Pa Rock

Stargazer Geezer

A solar eclipse is a natural phenomenon that most children learn about in elementary school science classes, unless, of course, their school's curriculum is so infused with religious training that there is no time to teach science.  A solar eclipse occurs when three celestial objects - the sun, moon, and the Earth - align, and the moon is between the sun and the Earth blocking the sun's light and casting a portion of  the Earth into darkness under the shadow of th moon.   As the alignment shifts, the moon's shadow moves on.

Eclipses have been going on since the universe was formed (either by the Big Bang or some bored old white man playing with clay), and they have been noted in history since antiquity - and even understood by some of the ancient scholars.  The time and place of a solar eclipse was predicted by the British astronomer, Edmond Halley, in 1715. and the timing of an eclipse was a major plot point in Mark Twain's "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, which was written in 1889.

Solar eclipses are not mystifying events, government plots, or the wrath of God, regardless if what you may read on Facebook.  Yet, despite the fact that most ten-year-olds can explain the dynamics behind a total eclipse of the sun, there are still lots of people out there whose self-interest lies in spreading misinformation, or who are just too damned dumb or lazy to use Google or ask Alexa.

Yesterday Congressperson Marjorie Taylor Greene of Georgia posted the following on X (Twitter):

"God is sending America strong signs to tell us to repent.   Earthquakes and eclipses and many more things to come.  I pray that our country listens."

God almighty!

Repent, repent, repent, America - or God will surely smite us with even more eclipses!

(Many of the people who would have believed that rubbish are gone now because they drank bleach to cure their COVID!)

Party in the Path

 

by Pa Rock

Dweller in Darkness

While my little community, West Plains, Missouri (pop. 12,000), is a nice and relatively safe place to live, and a few of its residents live very comfortably, it is by no means wealthy, and locals here are always on the lookout for new ways to make a buck.  It therefore wasn't surprising when word began to circulate a couple of years ago that the Great Eclipse of 2024 would pass directly over West Plains that some of the more enterprising citizens came up with the idea of using that rare natural occurrence to bring some money into town.  A committee was formed, and slowly a plan to turn the eclipse into a four-day commercial event began to materialize.  It was dubbed "The Party in the Path," and it commences today and will culminate on Monday with the total eclipse of the sun.

West Plains has a good set-up for indoor and outdoor activities, with a nice park system along with some other green areas in town, a large, modern civic center with abundant parking, a modern and newly expanded hospital complex, a campus of Missouri State University in town, a great library, and a vibrant business community that stretches across three separate portions of the community.  It is ideally organized and situated for multi-day events with an outdoor focus, and it hosts a couple at least every year.  But a four-day eclipse party would be something different and very unique.

I'm not much on crowds or festivals, so I doubt that I will go to town at all during the festivities.  I bought groceries yesterday, and I have mowing and housekeeping chores that can keep me busy at home.  I am expecting friends from out of town on Monday to enjoy the eclipse from the tranquility of my yard, and I am looking forward to that.

The Busch family Clydesdales will be in town one of the four days, and I would like to see them, but unless those big horses come clopping down my country lane dragging their beer wagon, I probably won't be making their acquaintance.

My son who works in town and hears all of the gossip, said that all of the motel rooms have been rented - at exorbitant prices, and that expectations are that 150,000 people will try to find places to park, eat, and relieve themselves in West Plains over the next couple of days.  He suggested that we should perhaps rent out camping spaces on our ten acres, but I am more the Clint Eastwood / John McCain type of character who would be better suited to standing on the front porch and yelling, "You kids get the hell off of my yard!"

So I'm going to intentionally miss all of the commercial hubbub, but I will catch the main event when the sun and moon align as they pass over West Plains, Missouri.  It will be a sight to behold, and it will come with a joyful soundtrack:

Ka-ching, ka-ching!

Lunar Time Zone

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

The last human being to st foot on the moon was astronaut Eugene Cernan who did that deed on December 11, 1972.   As the years slowly began to drag on after that flight (Apollo 17), it was beginning to look as though space exploration beyond the Earth's orbit had ground to a halt.  

But now, more than a half-century later, there is a renewed interest by several world governments as well as a couple of private individuals for once again sending humanity beyond the mundane orbit of the Earth.  The United States' Artemis space exploration program currently has plans to resume landing humans on the moon in September of 2026 in a program that will eventually feature the first woman and the first person of color to traverse the surface of the moon.  One of the goals for this new round of visits to the moon will be to begin establishing plans for it to serve as a launch site for deep space missions.

However, before the next group of lunar astronauts head into space two-and-a-half years from now, there is still a lot of prep work to be done, and one of the items on that list is the establishment of a time zone for the moon - because time in space varies slightly from time on Earth due to gravity and some other scientific factors.   Time on the moon moves at 58.7 microseconds (millionths of a second) faster than it does on Earth.  This week the White House sent a memo to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) instructing it to establish celestial time standards for safety and accuracy.

Steve Welby, the Deputy Director for National Security of the US Office and Science and Technology Policy said:

"A consistent definition of time among operators in space is critical to successful space situational awareness capabilities, navigation, and communications, all of which are foundational to enable interoperability across the US government and with international partners."

(People with the ability to speak like that are generally able to find a cubicle that they can call home somewhere within a government bureaucracy.)

So the moon will soon have its own unique time zone.

I also heard on the radio this morning that NASA has engaged with multiple companies regarding the design and manufacture of cars that could be used to traverse the moon and take astronauts from one scenic wonder to another.  (I suspect they will quickly be referred to as "moon buggies," but I kind of like the sound of "lunar lizards."). 

There is already a system of latitude and longitude on the moon with the equator being halfway between the north and south poles, like it is on Earth, and the prime meridian running from pole to pole in the exact center of the moon as it appears from Earth - bisecting the "man-in-the-moon's face.

But would that be enough to keep Chuck and Buck from getting lost AF as they are out tooling around the moon in their lunar lizard?  I don't know this for a fact, but I am assuming that there is, as of yet, no GPS on the moon, and for that to happen someone like Jeff Bezos or Leon Elon Muskrat would have to rush in throw up a hairnet of satellites which would tarnish the view of the moon from Earth, a view that has inspired lovers and vampires since antiquity.

But I wander . . . over yonder.

Perhaps the moon's next surge of tourists could get by with lunar roadsigns - and, of course, the occasional billboard - or perhaps some system of zip codes.

There are so many wonderful things that our civilization can do to enhance future life on the moon.

(And will that new lunar time zone come with Daylight Savings Time?  Enquiring minds want to know!)

Peace Starts with Our Shared Humanity

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Last week I listened to Ron Dermer, Israel's Minister of Strategic Affairs, give an interview in which he said basically that there was no starvation occurring in Gaza and that stories which said otherwise were just being circulated to make Israel look bad.  Dermer spoke rapidly and kept talking over the person trying to conduct the interview, much like a caricature of a used car salesman who didn't want to give his customers time to think about the lemon of a deal he was trying to sell them.  Ron Dermer was  also peddling a lemon.

People are starving in Gaza, and the whole world knows it.  The old, infirm, and the young are especially at risk.  The situation was bad when Dermer was rattling off his carefully packaged propaganda, and it is dire today.

The World Central Kitchen, an international food charity program founded and run by celebrity chef Jose Andres, one of the finest humans ever to walk the earth, has served over 42 million meals to the refugees in Gaza since the war between Israel and Hamas began on October 7th of last year.  The work of Chef Andres and his many volunteers has been the most significant factor in staving off a mass starvation of the populace, but Israel seems to regard humanitarian operations, especially hospitals, as suspect and they continue to be targets of Israeli military operations.

This week the feeding operations also became targets.  Seven staff members of the World Central Kitchen were killed in a convoy carrying food from a supply warehouse to a feeding center in a trip that had been organized with the Israeli military and was proceeding across a "deconflicted zone" on routes that had been coordinated with Israeli Defense Forces - and it clearly marked vehicles.  The small convoy was attacked three times over a distance of more than a mile-and-a-half as wounded survivors struggled to escape.  Three of the seven dead were Brits and one was a Canadian-American dual citizen.

Great Britain and the Untied States have both provided weapons to Israel in the current war effort.

Israel described the deadly attack on third-party humanitarian workers as "unintended," but again the convoy was following a prescribed route with he knowledge of the Israelis, they were in vehicles that were clearly marked, and the attack happened three times over a distance of more than a mile-and-a-half.  The attackers just would not stop.

President Biden telephoned Chef Andres and offered his condolences over the deaths of the charity's workers, but thoughts and prayers won't put food in a child's belly, or bring back the heroes who placed themselves in harm's way to serve humanity.

The assault on the civilian food charity has had a chilling effect on humanitarian efforts in the war zone.  The World Central Kitchen has suspended its operations in Gaza.  Starvation was happening before, even as Ron Dermer lied about it, and it will be far worse now.  (Could that have been the ultimate objective of the attack?)

Chef Andres posted this on X (Twitter):

"The Israeli government needs to stop this indiscriminate killing.  It needs to stop restricting humanitarian aid, stop killing civilians and aid workers, and stop using food as a weapon.   No more innocent lives lost.  Peace starts with our shared humanity.  It needs to start now."

Amen.

Reproductive Rights may be Returning to Missouri

 

by Pa Rock

Missouri Citizen Journalist

The Missouri Legislature, a Republican dominated group of religious extremists and grifters looking for an easy retirement option, passed a law which outlawed abortion in the state with extremely limited exceptions before the Supreme Court even overturned Roe in 2022.    But because their new law was clearly unconstitutional at the time, it was worded so that it would not go into effect until Roe v. Wade was overturned - which it was in the summer of 2022.   When the Big Court did act and take away a woman's constitutional right to an abortion, Missouri dusted off its law-in-waiting and became the first state to ban abortion after the fall of Roe.  

Our Republican legislature and our complete slate of Republican statewide office holders are extremely proud of Missouri's total control of its women folk.

We are very pro-life here in Missouri, and if you don't believe it, we may just have to take out our guns and shoot you because we are very pro-gun here, too.  Joe Bob down the road may be pro-life, but that doesn't mean he won't blow your head off for turning around in his driveway!   We also oppose all of those socialist programs where our taxes go to make anyone's life easier, or even just livable, even if those who are helped are children.    We are pro-life, but we are definitely not pro-people-getting-something-for-nothing.  If those nasty little brats are hungry, they need to leave school and get jobs, just like Jesus would have wanted!  Where the hell did all of these damned kids come from anyway?!

But I digress.

There are lots of bad intentions and outright evil woven into the modern Republican party, and the Missouri GOP certainly has more than its fair share of contempt for the rights of women, and children, and minorities, and the poor.  While polling continues to show that a clear majority of US residents - as well as residents of Missouri - favor women having control over their own reproductive healthcare decisions, in places where Republicans have entrenched political control, such as in the show-me state of Missouri, the will of the people does not always prevail.

There is a ballot initiative currently circulating in Missouri which would give women in this state the power to make their own decisions on abortion up until the time the fetus is considered viable - around twenty-four weeks.  It is being proposed as an amendment to the Missouri constitution, and, if the measure makes it to the ballot and passes, it would nullify the current statewide ban on abortion.  Backers of the measure have until May 5th to collect and submit 172,000 valid signatures from registered Missouri voters.

(Yesterday, in the parking lot of a Target store in Springfield, Missouri, I encountered a young man who was circulating the petition to get the Reproductive Rights measure on the ballot.  I was in a rush to make a purchase in the store and get to a doctor's appointment, but I slowed down to sign his petition - because it was important and it was the right thing to do.)

If the people passing those petitions collect the requisite number of legitimate signatures, and there is no reason to believe that they won't, they then go to our troglodyte Secretary of State, Jay Ashcroft, a religious zealot who is an outspoken critic of abortion rights, whose office will then painstakingly have to verify the signatures - and his clerks may get very picky about things like penmanship.

If the petitions make it through the Ashcroft minefield, our Republican governor, Mike Parson, will decide when it is placed on the ballot, either during the August primary election or the November general election.  The people guiding the initiative believe they will have the voter power to win at either time.

But there is something else at play politically that may make this process extra hinky.  There is also an effort by Republicans in our extremist-infested state legislature to change the rules for passing constitutional amendments. The current process for amending the state constitution calls for a bare majority of voters to pass a measure, but the Republicans have, for years, sought to make the process harder.  They got really fired up about it last year when Missourians passed an amendment to the state constitution allowing the recreational use of marijuana, and many in the state legislature continue with the paternalistic belief that they are better qualified to make certain decisions (or perhaps all decisions) than the voters are.  

In February the state senate passed a measure that would require a constitutional amendment to be approved not only by a statewide majority of the voters, but also by a majority of voters in five of the state's nine congressional districts.  That would take power away from Missouri's two large urban areas and hand it over to rural counties, places that tend to be far more conservative in their political views.

If the Missouri House should agree with the Missouri Senate Bill (and why wouldn't they?), it would go the the governor, Republican Mike Parson, who would gleefully sign it.   Parson could put that proposed amendment on the August primary ballot, and the Reproductive Rights proposed amendment on the November ballot. If the first amendment passed in August (when there would be a lower turnout and the GOP would hope more rural conservatives went to the polls), it could then be implemented ahead of the November vote on Reproductive Rights, making that proposed amendment almost impossible to pass.)

Missouri voters, we must be vigilant on any moves to change how our constitution can be amended.  This would be a great time to let your state representative know that you are paying attention.

Changing the rules in order to win an election is crap politics.

Neighbors, Start Your (Lawmower) Engines!

 

by Pa Rock

Old Man with a Mower

When I spoke with my friend Imogene on my birthday a little over a week ago, she declared, rather forcefully for her, that she refused to mow in March even though her yard was already in need of a good mow.  I opined that I would not mow in March either, and completely disregarded the fact that my yard, which some compare to a park during the summer months, was also already looking ragged.

Everyone knows that once you commit that first mowing, you have to keep it up, your life is chained to a ten-day-to-two-week schedule up until almost Thanksgiving.  So why start any earlier than is absolutely necessary?

Last year another friend provided me with an ecological excuse for waiting on the first mowing of the season.  She said that it was very important for the survival of the bee population to let the initial thrust of dandelion blooms come and go before beginning the summer mowing cycle.  I was out and about in the yard yesterday and noticed that the dandelions are in full bloom.  I did not see any bees, however I did spot one red wasp sitting on a dead lilac branch that I want desperately to prune.  (The excitement in my life never lets up!)

Although it is now officially April, I will stall a few more days before I back my big-assed riding mower with three blades and two cup holders out of the garage and begin the summer drudgery.  The dandelions will need a couple of more days before their beautiful blooms begin turning to seed, and it looks like it could rain today anyway.  I also have a doctor's appointment in Springfield today, the one that I had to cancel two weeks ago when I had a flat time just ten miles out of West Plains.  A trip to Springfield and back requires almost four hours on the road, not counting the time spent with the doctor.   

A complete mowing of my yard takes about ten hours.  It's a good thing that I am retired or I would not have time to enjoy the pleasures of old age, things like going to the doctor and mowing!

Take your thrills where you can find them, that's what I always say!

Too Dumb to be a Dictator?

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

John Bolton has served as a controversial foreign policy operative in two administrations, first as George W. Bush's Ambassador to the United Nations, a position for which he was unable to win Senate confirmation so instead served in the position for nearly a year and a half as a "recess appointment," and later as Donald Trump's National Security Adviser where he also served for a little less than a year and half.   Bolton is a foreign policy hawk, and The Economist called him "the most controversial ambassador ever sent by America to the United Nations."

Bolton's dynamic personality and hardline foreign policy beliefs began to clash with Trump's dynamic personality and spasmodic foreign policy actions, and eventually he either voluntarily offered his resignation (according to Bolton) or was fired (according to Trump), and their bromance ended abruptly in September of 2019.  Since that time Bolton has spoken harshly of Trump in his book, "The Room Where it Happened," and also labeled the January 6, 2021, insurrection as an attempt by Trump to overthrow the US government.

John Bolton remains out of favor with the American left, and he is certainly on Trump's shit list.   Perhaps that is why the political extremist without a country this week sought release of his pent-up rage at Trump through the foreign press.  Bolton recently sat for an interview with the French news outlet, Le Figaro, in which he cut loose on Donald Trump's quest for absolute power.

Le Figaro asked John Bolton if Trump has tendencies that mirror dictators currently in power whom Trump has praised, people like Putin and Kim Jong-un, or, put another way, is Trump a potential dictator?  Bolton's answer was scathing.   He said that Trump "hasn't got the brains" to operate a dictatorship, before adding, "He's a property developer for God's sake!"

Ouch!  That had to hurt!

However, I don't think that John Bolton is necessarily correct.

Donald Trump may be a glorified slumlord, but he knows how to manipulate the under-educated and embittered masses, and he also surrounds himself with hardened ideologues and people whose vested interests are (like Trump's) in themselves and their own well-being, and not necessarily the best interests of the nation.   Trump may not be smart or energetic enough to run a competent dictatorship, but he will have a whole host of fascist and racist rats racing around the White House and constantly massaging his ego who are fully adept pulling the levers of power in a manner that would make the Third Reich proud.

Trump doesn't have to be in charge for a dictatorship to take over the nation, hell, he doesn't even have to be competent.  He just has to go play golf and stay out of the way.  His staff will tell him what to sign, and where, and when to rage, and about what.  And somebody will take care of his make-up, like they do now, and someday he will croak and Trump II can step up - and the staff can run his dictatorship, too.

North Korea won't have anything on us!

Glory days!

Biden Gets to Work While Congress Squabbles

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

I came across an article on the internet this morning that highlighted how drastically Congress has changed in less than twenty years by comparing congressional reaction to two massive bridge failures.  In 2007 the I-35 W Mississippi River Bridge collapsed in Minnesota, a tragic event that resulted in the deaths of 13 people and created huge traffic disruptions.  The US House of Representatives voted unanimously two days later to approve federal funding to start rebuilding the bridge and repair the major traffic artery.  The Senate quickly agreed and the bill was on President Bush's desk five days after the bridge had fallen into the water.

Those were the good old days.

When the Francis Scott Key Bridge collapsed this past Tuesday in the early hours of the morning after being struck by a disabled cargo-container ship, there was no unanimity in the current Congress where reactions ranged from hints that it might have been a deliberate attack (Marge Greene, R-GA), to complaints that it was President Biden's fault for not spending enough on bridges in his infrastructure bill (Nancy Mace, R-SC)), to even one suggesting that rebuilding that bridge - which is critical to the regional and national economy due to its connection to the Port of Baltimore - was not a responsibility of the federal government (Dan Meuser, R-PA).

The current Congress is far more impacted by the milieu of conspiracy theorists, partisan punditry, and social media than any of its predecessors, all of which helps to fuel its skepticism, cynicism, and occasional outbreaks of pure lunacy.   Well known conspiracy theorist Alex Jones said on X, "Looks deliberate to me.  A cyber attack is probable.  WW3 has already started."   (Head to the shelters, Alex.  We'll check on you in a decade or three!)

Maria Bartiromo of Fox News suggested that the tragedy had something to do with "the wide open border," and while there is no obvious connection with the bridge collapse and US border policies, the eight construction workers who went into the water when the bridge collapsed were all originally from Mexico and Central America, so perhaps that figured into her political calculus.  

There were also some tweets on X that seemed to somehow conflate the bridge collapse and political pressure to rebuild with the fact that Mayor Brandon Scott of Baltimore is black.  One referred to him as the DEI mayor, and another - by the Michigan GOP - used the term "colored communism" in reference to the mayor and his desire to get the bridge replaced as quickly as possible.

But standing above all of that noise was the President of the United States who was saying that the collapsed bridge is a federal responsibility and that the government would move aggressively to get the site cleared and get the bridge replaced.  Four days after the catastrophe, the largest crane on the east coast has been relocated to the site of the collapse, and $60 million in emergency funding has been allocated to the state of Maryland to get the process started.   

That's from Joe Biden and the White House.  Congress is still squabbling.

Bed Wars and the Royal Pecking Order

by Pa Rock

Servant of Dogs

This year on September 1st little Rosie (11 pounds) will have been a member of my household for ten years.  Her eyesight is failing, but Rosie's hearing remains exceptional, and she is fully aware of everything happening within a hundred yards or so of our house.  She is a wonderful companion and a good friend.

Rosie and I lived by ourselves for several years and got along fine.  A few years ago my oldest son and his very large Boston terrier, Riley, who was built like an English bulldog, came to live with us.   Rosie and I both had to go through some adjustments learning to live around others, but we managed to navigate those changes.  Riley, who had become very protective of Rosie, died of old age two years ago, so Rosie had go to through another adjustment phase in her life.   She inherited Riley[s big, soft dog bed and loved it.  I'm sure that it evoked memories of her departed friend.

Gypsy, a seventy-pound-plus bulldog/pit-bull crossbreed, bounced into our lives a couple of months ago, and poor Rosie had to begin adjusting all over again.  Gypsy loved to play - and bounce - and it didn't take her long to begin tearing up Riley's old bed.   Rosie, who is sweet and normally docile, would just get out of the way and let the big dog be her puppy-self.  Eventually I had to get a new bed for Rosie and figure out strategies for keeping Gypsy away from it.

Meanwhile they sampled each other's food, begged for each other's treats, and even traded water dishes.  There were all kind of games at play and the two canines, one small and elderly and the other enormous and still a puppy, remain in the process of learning to co-exist.

Rosie's new bed was a sticking point because I was bound and determined that Gypsy was not going to play it to shreds.  At first the big dog seemed to resent the new bed and the fact that she was denied access to it, but gradually her demeanor changed and it was more like her feelings were hurt because the little dog had something which she didn't.  So yesterday when a larger, new bed that I had ordered for Gypsy arrived in the mail, I thought she would be one big, happy puppy.

Of course I was wrong.

Gypsy sniffed around her new bed for awhile and even laid down on it, but she was unimpressed.  Rosie, on the other hand thought it was great, and this morning she is the Queen of the House sleeping peacefully on the new dog bed, and the big princess is sleeping soundly in a sunny spot on the floor.

The royal pecking order has been established.