The longest I ever lived in one place growing up was in Guayaquil, Ecuador. We were there for two and a half years, which took me through the fifth and sixth grades. Might not sound like much to you, but when you were a kid and used to moving annually, that was an eon.
And that whole time, my best buddy was Tony Wessler. He was there for the same reason we were — his dad was in the Air Force and part of the same military mission to Ecuador that sent my dad there. We lived about six blocks apart, went to school together, and spent the rest of our time out having adventures in that TV-free environment. I remember it as a sort of Huck Finn existence.
Anyway, it’s been good to reestablish contact with Tony via Facebook sixty years later, and I got a kick out of this bit of improvisation he posted recently. I was impressed. I initially saw it without sound, and it was perfect that way. Sort of Chaplinesque.
Wayne Borders, talking in the garden today about his candidacy.
I was looking for my wife today to ask her some dumb question or other, and found her in the garden to the side of our house. She had paused in her work to speak with a young man I’d never seen before — seeing the rack cards in his hand, I realized he was out campaigning for someone, and when I saw the cards were for Russell Ott, I stepped up eagerly to join the discussion.
To my surprise, he was campaigning for himself. His name is Wayne Borders, and he’s the Democratic nominee against my state representative, Micah Caskey. I’d had no idea Micah had opposition. Wayne was just carrying the cards for Russell because he was a fellow Democratic nominee.
I was also interested to hear him speak, and my first impression was “military brat.” No accent of any kind. Then I asked where he was from, and he said “Red Bank.” So I was more confused than before. He didn’t sound much like Red Bank. But the beginning of his bio on his campaign site sort of explains that. He moved around enough growing up to iron out the regionalisms.
Anyway, we had a nice talk for a little while before I realized I needed to let him go and knock on more doors. But I’ve got his number, and I’ll set up an interview some time soon. So expect some followup.
I’ll also get with Micah. I suspect he’s not terribly concerned, given the district. He didn’t have a primary challenge from his extreme right this year, which I know was a relief for him after last time. For him in this Republican district, the primary is where the rocks and shoals lie. But however slim a Democrat’s chances are around her, this is an interesting development….
My friend Burl Burlingame had brought it to my attention, so I experience some sadness thinking of it now, but mostly laughs. I think that was the first time I mentioned Burl here — he and I had just recently established contact through our blogs. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him for 38 years at that point.
Anyway, it’s amusing to see that people are still having fun with that epically serious scene from “Downfall.” (It’s a sort of mini-industry itself.) By the way, if you’ve never seen that film, go do so right away. (It’s streaming on Amazon Prime, Tubi and Peacock.) It’s pretty awesome. If you don’t speak German, that’s cool. The subtitles — the real subtitles, I mean — will carry you through. It’s about Hitler’s last days in the bunker, through the perspective of a young woman who had recently become his secretary. But don’t expect any laughs.
Anyway, this one is funny, although not as clever as the Star Trek one. There’s a little too much 8th-grade humor (he seems to say things like “my dick” a lot). Actually, the funniest thing about it — and the thing that drew me to watch it — is the premise: “Trump Learns About Taylor Swift’s Endorsement.”
If you spend a lot of time with digital news and social media (please don’t), you might think that conservative and liberal Christians have little in common and that we despise each other because of our doctrinal disputes over gay clergy, transgender people, abortion, etc.
But down here in the pews, it’s mostly about the work of the church – caring for your congregation, your neighborhood, and the wider world.
Jesus asked us to “make disciples of all the nations” (Matthew 28:19) by “feeding his sheep” (John 21:17). My layperson’s interpretation of Jesus’ commands is that he wants us to improve people’s lives – feeding, sheltering, visiting, healing – caring for them in the myriad ways that one person can show love to another. Once we do that, they will have a better idea of who he is and may be moved to become his followers, too.
The beauty of the church is that we meet every week to worship and to face human need, both near and far, together. It is a unique uniting force in society. Yes, the church has done some terrible things historically, which I acknowledge and condemn. But that same sin and corruption that drives wars and injustice and abuse also exist outside the church. In my experience, the church has been an overwhelmingly positive force.
Which brings me to my annual sojourn to Hampton County with Salkehatchie Summer Service. Since 1978, Salk has brought United Methodists and other people of faith together to spend a week rehabilitating homes for South Carolinians. The adults supervise teenagers 14 to 18, and the teens are the focus of the ministry. We want them to understand poverty in a new and provocative way and to realize their connection to it. Every summer, dozens of camps gather in various locations all over the state, involving hundreds of young people in total. The one I have attended since 2008 is fittingly housed at Camp Christian, an old-time Baptist campground.
My team of 4 adults and 8 young people were putting a new roof on an old, but well-built, 4-room home. On Monday afternoon, it started to rain (Monday rain is the bane of Salk roofers because the old shingles are off, but the house is not dried in). We tarped the roof well, but there was a deluge and the inside of the house was drenched. The homeowner couple watched despairingly as their mattress, upholstered chairs, and ruined possessions were unceremoniously thrown into a dumpster in the front yard. The couple gathered some clothes and belongings and we paid for a hotel.
The next day, deacons from two local churches came to the house to see how they could help. These were retired men who belonged to rural Baptist churches. We didn’t talk politics or religion, but I suspect that I am significantly more liberal that they are. But those differences, so prominent on social media and in the minds of many who do not understand why churches exist, did not matter at all. Our goal, about which we were completely unified, was helping the homeowners. On Tuesday, it wasn’t clear that the house could be saved. A thorough inspection by our team after the rain had revealed some previously undiscovered electrical problems that would require extensive rewiring (which was in addition to some significant rot in the floor joists about which we already knew).
For the next three days, we acted on faith. We had come to put a roof on, and we put it on. When the inspector came Friday and determined that the house was salvageable, we cheered.
What impressed me most about our week was the deacons. Every day one of them stopped by the house to check on us and the family. And not just casually. They were there to solve the problem, to love their neighbor in the most tangible and pragmatic way. “Well, we can’t pay for them to stay in a hotel very long.” “Can we find them a place that is close enough to their jobs?” (They had a single car and different work schedules). “If we knock the house down and start over, how will they afford the increase in property tax?”
The deacons, the Salk camp director, and a local Methodist minister, met to formulate a plan. Temporary shelter, better than their current home, was secured until the home could be repaired. All their salvageable belongings were packed up and moved to their new residence. The Salk camp had to end after a week, but we are committed to returning as many times as it takes to join forces with the deacons and other friends of the couple until the house is habitable again.
This is the work of the church. But no media outlet would write about this. Why not? First of all, these kinds of displays of Christian love are too commonplace to be considered news. Second, examine how you feel after reading this. Are you upset or angry? Have I dunked on a group that you dislike? No? Well, that answers the question. This is a story about ordinary people who have some differences in their world views. But those differences pale in comparison to the common ground we share. My week in Hampton was a refreshing demonstration of what happens when we focus on what connects us and try to make our corner of the world a little better.
A version of this column appeared in the August 14th edition of the Post and Courier-Pee Dee.
Happy 9/11 — That may sound like an inappropriate tone (this is the more appropriate one, I grant you), but I do hope you are having a good day. A good, peaceful day. Just don’t let that become complacency, because too many people have little or no peace, from those in the wartorn parts of the world to the folks at home who lost their loved ones 23 years ago.
The ‘debate’ last night — Please share your thoughts. Mine are fairly easy to express: I thought it was as useless an exercise as usual. Supporters of the vice president are crying out “Kamala won!” Well, she did very well. So did the folks at ABC, who I thought managed the mess as well as I’ve seen anyone do in recent years. But what did it accomplish? Her supporters are generally pleased. Good, but what did she “win?” Was a single supporter of her opponent persuaded? As for those “swing voters” — I find it obscene that there is anything such as a “swing voter” in the face of a “choice” as painfully obvious as this one. If you didn’t know before the “debate” began that it is essential that she win, then you shouldn’t be voting. This event went as well as anything can go with one such as her opponent on the stage. I’m glad it did. I thank her and congratulate her for doing a good job. But what was accomplished by this, or any other “debate” thus far in this century?
More bloodshed in Gaza — Yes, it’s time to wrap this “war” up. I say that as an unshakeable supporter of Israel. The nation’s strategic interests are not being served. Note this, for instance. And in Jordan, of all places.
What about that invasion of Russia? — Two weeks ago, I heard this piece about Ukraine’s bold and risky move to take the war into Russia itself. Since then, practically nothing. I could rant at this point about how news media these days simply don’t devote themselves to the most important news. But then, I’m not studying reports as closely as I once did. If anyone can send me a link with a decent, in-depth assessment of the situation, I’d appreciate it.
Those are two concepts I don’t normally group together, which is a major reason why I’ve never been as enthusiastic about her candidacy as I always was about Joe’s.
Mind you, it’s no great distinction, when the only other person in the race is the famously malevolent ignoramus whose name I will not mention here, as that is unnecessary.
But there’s more here than that.
Ms. Rubin notes:
Don’t take my word for it. “It is a speech Ronald Reagan could have given,” Liz Cheney said on ABC’s “This Week” regarding Harris’s keynote address at the Democratic National Convention. “It is a speech George Bush could have given. It’s very much an embrace and an understanding of the exceptional nature of this great nation, a love of America, a recognition that America is a special place.” Cheney went on to condemn former president Donald Trump’s plan for across-the-board, massive tariffs that “will choke off global trade, will likely lead us down the path that we’ve seen before, for example, in the 1930s … [to] a depression.”
Cheney said that when it comes to “fundamental alliances, when it comes to the importance of NATO, for example, and how important it is for the United States to lead in the world, we’ve seen a sea change.” In other words, those Republicans who during the Cold War ridiculed Democratic fecklessness, showed timidity toward America’s enemies and pooh-poohed the United States as a force for good in the world should now be backing Harris. Remarkably, Cheney affirmed that “if you’re talking about a national security set of issues and you care about America’s leadership role in the world, a vote for Vice President Harris is the right vote to make this time around.”…
Mind you, “Reaganesque” is not normally a word that sets my heart aflutter. If you’d known me 40 years ago, you’d understand that. To say that I was not a fan is an extreme understatement. But this is the way Republicans talk when they’re praising someone, particularly when they’re holding that person up for the admiration of other Republicans.
For me, it’s very reassuring. The column could have compared the veep to FDR, Truman, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Carter, Clinton or Obama. What she’s saying to me is, she understands the post-1945 nonpartisan consensus of our nation’s leaders as to the role our country must play to keep from having a World War III. And it’s not just about being a “hawk;” it’s about playing the prime leadership role around the globe in economic and humanitarian terms, and championing liberal democracy everywhere.
I’d have realized this earlier, but as you know, I didn’t follow the convention.
Kamala Harris is up against someone who is determined to rend and destroy America’s role and our ability to play it. I know the veep does not want to do that, so the choice between the two is obvious. So I had seen little need to follow this race closely. Therefore I had not until now noticed much to indicate that Harris would be a positive force on this front, instead of merely a harmless, neutral one.
Now that won’t be reassuring to some of you, but you’re mostly probably going to vote for her anyway. If you’re planning to vote for the other option, you’re a lost cause anyway. Which is why you probably won’t hear all that much about it in tonight’s debate.
But it means a lot to me, because to me, this is what we elect presidents for.
Back at the beginning of 2008, we were trying to decide on our candidate for the Democratic nomination, and I was already leaning toward Barack Obama. But I was very concerned about his lack of foreign policy experience, even more than about his lack of experience in Washington.
Mike Fitts posed my main question (it’s the one we always asked first of presidential candidates) to the young senator during our endorsement interview, and you hear his answer at about the two-minute mark in this clip taken with my old low-res Canon. It’s basically what Kamala Harris said in the speech Ms. Rubin is citing.
It was good to hear then, and it’s good to hear now..
Some guns confiscated in California in 2011 after Attorney General Kamala Harris (remember her?) announced a statewide sweep to collect firearms seized from individuals legally barred from possessing them. Now here’s a question to ponder: What percentage of those guns were once legally in the hands of responsible owners?
She points out that such newfangled prosecutions may be satisfying, and can be justified in certain cases, they don’t actually solve the problem of mass killings, or even address who is ultimately to blame in the larger sense for these repetitive nightmares.
In America, we tend to look at these interconnected incidents as isolated, as though only the individuals who pull the trigger, or those who place the weapons in their hands, are to blame. And of course, they are profoundly and absolutely to blame. But you can prosecute each and every one of them (that is, the ones who survive the incidents), and it does nothing — or at least, too little — to prevent future such copycat abominations from happening.
Excerpts from the Rubin piece:
Moreover, prosecuting people related to the shooter deflects from the grotesque public policy failure: ready access to such weapons. Treating these incidents as individual crimes, with a subsequent search for a specific person to blame, allows the real culprits — the gun lobby and the weak-kneed Second Amendment absolutists, as well as the hyper-partisan Supreme Court — off the hook….
We do know how to reduce gun violence; Republicans simply refuse to challenge the MAGA movement’s gun fetish. The center-left think tank Third Way has documented the disparity between blue states with stricter gun laws and red states with lax gun laws. “The red state murder rate was 33% higher than the blue state murder rate in both 2021 and 2022,” the group reported this year. “2022 was the 23rd consecutive year that murder plagued Trump-voting states at far higher levels than Biden-voting states. … From 2000 to 2022, the average red state murder rate was 24% higher than the average blue state murder rate.”…
The gun problem is as much a democracy problem as anything else. Gun measures such as universal background checks and red-flag laws garner supermajorities. Even in deep-red Tennessee, for example, large majorities support raising the age to 21 to purchase an assault rifle (64 percent), requiring safe storage of weapons (76 percent) and mandating universal background checks (80 percent). When it comes to an outright ban on assault-style weapons, support is nearly as high. Multiple polls show 60 percent or more favor such a measure. But as long as heavily gerrymandered states produced hyper-conservative state legislatures and the Senate filibuster allows sparsely populated red states to dominate, the popular will is thwarted…
And so forth. But you know this stuff, right? You are people who read.
You probably also know that there are 333.3 million people in the United States, and 393 million guns in private hands.
It’s a matter of arithmetic, regardless of your philosophical bent. And know that no matter how responsible you are, some of those guns you hold so responsibly are inevitably going to fall in far less responsible hands at some point — when your house or car is burglarized, or after you’re dead, or even after your heirs are dead. They are very durable implements.
There are just too many of them. The problem is simple, and obvious. Solutions are not, and Jennifer has pointed out some of the reasons for that. But that’s no excuse not to try to address the actual, larger problem, while we’re rightly composing our criminal charges for individuals…
I saw the above spare-tire cover on a vehicle parked in a Food Lion lot over the weekend. In case you can’t read it clearly (it’s not the best angle; I shot it from the Lizard’s Thicket drive-thru queue), it says:
GO OUTSIDE
WORST CASE A BEAR KILLS YOU
Now if I had put that on my vehicle, it would be an ironic warning. I would be responding to all those people who urge us to spend time outdoors by pointing out what a terrible idea that is.
I don’t think that’s what this driver was doing. This was a forest-green (I think) SUV with a rack on the roof for carrying skis or some other kind of adventurous gear that Hemingway would have bought at the original Abercrombie & Fitch (the macho, outdoors version of a century ago, not the clothing store you know from the mall).
Yeah, I know I’m reading a lot into it, but that was my impression. To me, this driver was being ironic about people like me, and saying essentially, What the hell? Do you want to live forever? Go for it!
But I’m not going for it. I like sitting right here in my home office, except when I’m out taking a walk around the neighborhood. And I’ve seen zero bears around here in the 27 years we’ve lived here. Lots of deer (and of course plenty of copperheads) but no bears.
Anyway, I thought about posting the picture after I shot it Sunday, and forgot, but I was reminded a couple of days later when an email notification pulled me over to look at a couple of videos on Inez Tenenbaum’s Facebook page. You can see a still image from one of them below.
Yes, those are three bear cubs exploring the area around Inez and Samuel’s woodpile. The Tenenbaums live up in the mountains these days. I wish they didn’t so I could see them more. But we don’t always get what we want.
And now I’m going to be worrying about them, just a bit. No, there’s nothing scary about these cubs, as you see them here. And their innocent, but greedy, curiosity is even cute and engaging. Here’s what Inez had to say in her caption to that video:
These three bear cubs have gone through the recycle box in our patio but did not find anything to eat!
Harmless, right? But see what she said in posting another clip of the cubs that same day:
These three bear cubs ate the bird seed on the patio and are making their getaway. Their mother tore down the feeder—again!!!
Yeah. The mama bear. The one that tears you apart if she finds you showing an interest in her cubs. Although I do appreciate her trying to improve the character of her offspring by removing temptations from their path. But look at how she did it — she tore it down! Very bearlike.
Anyway, my point is, stay inside! And if you must go out commune with nature, be careful!
That’s all for now. I’ll get back to you when I have another report on copperhead movements in the vicinity…
I hadn’t intended to bring these home. I just couldn’t get rid of them.
I hadn’t tweeted in I don’t know how long, and I had forgotten how Musk had screwed things up.
I got a notification about a story in The New York Times magazine, and used the link to write this reaction:
You’re right. We shouldn’t spend millions minting the silly things. Or, for that matter, nickels, dimes or quarters. Or printing paper money. What do we need cash for anymore?
Before Musk screwed with Twitter, that would have appeared above the headline with an image from the story. Since that no longer happens, I looked and saw that my reaction would make no sense. So I’m writing this post.
I was disappointed to learn, recently, that the United States has created for itself a logistical problem so stupendously stupid, one cannot help wondering if it is wise to continue to allow this nation to supervise the design of its own holiday postage stamps, let alone preside over the administration of an extensive Interstate highway system or nuclear arsenal. It’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. I have come to think of it as the Perpetual Penny Paradox.
Most pennies produced by the U.S. Mint are given out as change but never spent; this creates an incessant demand for new pennies to replace them, so that cash transactions that necessitate pennies (i.e., any concluding with a sum whose final digit is 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 or 9) can be settled. Because these replacement pennies will themselves not be spent, they will need to be replaced with new pennies that will also not be spent, and so will have to be replaced with new pennies that will not be spent, which will have to be replaced by new pennies (that will not be spent, and so will have to be replaced). In other words, we keep minting pennies because no one uses the pennies we mint.
A conservative estimate holds that there are 240 billion pennies lying around the United States — about 724 ($7.24) for every man, woman and child there residing, and enough to hand two pennies to every bewildered human born since the dawn of man….
And so forth. You get the idea. Pennies are a huge waste; you’ll get no argument from me.
But what about other forms of cash?
I used to carry small amounts of cash in my wallet, 20 bucks or less at a time. Since COVID, I haven’t even done that. The only cash I regularly need is a quarter — one quarter — to pay for a shopping cart each time I go to Aldi. But when you put the cart back, you get your quarter right back out of the slot attached to the handle. One quarter, used over and over. (The system seems to work. The carts are in better condition than those at most stores. Ze Germans are clever…)
Sure, I know other needs arise — such as when you do business with someone seeking to avoid taxes. But that sounds like the stupidest reason in the world. Why should the government spend millions — nay, billions — to produce something that abets tax evasion?
I also realize that a lot of poor folks don’t have bank accounts, or debit cards or anything of that kind. But can’t that be worked around? Don’t the cards that have replaced food “stamps” suggest a way to address that need?
Of course, that means everyone would have to be more fully in “the system,” which might offend the sensibilities of our libertarian friends and neighbors. But why would a libertarian, of all people, want the government to waste his tax money on something as wasteful and inefficient as cash?
And if you understand the history of money — going back all the way to King Croesus of Lydia, who developed the very first standardized gold coins — the whole idea of money that everyone would accept (which is what makes it “money,” rather than, say, barter) was that the government issued it, granting something close to universal legitimacy. Back in the 6th century B.C., coins demonstrated that by having the king’s image on the “heads” size. Or, today, George Washington’s. Or the queen’s. And I saw some with King Charles on them in England this summer.
(This is why you see some libertarian fantasists today going for Bitcoin. Which indicates that they don’t fully understand what money is, and how you make sure it has lasting value.)
So why not some nice, neutral electronic credits instead? Oh, we could call them “dollars” if you like. We already do, with our bank accounts and debit and credit cards. Remember, only about a tenth of the real-life money we spend in today’s world is backed up by actual, physical coins and banknotes. This in no way inhibits commerce. Ask Jeff Bezos.
In fact, we’re not far from cash becoming passé. Europe is ahead of us on that, though. I had a terrible time getting anyone in Amsterdam to accept Euros. I came back with 50 euro or so in my wallet, and I had not meant to. I just couldn’t unload them. Dutch merchants generally wouldn’t accept contant geld; they preferred my debit card from Palmetto Citizens, and they particularly liked my Target credit card, which has tap capability. They’re really into tap over there.
A few days before, I’d had little trouble getting the English to take pounds. But in Amsterdam, forget about it.
So how long do you think we’re going to be minting and printing and in many cases carrying around these filthy things?
From the bottom of page one of The Boston Globe today.
I dunno if it’s “historic,” though. That’s one of the more overused words we see in headlines these days, although not as overused as “iconic,” of course.
But it’s pretty fascinating. And nice work by the photog. Makes it looks like he’s magically changing uniforms in the middle of the same swing. Cool.
As history — well, it’s one for the record books, all right. But as history, it’s only maybe slightly bigger than Moonlight Graham’s major league career consisting of a brief appearance in one game in 1905. Which was interesting enough to appear in Ray Kinella’s book, and the movie based on it.
And I found today’s picture interesting enough to share…
Hey, look! Another post less than a week after the last one! Not exactly the same as when I’d post ten times each day while getting an editorial page out, but I do what I can.
Which hasn’t been much, this week. Just before going to the lake last weekend, I picked up a new laptop at Best Buy. It’s a beauty, and I know I’m going to love it — already do, in some ways. But for the moment it presents a bit of a challenge. For more than three decades, I was a rather intensive user of Microsoft machines, for a wide variety of purposes: writing, editing, paginating the newspaper, processing photos, creating videos, and so forth. Writing a blog. Building a family tree that now has almost 10,000 people on it.
And my new machine is a MacBook Pro.
So now, a simple thing like writing a press release for ADCO and getting it to the right place presents a bit of a challenge. Different keyboard, different file structure, different assumptions about the way to do the simplest things, things my fingers used to do without being told to do them…
I’m getting the hang of it, though. Now, late on a Friday, I thought I’d create a space for folks to discuss the political convention that I haven’t had time to follow. But I’m going to try to get through moderating those waiting comments before posting this. I understand that you’ll hardly be tempted to “discuss” a thing when your thoughts don’t get posted.
I still intend, at first opportunity, to watch Joe’s address from Monday night. I expect it to be a rather emotional experience. I’ve watched a minute or two of the speech Walz gave, and he seems to have done quite well, aside from the usual things people say at party conventions that drive me nuts. He appears to have been a very good choice. I need to see the rest of it.
And then I must listen to Kamala’s speech, when I’m up to experiencing all that, from what I hear, youthful exuberance. I figure she did pretty well, too. Or I’d have heard otherwise. Stuff — stuff, that is, in the realm of political news — generally filters through to my consciousness even when I’m not paying attention. Or deliberately ignoring from across the ocean.
I haven’t heard anything bad, so she must have done OK. After all, I saw a notification this morning from The Wall Street Journal saying that “In a bracingly normal address, Kamala Harris delivered a triumphant capstone for the Democrats and defined their new reality.” Here’s that full story, in case you have access.
I liked that: “bracingly normal.” In this political environment, we all could use some bracingly normal rhetoric and behavior. That’s what Joe has been giving us since 2020, and it’s been wonderful. If some of that has rubbed off on Kamala, good on her. And good for us all.
Anyway, everything seems to have gone far better than the last time the Democrats met in Chicago. But as I say, I suspect most of y’all followed this better than I did. Thoughts?…
This one went WAY better than the last one. More orderly, anyway…
Excuse the archaic language from my beloved Patrick O’Brian novels, but I enjoy that way of saying that today marks 50 years of marriage to my true, original, and eternal beloved, Juanita!
It just means “congratulate us.” Even lubbers should know that.
It’s been quite a celebration, and it will continue through the day. But it’s not just today. We’ve been celebrating since July 10. We have celebrated in England, France, Belgium and the Netherlands. We came back, and almost immediately ran off to the beach for a few days with the whole family — or most of it. In between those things, I crammed in what little paid work I could. At the moment, I’m sitting in an AirBnB that our kids rented at Lake Murray for today’s family party. The two of us spent the night here, and we’re waiting for the first of the kids and grandkids to arrive in the next hour or so, which is why I have a few minutes to send you this.
I still haven’t gone through email from July. I tell you that so you know why I haven’t been blogging.
Anyway, I’m going to go in a minute, because even though the kids are in charge of this, there are things to do. I don’t have time to tell you of my love for my wife — which would take something like Proust’s magnum opus. I’ll just note the obvious: longevity speaks to commitment, and commitment like that comes from the heart. I cherish every moment of it.
Gotta run. The picture at the top was taken on our wedding day. Juanita’s maid of honor had driven us from the reception to the parking lot of her mother’s condo, which is where we had parked the actual car that we were taking on our honeymoon from Memphis to the Grand Strand. We did this to keep Juanita’s four brothers from “decorating” it. It worked, which was good, because that was a long way to drive covered in shaving cream or whatever. Anyway, the version you see above was one in which I dropped out the background in Photoshop and added hearts to turn it into a Valentine a few years ago. Yeah, I know I look like a goof. It was the ’70s.
No, this isn’t a picture of Paul DeMarco. It’s Mr. Rogers. But they are alike in some important ways…
By Paul V. DeMarco Guest Columnist
When our family moved to Marion in 1993, we knew very little about the place. We had visited to interview for what would become my first job, but had little time to search for a home. Without the benefit of internet browsing, we ended up renting a house we had only seen in a video (shot with an old-fashioned video camera). Once we moved in, we discovered that our neighborhood was all white.
This was, of course, not unexpected. Many neighborhoods in our country remain homogeneous. I never saw a black person in the blue-collar neighborhood in Charleston where I grew up.
But I didn’t choose the neighborhood where I grew up. I had chosen, albeit hastily, this one. Not that we had many other choices. Few small towns have neighborhoods that reflect the racial and economic diversity of the population at large. Many towns still have recognizable dividing lines. In some places it is the railroad tracks. In Marion, it is one of the main thoroughfares, Liberty Street, that marks the invisible line, once strictly enforced, between the black and white sides of town.
My hope when we moved in was that the neighborhood would grow more diverse over time, and that hope has been realized. Slowly, more and more black neighbors have moved in. In 2018, a retired black woman bought the house across the street from us. She is a good neighbor. We see each other in our front yards and speak. We enjoy looking at each other’s flowers.
During her first Christmas season, I carried over a small container of goodies, something we have done every Christmas for our closest neighbors. A few days later, as the sun was setting on Christmas Eve, she came to our front door and reciprocated. As she handed us her gift, she said, “Thank you for accepting me into the neighborhood.”
I think often of those eight words and all they say about American society. It is a sentence foreign to me. It would never occur to me that my neighbors might not accept me. But this was her first time as a homeowner, coming back South after a career in the Northeast. She knew our nation’s history – redlining, white flight, resistance to blacks moving into all-white spaces (exemplified most violently in 1951 in Cicero, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago). She understood that she was a pioneer in our white neighborhood. She knew, in a way that I could never know, the fear of being ignored, rejected, or despised because of who she was.
It also was a personal affirmation for my wife and me. We had done nothing special. We had treated her like any other neighbor – usually a brief greeting and a smile, sometimes walking across the street for a longer chat on a Saturday morning, watching the house and taking the mail when the other was away. But those mundane kindnesses were magnified to her in a way I did not recognize until she visited us that Christmas Eve.
I still have much to learn, as was demonstrated at her housewarming the next spring. She was very excited to have her neighbors, friends, and family share her joy as a homeowner. She worked for months redecorating and preparing. She put in an above-ground pool in the backyard. Finally, the day came. Upon arriving, every guest was invited inside for a tour. Then we congregated in the garage, and the inevitable happened. All her white neighbors were gathered in one corner, while her friends and family were in the other.
Her sister told me clandestinely that her birthday was in a few days and that they had, unbeknownst to her, bought a cake and were about to present it to her. Here was my moment, I thought. I would unite us all in song by leading “Happy Birthday!” But as the cake arrived and I opened my mouth to sing, after the first syllable I discovered that the black partygoers were singing a different “Happy Birthday.” I learned that day that there is another version of “Happy Birthday” that was written in 1980 by Stevie Wonder to promote adoption of the MLK holiday. The chorus of Wonder’s song is a marvelous, up-tempo tune, much more melodic and fun than the dirge that I was accustomed to singing.
It was painful to grasp that this song, an important part of black social life for decades, was something about which I was ignorant. But the reason was obvious. I’d never had a black neighbor or close black friend. So I was never invited to any birthday parties where that version would be sung.
In the five years since the housewarming, the neighborhood has continued to diversify. From my side yard, I can now see three other homes owned by black or mixed families. Seeing black neighbors walking past our home is no longer a rarity.
Bit by bit, the kind of diversification that my neighborhood is undergoing could lead to a society that is, well, more neighborly. If we live near people who look different from the way we do, we will know them as human beings. We will be better equipped to resist relying on caricatures of them drawn by those politicians and media whose livelihoods depend on us fearing each other. I’m confident that if Mr. Rogers could visit my neighborhood, he would be cheered by the changes.
A version of this column appeared in the June 20th edition of the Post and Courier-Pee Dee.
As we approached JFK on our return, I wondered why a guy can’t take a little time off from the madness down there…
What, a guy can’t go spend two or three weeks traveling abroad without the whole country going stark, raving mad behind his back?
Apparently not.
I’ll write about the trip later. I’d rather write about that, because the topic is more pleasant, and it interests me more. But this is sorta kinda a political blog, or was. Frankly, I’m less and less interested in that stuff every day, because politics has gotten so insufferably stupid. But most of the craziness back in the States had to do with presidential politics, and that seems to be all that occupies the country’s collective hivemind in years bearing numbers that can be divided into whole numbers by four — no matter what’s going on in Ukraine, or Israel, or China. Or Venezuela, for that matter.
So let me try to get it all out of the way, and once we’re caught up, we’ll move on to other matters.
Oh, one other thing — the years numbered as I described are also known as “Olympiads.” And that was going on, too, during our travels. I was reminded vaguely of it when we turned on a TV in our waterfront room in Calais (I think that was the only time we touched a boob tube during the trip), and saw apparently unending coverage of some event having to do with the Olympics. The arrival of the torch in Paris or something. Huge crowds in the streets and uninteresting popular music performed on an outdoor stage. Which, we recalled, was why we had decided to avoid Paris on this trip. (I mean because of the crowds, not so much the blah pop music.)
“La grand soiree” goes on and on about “la flamme olympique.” Which was why we were avoiding Paris…
But onto the politics. Now mind you, we’re not talking “politics” as the word was used during the first 60 or so years of my life. You know, relatively sane candidates vying seriously for serious offices by offering their credentials and their character to a discerning electorate. It’s a far weirder thing now. But you know that already. Social media, and all that. So on with it…
Trump weirdness goes into overdrive
Let’s take it in chronological order. Nothing back home intruded upon my vacationing consciousness while we were in London. But then in Canterbury, just as I we were trying to drop off to sleep (it being five hours later than here), the news popped that someone had taken a shot at Donald Trump, clipping his right ear. Which, you know, was like all we needed. I turned off audible notifications on my phone and iPad, and being extremely tired — as tired as if we’d walked all the way there with Chaucer’s pilgrims — went to sleep.
That didn’t mean it would leave me alone over the next couple of days. I kept seeing this kind of stuff:
I found out that kid with the rifle, who couldn’t hit his target squarely despite being given minutes to aim in an ideal sniper’s position — but tragically managed to kill an innocent bystander, and seriously wound others — was also dead himself. I guess that’s the way it goes with deadly weapons fired from four to five hundred feet by someone who never received Marine training….
Oh, hang on — don’t get the impression I wanted him to kill Trump. No way. Total nightmare scenario, that. Worst thing that could have happened. Things went plenty crazy enough without that. Meanwhile, we were hearing how much the whole thing would help Trump get elected. Which I suppose we should expect, since “sympathy voting” is an old tradition. Voters in general are easily swayed by emotion, that goes especially for voters who might be susceptible to voting for this guy.
Where we were, the usual response tended to be “those crazy Americans and their guns,” from a column my wife read in Le Monde to the African Uber driver who took us across Amsterdam several days later. (We’d left England, and were not subjected to The Guardian, which adores that line of discussion.) We could ignore Le Monde (I could especially, since I don’t do Paris talk), but we felt we had to be polite to the driver — he was a very nice, intelligent guy — so we said things like, “Yes, you have a point, and it’s hard to explain, and no one knows what to do about it,” while thinking, Can we talk about windmills or something?…
That mass of crazy sort of blotted out our awareness of the GOP Convention over the next few days, although at one point I did stop to think, wasn’t he supposed to be sentenced by now? Wasn’t the sentencing date just before the convention? I even looked that up briefly, and saw an explanation having something to do with the recent Supreme Court decision, which made no sense, and I moved on. Fortunately, I had lots to distract me…
Wow, this post is taking some time, innit? That’s why I hadn’t written it yet. But to move on…
Joe drops out
Well, I had sort of expected this to happen before I got back. The pressure bearing down on my main man Joe, no matter what he did or said, was reaching a level that no one could withstand. Not even the kind of guy who would step up to save his country — and knew how — despite being at an age when he had served enough, and richly deserved to stay at home and enjoy his grandchildren.
But people weren’t interested in that anymore, if they ever had been. They were too busy twitching in response to things that mattered more to them than the unavoidable fact that a qualified alternative hadn’t emerged in 2024 any more than it did in 2020. And Kamala Harris, who would be the obvious replacement at this date, had been about halfway back in that pack of 2020 also-rans, in terms of qualification for our highest office.
Y’all know very well what my position was: The country, and the world, needed him to stay in office. Not that it would have been good for him — it was the worst possible thing for him personally, and I’ve felt guilty for years for my willingness to exploit his willingness to put himself through it. But Americans, and the rest of the world, needed him to keep his hand on the tiller. Because there was no one else.
It might help you to understand my long-held position if you reflect that my mind doesn’t center around such questions as “Who can win the election?” For me, the question was “Who should win the election?” Of course, you need someone who both should, and can. That’s the trick, and Joe knows it as well as anyone. Which was why he dropped out.
Which means we now ask ourselves other questions… but I’m going to have to take a break and do some paying work, or none will get done today. I’ll try to get back and finish this before the day is over, because I really want to put this stuff in my rear-view mirror…
…OK, I’m back, and now I want to correct what I just said. We don’t need to ask ourselves any questions at all, old or new. The world may be nuts now, but it’s a lot simpler.
Now, the choice is between Donald Trump and… somebody else. Kamala Harris, with close to zero experience that applies to the job of president, is a bit of an unknown quantity. But that’s OK, because it clearly brings us to a simple point. I’ve often said that anyone would be better than Donald Trump. Kamala Harris doesn’t quite qualify as “someone chosen at random off the street,” but she shares a characteristic with that person — I don’t know anything bad about her. She’s basically a neutral character in this situation.
Well, I do know one bad thing — the way she stabbed Joe in the back in that first debate in 2020. Major cheap shot. But Joe forgave her, so I feel obliged to do the same.
So, no bad things (maybe you know some bad things about her, but I don’t). And she’s running against a guy with more bad qualities than anyone who has ever reached this point in American politics.
So there’s nothing to think about. You vote for Kamala, and you hope she keeps Joe’s team in place — people like Anthony Blinken and Merrill Garland. People who know the job. That way, there’s a chance for things to be OK.
Whereas, with the other guy, nothing — at home or abroad, on any level — will be OK.
So there’s not a lot to discuss. Vote for Kamala.
To be more encouraging…
That’s not sounding like a really enthusiastic endorsement, I realize. Let me try to offer something better.
Back before we headed to London, some smart, thoughtful people — not just the freakout crowd, or the people who never liked Joe anyway, like the Bernie Bros and the editorial board of the NYT — were starting to suggest that maybe someone else could take Joe’s place, and it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Sometime way back on July 5 — a few days before we left the country — he did a podcast titled, “Is Kamala Harris Underrated?” This being based on the assumption among smart, thoughtful observers that she hadn’t shown us much yet. But he suggested that now that we’re in this fix of the abundantly qualified and accomplished incumbent’s numbers plummeting, maybe she possessed qualities that made her better than we thought. Among other things, he said:
There are ways in which Harris seems perfectly suited for this moment. She’s a former prosecutor who would be running against a convicted criminal. She’s the administration’s best messenger on abortion by far, running in the aftermath of Dobbs. She’s a Black woman with a tough on crime background, running at a moment when crime and disorder have been big issues in American politics.
And unlike Joe Biden, who I think has very little room to improve from here, the American people don’t really know Harris. The opportunity for her to make a different impression if she was speaking for herself, rather than for the administration, is real. Now, that doesn’t mean she’d be able to pull that off. That’s a hard political job. But she’s a lot sharper in interviews and debates than I think people are now prepared for.
She has a résumé and some skills quite well-suited to this moment. It definitely doesn’t seem impossible that she could rise to the task. There is a reason she was considered so strong in 2019 and in 2020. Wouldn’t you want to see her debate Donald Trump?…
OK, that’s not a really ringing endorsement, either. But he said enough good things — or at least potentially good things — about her that I felt a little better about the situation as we prepared to take off. I felt like Joe might not be running when I got back, and I was glad I was going to miss those last days before that happened. And Klein made me feel like maybe things would be OK. At least, after January, Joe will finally get the time off that he has so richly earned. (About time he had a little Joe time.)
And so far, they have been pretty OK. She seems to have done OK with her first big test — picking a running mate. I’ll probably write more on that subject in coming days.
But I don’t think I’ll be writing as much about the presidential election as I might have otherwise. Maybe because it’s all so simple now. We’ll see. In any case, I look forward to writing about other things. And now that I’ve dealt with this stuff, I can go on and do that.
I don’t think it will be another month before you hear from me…
I’ll come back soon to tell you about our trip. Until then, enjoy the flowers…
In “Office Space,” there’s a scene in which the three computer engineers, having sort of backed their way into a serious crime, are talking about laundering their ill-gotten money. But they don’t know how. They are reduced to looking up “money-laundering” in a dictionary. And Michael Bolton complains,
How is it that all these stupid, Neanderthal, Mafia guys can be so good at crime and smart guys like us can suck so badly at it?
I’ve often thought something like that, only I don’t think those guys are stupid. I think maybe I am. I couldn’t begin to follow a scam I once heard described on “The Sopranos.” I forget the deal. Maybe it was selling phone cards to Mexican migrants. Whatever it was, I could not see at all how anybody made money from it.
And I really, truly can’t figure out how something like the scam text above, which I got tonight, is supposed to work. It seems to me to be predicated on the recipient getting all worried, thinking:
OhmyGod! My transaction for $292.55 got rejected! Now I’m not going to get that thing I just tried to buy for $292.55!
Suppose someone does think that. What’s going to keep him from then thinking…
Wait. WHAT thing I bought for $292.55? I didn’t buy anything for $292.55!
Also:
And when did I ever do business of any kind with Wells Fargo? No, excuse me, with “W3lls Fargo?” And if I did, what kind of business can’t spell its own name?
And then:
Apparently, I’m supposed to reach out in a panic to the sender of the message. But they didn’t tell me how to do that. Where’s the link they want me to click, so they can steal my identity or whatever?
Maybe this deal is so brilliant that I can’t suss it out. Or maybe this is legit, and the sender was so anxious to help the recipient that he forgot how to spell “Wells,” forgot to provide the contact, and sent it to the wrong person.
But I don’t think so. I suspect there’s a bot out there that’s missing a few lines of code…
I was afraid for a moment I had worn the app out. I had been pounding away at my lessons, day after day, for weeks, doing all I could to learn Dutch.
Then suddenly one day — early April, I think — the icon for the app went from this:
To this:
Screenshot of my iPad screen on April 6.
Had I broken it? It seemed to be the most obvious answer, given my relentless activity. But it turns out just to be something Duolingo does to attract attention from time to time. And it appears to work.
The icon soon returned to normal, and I continued my efforts, sometimes doing as many as 20 lessons a day.
Why? Because one of my granddaughters is doing a summer ballet intensive in Amsterdam. Her mother will be there with her for the start of the program, but then my wife and I will be there for her for the rest of it, and accompany her back to the States. That’s where we’ll be based in the latter half of our upcoming trip.
But we’re doing more than that. As a celebration of our upcoming 50th anniversary, we’re flying first to London, and we’ll stay there a couple of days. We haven’t been to town in some time (since the beginning of 2011), and one must go occasionally.
Then, we’ll have a couple of days in Canterbury, to see what the Anglicans have done with the place since Becket’s day. Then on to Dover, and then we’ll look over our shoulders at the white cliffs while we cross to Calais. That’s what the Germans expected the Allies to do in 1944, but we faked them out and went to Normandy. I’d like to go there and visit the beaches, but it will be in the wrong direction. After Calais, we’ll go to Dunkirk, Lille, Ghent and on to Amsterdam.
We’ll mostly stay there until we fly back, but will take the odd day trip to places like Bruges and Nijmegen. While in Nijmegen, I hope to catch an Uber or something into Germany, just so I can say I’ve been there, too.
You see, I’ve never been to Europe before. Ever. There’s been no occasion to do so in my 70 years. I’ve done South America, the Caribbean, Asia, Hawaii. And as y’all know, I’ve been to England and Ireland. But never crossed the channel to the continent.
My wife’s been. She and her friend Mary backpacked across the continent for a month or so just before she met me in August 1973. They had a great time. But she hasn’t been since then, and she is taking preparations for this invasion very seriously. I mentioned 1944. Well, my wife is very organized — there has to be somebody like that in every organization, and she is definitely the one in this outfit. Ike would have approved of the way she has sought to effectively deploy our finite resources upon each objective at the right time, with maximum effectiveness.
And while I have been able to make strong contributions to the planning (contributions that consist of saying, “I wanna see this! I wanna see that!”), most of my effort has gone into learning Dutch — as much as I can, anyway, in these short months of preparation. Yeah, I know most people in Nederland speak English. But I figure I’m bound to run into someone, somewhere — perhaps out in the country — who does not, and I want to be ready. My wife will handle the French — she’s been there and she studied it before that, and she’s brushing up. I’m learning Dutch, from scratch.
Fortunately, Engels is moeilijk, maar Nederlands is gemakkelijk. Or so Duolingo keeps telling me. But it’s a bit of a slog nonetheless. Becoming fluent in Spanish was as easy as falling off a log when I was 9 years old. I think I read once that that’s pretty much the end of the period of life when learning a second language is as easy as learning the first one. My brother was only 3, and I’m not sure he noticed there was a difference between the two tongues.
My Spanish (most of which I’ve forgotten, anyway, to my sorrow) is of no help here. Of course, English is a help with this one. I certainly know right away what is meant by such Dutch words as “park,” “fruit,” “week,” “weekend,” and such — although they’re pronounced quite differently. The tiny bits of German I remember from high school are sort of a mixed bag. Sure, much of the language obviously comes from common roots, but that frequently tricks me into using the German version instead, and getting the word wrong.
The hardest is the article “een” — meaning “a” or “an” — and for many weeks I had trouble stopping myself from saying “ein” instead. Also, when an S comes before a T or a P, I want to pronounce it “SH,” which I think is the way it’s done in German — at least, I got it from somewhere (we have a one or two German speakers here; maybe y’all can tell me whether I remember that right), and I think it was German. But if the readers on Duolingo have it right, that’s not the way it’s done in Dutch.
Of course, Dutch people are as likely to speak German as English, and are likely to understand. But I want to get it right.
And I’ve made a good bit of progress. One sign of that is that recently, I’ve cut back on using the button that slows down what is being said to me, as I’ve gotten impatient, and often get the faster sentence the first time. To me, that means more than having a tremendous vocabulary. It means I’m starting to grok the language (or at least, the simple bits I’ve been taught) holistically. And to me, being an intuitive sort, that is pleasing.
I don’t expect to carry on any deep conversations. But maybe I can order food (something that is a huge minefield for me with my allergies), handle simple transactions, and the like.
Besides, it’s fun to learn something new. Anyway, I’ll keep tackling the lessons for the next few days, and hope for the best. And enjoy the cooler weather. Today, the high in Amsterdam is 68 and the low is 56. In London, it won’t get above 62. I’m looking forward to that.
If it gets hot, I’ll just sit down and order een glas bier. And of course, if I forget and say, ein Glas Bier, they’ll probably bring it to me anyway.
Which reminds me. I won’t be interested in Dutch cheese or Dutch chocolate. They’re poison to me. But I do want to sample the beers, and I don’t know squat about them, beyond Heineken and Amstel. And I don’t want to order those, because then they might think I’m a tourist or something.
So if you have any advice on that front, now would be the time to share…
Well, it’s over. The campaign started on May 22, when the now-outgoing P.M. called a snap election.
And now, the Tories have suffered their worst defeat in their 200-year history. They are a sorry spectacle, so let’s be kind and look away from them.
The good news is that Labour’s overwhelming victory means Keir Starmer is the new Prime Minister, officially invited by the king to form a new government (see image above).
The British people wanted a change, and they got it. Right away. Will it make a difference? I hope so. I’ve been hearing so many sad stories lately about the state of Albion.
Last time I was there, the Tories were in charge. Next week, I will be in London, and am curious and hopeful as to whether I’ll see a difference. Oh, not in terms of infrastructure or a cure for the nation’s fiscal problems. I’m looking more for a different mood, a happier one.
And it all happened so quickly. Fourteen years after this sorry string of Conservative prime ministers (one brief, flickering failure after another) began, in a handful of weeks we have something new.
The world has yet to take the measure of Mr. Starmer, but I’m hopeful so far. For all these years, Labour had been held back by the disastrous, repellent Jeremy Corbyn. Now we have someone very different, and I’m picking up vibes of my main man Tony Blair. Is New Labour back? I hope so. We’ll see.
And again, it all happened so quickly.
I think we can agree that this seems to work better than our own painful system. This current election has been going on since when? I suppose since that moment in 2015 when Donald Trump came down that escalator. And instead of laughing at him and moving on, the nation has been engaged for nine years in an incredibly absurd and debilitating argument over whether he, or some normal, qualified person should be the most powerful person in the world.
Of course, quick and decisive elections aren’t always everything. Look at what just happened to poor Emanuel Macron. But at least he gets to keep his job, for now. It’s debatable whether he or Rishi Sunak is the lucky one, though. At least Sunak gets to move on.
But they are both more blessed than we in that our ordeal continues. At least I’m about to take a break from it. And on this break, I will also visit France. But I don’t expect to notice many changes there, one way or the other. I’ve never been there before…
I’ve been extremely busy Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday on an important matter that’s not only a work thing, but a personal thing — my deep concern about the situation at Alvin S. Glenn. Here’s a release about what’s happening tonight. Very little of my time was spent on the release, of course. Mostly it was reading documents catching me up on the case, and harassing various media to let them know what was happening tonight.
I’ll be glad to elaborate further on the matter, but right now I’m caught up with communicating with media about the jail, but I think I have a few minutes to address what the rest of the world has been yammering about for days.
Everywhere I’ve gone the last few days — my walks (I’m going to get in my 10,000 whatever else I’m doing, even if I don’t sleep), Mass on Sunday, what have you — everyone has wanted to talk with me about it. I was no more interested in talking about it than I was before the “debate.” An alternate scripture reading from Friday kind of sums up my attitude toward these silly spectacles over the last few election cycles:
Pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace,
along with those who call on the Lord with purity of heart.
Avoid foolish and ignorant debates,
for you know that they breed quarrels…
I read that and thought, yeah, that’s what I keep saying. Avoid stupid and ignorant debates (has there been any other kind in recent years?) indeed.
I’ve covered and organized and participated in these things we call debates over the decades. I covered the GOP presidential debate in early 1980 in Des Moines. I’ve been a panelist asking the questions several times. Once, when my newspaper was sponsoring a U.S. Senate debate — in 1982, I think — I found myself outside of the venue explaining to anti-abortion protesters why they couldn’t come in and disrupt the event. The woman leading them was a friend — we were both in the folk choir at our church — and she was in my face and screaming at me. Something I remember more vividly than the debate itself.
For years, I generally ignored the purists who insisted these media events were not “debates” at all. I felt they served a purpose. Over time I increasingly had my doubts about their value in national elections. The superficiality was painful. The evidence leading me to doubt has been piling up for a long time. Remember Lloyd Bentsen’s zinger, directed at Dan Quayle in 1988? And do you remember anything else from that event? Increasingly, debate prep was about memorizing zingers and avoiding gaffes. No more boning up on details about Quemoy and Matsu.
I still think there can be some value in letting people hear from candidates for lesser offices, involving folks they may never have seen or thought about before. I was disappointed as a voter recently when a debate held between Russell Ott and Dick Harpootlian was not televised live. Never mind “live;” I couldn’t find a full video of it anywhere after. Maybe it was out there, but not terribly accessible. But no matter. The right candidate won anyway.
A decade ago, despite the mounting evidence, I was still enthusiastic about debates. The enthusiasm was fueled by the novelty of social media. I loved tweeting about 30 or more times during a debate, and the energetic discussions this would engender. It was fun. But that’s about it. Not much of substance. It was entertaining to chortle at stupid things people said at the podium. But not what you’d call enlightening. And the novelty wore off.
As last week’s event approached, my enthusiasm was deader than usual. There was nothing to be gained from the event, either by my candidate or by the country. Trump, of course, would say stupid, offensive, embarrassing stuff from start to finish, and it wouldn’t cost him a single vote — his supporters love that stuff. The only person who could “lose” would be the one man — the infinitely better man — who stands between him and his planned dictatorship. Of course, he wouldn’t lose on substance — on any matter of character or understanding of policy. But he would lose if he slipped — committed a gaffe — even slightly. And God forbid he should “look old” on camera, because the country is full of people who think that’s important in his contest against a deranged 78-year-old.
So I wasn’t looking forward to it, and when I had initial trouble keeping it on my screen via a couple of sites (I don’t have cable; I have to stream), I was pleased to stop trying and do pretty much anything else. But I saw enough to agree that Joe had a bad night. He didn’t look good or sound good. In other words, my assessment agreed with those of people across the spectrum who said that — the chortling Republicans, the horrified Democrats, and others. I agreed also with the president himself. He had a bad night.
And none of that bore in any way on the question of which of these men should be elected — which is the only question that matters. I’m not going to go off on a long digression on the reasons why one of these men will be elected, but that’s the case — unless one or both of them succumb to the grim logic of actuarial tables sometime between now and Election Day. So that question is what matters. And all that matters.
Let’s consider one slice of the set of people currently in the “Biden must bow out” camp: I have zero patience with the editorial board of The New York Times. These are the sophomoric hammerheads who, in 2020, despised Joe — the only Democrat who could win — so much that they wanted to endorse anybody else for the nomination. Trouble was, their weak collective mind was incapable of assembling a consensus on exactly which of the zero-chance challengers to choose. So they picked two of them, thus disqualifying themselves from being considered seriously regarding such matters for the forseeable future.
So where do I stand? Well, for a concise description of my position, I refer you to President Obama:
Bad debate nights happen. Trust me, I know. But this election is still a choice between someone who has fought for ordinary folks his entire life and someone who only cares about himself. Between someone who tells the truth; who knows right from wrong and will give it to the…
That’s pretty much what Joe himself has been saying. To quote from a fundraising text I received, which summarizes what he’s been saying elsewhere in recent days:
Hey folks, it’s Joe. On Thursday, I spent 90 minutes debating on a stage with a guy who has all the morals of an alley cat.
I know I’m not a young man. I don’t walk as easily as I used to. I don’t speak as smoothly as I used to. I don’t debate as well as I used to.
I also know how to tell the truth. I know right from wrong. I know how to do this job. I know how to get things done.
And I know — like millions of Americans know — when you get knocked down, you get back up.
I would not be running again if I didn’t believe with all my heart and soul that I can do this job. Because quite frankly the stakes are too high…
Yep. I agree with all that. And I can identify. I’m only 70, but when I’m on video, I come across like Methusaleh’s uncle. See this video from this past Friday, in which I’m introducing a speaker from the Relic Room. I’m the stooped old guy at the very beginning.
Anyway, that’s about it. This has taken more time than I had to spend. I’ve been handling calls and texts from reporters and attorneys while writing it. I’ve got to go. When I come back, it will be to write about something else — there are a number of topics I’d like to address before I leave the country next week (that’s actually one of the things I hope to write about, if things calm down)…
So… where’s the astronaut? See item 4. This is from the
I just got tired of saying, “Open Thread.” But to be true to the headline, I’ll try to stick to things that either happened, or I read or heard about, today:
SCOTUS rules for Biden administration in a social media dispute with red states — I didn’t realize this was actually before our nation’s highest court. I had heard about the nonsense, though, on the podcast Hard Fork, I think. As I recall, somebody saw oppression, or something, in the fact that some social media outlets have rules against disinformation, and some people with the government had notifed the sites about disinformation that they might want to look at. That was the big conspiracy. The court gave the claim the heave-ho. Good.
Assange Agrees to Plead Guilty in Exchange for Release — OK, so this broke earlier, but I was reminded today after he got home to Australia. Lucky Australia. As much as I might dislike seeing this guy leave custody, I’m happy that he admitted that what he did was a crime (watch; he’ll say he didn’t), and that he’s left Britain. Because I’m going there soon, and I’d just rather not even hear about him. But justice required that he plead that way, because to quote Doonesbury, well, see the image below… I actually have that book, somewhere.
Bolivian Military Tries to Storm President’s Palace in Apparent Coup Attempt — Well, I suppose they should be applauded, because that Morales has got to go. No, wait. Morales has been out for five years. I didn’t realize. I’ve really got to do a better job of keeping up with Latin America, especially the Andean countries, since I used to live in one…
Jamaal Bowman’s Loss — Fitting. The one bad thing about it is that his loss brings the Squad back into the public spotlight, if only momentarily. It’s been awhile. I didn’t even know any dudes had been admitted…
France’s Far Right at the Gates of Power — This was The Daily today. Very interesting, although listening to a breakdown of current politics in France… or Britain… or the United States, for that matter… can be kind of creepy these days. Y’all keeping up with that? I’m trying to. I don’t want another Morales situation on my hands. Oh, yeah — I’ll be in France soon, too. More about that later…
Jason Guerry to face Russell Ott — You probably didn’t pay any more attention to this than I’ve been paying to Bolivia, but I sort of kept an eye on this runoff because I’m hopeful for Russell, and because my neighbor across the street was a big supporter of Guerry’s oppponent, Chris Smith. Can’t say I know much about Guerry beyond the fact that he’s married to the Lexington County Register of Deeds. And wait — I just realized, he’s the son of former Lexington County Councilman Art Guerry. Anyway, maybe we’ll hear more from him now that he’s not overshadowed by the more interesting Ott-Harpootlian contest. Not that local media exactly set the world on fire covering that…
One of the various newspapers to which I subscribe had a story this morning about people who have done an extraordinary job of sticking to ambitious resolutions. I can’t find that story now, but who cares about those slackers? At the moment, I’m more impressed at what I did.
In early May, I reported to you that, having dropped down to 167.9 pounds, I was at least theoretically eligible to wrestle Shute. That was nothing.
I’ve now dropped below 160, which was my goal all along. I thought it was kind of crazy when I first told my wife I was going to do that, late last year, and she probably thought so, too. I was in the low- mid-180s then, and sick and tired of all my pants being too tight, and having to buy new ones. At Christmas, I was wearing new pants with a 36-inch waist. Which was unprecedented.
Now, I’m back in my old 34s, and most of them are a bit loose. The looseness is OK — it’s way better than being tight, and I figure at some point I’ll relax discipline and put back on a few pounds. Almost anywhere between 160 and 170 seems like a comfortable, healthy weight. And entirely doable.
Speaking of relaxing discipline, I now know I can do that without disastrous results. I first got down to 159.9 on June 5, and was a bit lower on D-Day. But then, we spent last week down in the Tampa Bay area, and since I was traveling, I allowed myself to eat pretty much what I wanted. And with my routine disrupted, I only managed to achieve my usual daily goal of 10,000-plus steps once.
But I still only gained back a pound or so. I weighed in at 161.5 yesterday. But today… and here’s the good part… I was back down below 160. The photo above of my scale was taken this morning.
For anyone who cares, here’s how I did it:
Smaller portions, on smaller plates.
No going back for seconds.
No snacks of any kind at any time.
Walking at least 10,000 steps a day. Last month, my average was 12,000.
So, in other words, it wasn’t that hard. And I’m glad to see the new weight isn’t all that hard to maintain. I had been wondering.
I know it’s harder for other people. I was always a skinny guy, and when I was young, I lost noticeable weight any time I skipped a meal. The hard thing was gaining.
That has changed in recent years, and I found the way I felt last year kind of a drag. So I did something, something I had never tried to do before. And I’m pleased with how it turned out…
