Meals: Why?

Today is December 27. I forgot to eat food yesterday. I just literally forgot. I no longer experience hunger. Maybe it’s age related; I don’t know. All I know is that I no longer have an appetite for food. I want to eat food but my body says “Meh.” It doesn’t care. My desire to eat food is purely intellectual. I want to eat because I know I should eat, not because of any physical sensation.

I have a bathroom scale. Okay, it’s not in the bathroom, it’s in my bedroom, but I assume the technology works equally well in both locations. It doesn’t have springs, it has a “strain gauge”. When I step on it, an internal support bends ever so slightly, and a strain gauge attached to that support reports the amount of bending and that is translated to pounds. So far so good.

Here’s the weird part. My weight doesn’t change. Okay, from early morning to the middle of the day it might increase by 3 pounds—even though I have consumed no food. By the end of the day it is back to “normal”, if normal is defined as being overweight.

It isn’t normal to fast and lose no weight. Perhaps I should report this to the Vatican. The Pope may want to make me a saint. I would be the first saint to be known by his initials: Saint VW (hint: VirtualWayne, get it?). I would also be the first saint to not be a Catholic.

And now the time is 2PM, and I still haven’t eaten today. A couple days ago I made chili with beans. I guess I’ll scoop it into plastic containers and stick the containers into the freezer. I really don’t know why I made it.

Most of my male friends have wives. Now that I think about it, all my male friends have wives. It is traditional for wives to prepare meals for their husbands, although many men also enjoy cooking and preparing meals for their wives. I am not one of those men. If I were married, my wife would probably nag me until I agreed to eat something. And she would be right. I should stock up on Captain’s Wafers and Ritz crackers. I understand there are things called fruits and vegetables that we’re supposed to eat, but are they really essential? Frankly, I believe this whole thing about “vitamins” is overblown.

The Shutdown

Trump and the Democrats in Congress are having a pissing contest over the proposed billion dollar boondoggle. Excuse me, I meant to say “border wall.” The argument is “I’m going to build a wall!” versus “Over my dead body!” So as a result, the government is partially shut down. Which begs the question, do we really need a government?

We need a military (though some would question that, too). Social Security and Medicare beneficiaries, who have paid into those two funds their entire lives, need to continue receiving their benefits. Federal retirees need their retirement checks. So what is being closed?

Non-essential programs are being shut down. Non-essential employees are being furloughed. This means the person that cleans the restroom is not coming to work, so try not to make a mess.

The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) will also be shut down, at least to some extent. So if lettuce starts killing people, you might not hear about it. It may be best to avoid salads for a while, although lettuce can kill people even when the government is functioning—if what the government usually does can be called “functioning”.

The truth is, the average person may not notice the government shutdown, unless they are applying for a passport or attempting some other arcane use of government. So don’t worry about the shutdown unless and until it bites you on the ass. (Not that you were going worry about it anyway.) And for you restroom cleaners, know that you will very likely be paid, just a bit later than usual. Enjoy your time off.

Solstice Food

Nine days ago I published a blog post about snow on the ground. I had shoveled my sidewalk from the front steps to the street, only to have a neighbor park his car where it blocked access to my sidewalk. My blog post asked the simple question, “WTF is wrong with people?” I guess their thoughts are on other matters, such as navigating snowy streets and holiday shopping.

Today, nine days later, snow is just a memory and the temperature is 68°F at midday. Sunlight brightens and dims as clouds float past. Today is the winter solstice. After today, daylight will lengthen day by day, even though today is the first day of winter here in the northern hemisphere. Winter always begins on the shortest day of the year, and summer always begins on the longest day of the year (the summer solstice).

Today is just a break in the cold weather. Cold will return. The boiler in the cellar will resume burning oil. The electric heater beside my feet will run once again. Central Virginia may see snow again before spring arrives.

There may be another break in the cold weather. It’s called the January Thaw. It usually lasts about a week and produces temperatures about 10°F above what is typical for the month. It doesn’t happen every year, but it happens more years than not.

There’s something about a cold winter that makes me want to hibernate. I don’t want to do anything or go anywhere. I want to crawl into bed and pull the blankets up to my ears. I want to drink hot cocoa and warm mulled cider. I want to eat comfort foods: beef stew, chili with beans, lasagna, warm banana bread, bacon grilled cheese sandwiches, and hearty soups.

That is quite enough of pondering food. I just talked myself into making a plate of french fries and buffalo chicken wings. My diet can wait until spring.

Contentment

It’s raining again today. It seems like weeks go by without sunshine. This year has been the third wettest for central Virginia since record-keeping began. Forecasters say this year is on track to become the second wettest year on record.

My backyard, where I drive into my garage, is now essentially mud. Ruts run through it. When spring comes, I’ll have to fix that, but I’m not sure how. Replace the missing soil with soil and grass seed? Replace the missing soil with rocks? Extend the garage apron by pouring concrete? Or just leave it alone? It is, after all, at the far end of my backyard.

So, today is gray and wet and tonight we’re supposed to get another 1.5 inches of rain. The temperature is warmer than in recent days—all the way up to 46°F. I could call this day dismal, and many would agree. But I’m in my  house. I’m warmed by an oil-fired boiler. I’m further warmed by an electric heater on the floor beside my chair. The heater blows warm air on my legs and it feels soothing and comforting.

When I was a boy delivering the morning newspaper, I would often stop at my grandmother’s house on the way home and she would prepare a tall stack of pancakes for me. While she was preparing them, I would pull up a chair to the edge of the floor furnace and bask in the stream of warm air that it blew over me. The sensation would almost put me to sleep.

Decades later, on a cold winter night I would fill the fireplace insert with firewood, close the doors, adjust the air intakes to keep the combustion low, and go to bed. If I awakened in the dark hours of the new day, I would go to the darkened living room and sit in front of the fireplace with my back to the fireplace insert. The gentle stream of warm air blowing from the insert was pure contentment.

I’ve wondered occasionally if other people find the flow of warm air blowing over their bodies as comforting as I do. Certainly, I would not think people who live where winters are warm would be able to appreciate it. To those people I say, “You don’t know what you’ve missed.”

The Wall

Donald Trump wants a multi-billion dollar wall on the southern border of the US. He says he needs Democratic help. Why?

The Republican party controls both houses of Congress and the White House. Of 100 senators, 54 are Republican. Of 435 representatives, 246 are Republican. The 114th Congress has the largest Republican majority since the 71st Congress of 1929—1931. If Trump wants to fund a border wall, why doesn’t he ask his own party for funding instead of blaming Democrats for not cooperating with him?

Trump has done plenty of things Democrats opposed. The Congress has been essentially a rubber stamp on anything he wanted. Trump got things his way. Then Trump hit a wall.

It was a wall of Democrats united to put the brakes on his multi-billion dollar boondoggle. Trump wanted $1.4 billion to start construction. Democrats gave him $1.5 billion for upgrades to border security, but no money for a wall.

Trump said he will “proudly” shut down the federal government unless Democrats help him pay for the border wall. He will proudly stop paychecks to hundreds of thousands of federal workers, proudly close national parks, and proudly suspend many government functions. Considering that Congress and the White House are controlled by Republicans, why do they need Democratic votes? It would seem they could pass any bill they want to pass.

But they can’t and it’s because of something called the “Cloture Rule”. It only takes 51 votes to pass a bill in the Senate but it takes 60 votes to end a filibuster, and Republicans don’t have 60 votes.

When Trump was campaigning, he assured his supporters again and again that Mexico will pay for the wall. When Mexico made it clear that they would not be forking over billions of dollars for Trump’s wall, the funding situation became murkier. Trump changed his message to: American taxpayers will pay for the wall and Mexico will reimburse us “in some form” at “a later date.” But Mexican government officials have stated repeatedly that they will not pay for any part of Trump’s border wall. So if the wall is built, who will be on the hook for the bill?

At the end of the day it will be the same people who are always on the hook for billion dollar boondoggles—American taxpayers. Or more likely, the wall will be paid for by the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of today’s taxpayers.

Even more likely than that is the probability that the bill for the wall will never be paid. The bill will simply be added to America’s credit card, otherwise known as the National Debt, and taxpayers will pay interest on that bill forever, never paying it off. And that is what lenders really care about. They don’t want the debt to be repaid. They want to earn interest indefinitely. And for some reason, voters seem happy to let them do that.

Winter Storm: Update 3

I have a number of complaints about the behavior of certain members of the human race. Today I added another one to the list.

There is still fairly deep snow on the ground from the recent winter storm. Certainly it’s deeper than you would want to walk through. So I shoveled the snow off my sidewalk, from my front steps to the street. I then went into the house and looked out the front window, admiring the result of my labor.

Along comes a neighbor’s car and guess where he parks. With the entire width of my lot available for parking, he parks in front of my sidewalk, blocking access from the street. Now anyone who wants to use my sidewalk has to walk through snow to get to it.

WTF is wrong with people? Do they no longer think about what they’re doing, or do they simply not give a damn? Maybe it’s both. After all, we are now living in the real-life incarnation of the film Idiocracy.

Betrayal

It is difficult to be friends with both a husband and wife (or any close couple), especially when there are secrets involved.

For example (and this is purely fictional): The wife tells me she sneaks out of the house every Friday night so she can drive to a Bingo parlor and gamble a little money playing Bingo. She sneaks back into the house so her husband won’t confront her about where she has been, because she doesn’t want him to know she has been gambling. The husband tells me he is sure his wife is cheating on him because he has seen her sneaking out of the house on Friday nights and coming home late and sneaking into the house. He tells me that because she is cheating on him, he feels it is okay for him to cheat on her. The couple’s relationship starts to fall apart due to a misunderstanding about what is happening.

If I tell the husband that his wife is not cheating but merely gambling and he confronts her about her gambling habit, the wife accuses me of betraying her trust. If I tell the wife what her husband has told me and she confronts him, he accuses me of betraying his trust. So, do I remain silent and allow their relationship to sink into a state of cold animosity that may end in divorce? Or do I “betray” one or both of them to get them to start talking to each other, even if it means that one (or both) of them will no longer be my friend?

In the real world I choose the latter, even though it causes trouble for them and for me, because I feel that if I don’t try to start a conversation between them, the situation will only deteriorate further until it may be unrecoverable. I can’t stand back and watch that happen and say nothing. That isn’t my nature. But maybe I am totally wrong and maybe I should let their relationship end in divorce, because it is, after all, their business. But then, what if children are involved? Does that make it different? Is there a “generally speaking” correct way to handle this? Or is every situation similar but different, each with its own correct answer? I really don’t know.

Winter Storm: Update 2

The storm has passed and the sun is out. My street still has not been plowed and cars and pickup trucks are traveling on it. A pickup truck became stuck on the icy, snowy street adjacent to the SUV that became stuck last night. He was stuck there for an hour, while other people came with snow shovels and tried to dig him out. No luck. Then someone came by in a pickup truck with a tow chain and tried to get him out. Even with that help, it took quite a while to get him going.

The icicles hanging off my front awnings have melted and now water from the melting roof snow drips from them. The temperature has climbed to 34°F. Although the weather people have said we officially got 9 inches of snow, everywhere I look it appears closer to 12 inches and a perhaps a little more. The weight of the snow on the shrubs in front of my house has basically destroyed them, splitting them apart and weighing parts of them to the ground.

At one point, my Internet went out, but came back on a couple of minutes later. Thankfully, the electricity has stayed on, without which I would not have had heat.

I know, I know—it could have been worse.

Yesterday afternoon, snow is falling, this SUV is stuck against my curb and has been abandoned. It was the first of two vehicles to get stuck in front of my house.

Afternoon today, the SUV is still stuck, still abandoned.

The pillowy aftermath, looking down the street. Still hoping the city will push the snow off the street and put down some sand, but not holding my breath.

Winter Storm: Update 1

I awoke this morning with snow already falling. I went about my business for the next few hours. I had no need to leave the house. I heard a snowplow going up a nearby street. I didn’t look out the window, but the sound of a snowplow scraping the street is unmistakable.

My own street has not been plowed, nor has salt and sand been put down. A small white car travels slowly past my house. Two men in dark clothing run behind it. I’m guessing they had just pushed the car to get it moving on the slick street, and they told the driver to go slowly and they would catch up to the car, but “don’t stop moving!” Good advice.

A short while later, I look outside and see a small dark-gray Nissan SUV stuck in the middle of the street in front of my house. A man is trying to shovel snow away from the front wheels while a woman looks on, but under the snow there is ice and a snow shovel is useless against ice. A few minutes later I look outside and see the driver trying to move the vehicle forward, but the front wheels spin and the vehicle turns sideways in the street.

Another few minutes pass and I look outside again. Now the SUV is against the curb in front of my house. There is no hope of getting the vehicle out of this situation. Maybe the driver will learn a lesson about driving in snow in a 2WD vehicle. Eventually they abandon the vehicle and begin walking down the street.

This little misadventure is being repeated thousands of times on roads around central Virginia. Cars have slid off roads and are stuck in ditches or perhaps are stopped by a tree. Authorities always advise people to not go out when the roads are bad. But, of course, there are always people who think, “They don’t mean me” or “I can handle it.”

It’s dark now. It’s 7PM and snow is still falling hard. Somewhere nearby I hear the roar of an engine and the whine of tires on ice and I know a car is stuck. I learned my lesson long ago. That’s why my vehicle has 4WD. Even so, I’m going to keep it in the garage until I have to use it. We all live and learn. It just takes some people longer than others.

Forecast: Snow

Tomorrow at this time, the brutally cold and outrageously blizzardy Great Snowstorm and/or Blizzard of 2018 will be hitting my central Virginia city. We expect to receive 1 inch of snow. Or perhaps 6 inches. Prognosticators are not sure about the amount. The dividing line between 1 to 3 inches to the east and 3 to 6 inches to the west runs right down the main drag in my little city. If that imaginary line shifts a few miles east or west, it will make a big difference in how much snow we get. But 1 inch or 6 inches, it will matter little to me. Either way, it’s a nuisance.

When I was a boy, I loved snow. I loved that schools were closed. I had a sled and a great place to go sledding. Of course, that was long before I had to shovel snow off my sidewalk or shovel a path from my back door to my garage, where my Jeep lives. Snow is pretty to watch falling, and a landscape covered in snow is also pretty, but the aftermath is a bother I don’t need.

My Jeep has 4 wheel drive, so I don’t worry about getting stuck. But I don’t like to drive my Jeep around town in a slushy mixture of snow and sand and salt, which is what is on the streets on the day after it snows. And when night comes and the temperature falls, everything freezes and the streets are slick with ice. I don’t like to have wet salt thrown onto the underside of the Jeep or into the wheel wells where it can rust sheet metal. And I really don’t want to have some driver slide his vehicle into my Jeep. So I prefer to leave the Jeep parked in the garage until the snow is gone.

If we get enough snow, maybe I’ll post some pictures here. Maybe I’ll post a video or two for the benefit of people who’ve never lived where it snows and have never had the privilege of digging out a vehicle and shoveling a path from a parking lot to a street, or helping a neighbor dig out his vehicle, or driving miles to pick up a friend or co-worker and drive them home on abandoned roads on a night when only snowplows venture out. So much fun.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

When I left Walmart the air temperature was about 30°F. Light snow had just begun falling. Perhaps that was the reason the popular holiday song “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” popped into my head.

The song was written in 1944 by Frank Loesser for him and his wife to sing at Christmas parties. The song has always been popular. But recently, radio stations have pulled the song from their holiday playlists. Their reasoning is that the song is guilty of commending, if not promoting, sexual harassment.

As I walked across the parking lot to my car, I reflected upon the fact that in those olden days when the song was written and performed, it was possible for a man to suggest to a woman that she stay the evening without the suggestion being considered sexual harassment or, worse, sexual assault.

There are legitimate cases of sexual harassment and sexual assault. But the politically correct crowd seems bent on promoting the idea that anything suggestive of sex must be harassment or assault. That perception dilutes the legitimate claims of harassment and assault.

Maybe I’m being old-fashioned here, but I believe claims of sexual intimidation should be confined to actual acts of intimidation and not a suggestion that a woman should stay the evening because “it’s cold outside”. If we make that suggestion into sexual harassment then I can truthfully say that I’ve been sexually harassed by women on multiple occasions, and I didn’t even know I was being harassed. It works both ways.

Tattoos

This blog post will upset a lot of people. Okay, not “a lot” of people, because a lot of people don’t read this blog. But it will upset some people. Okay, let me be totally honest—it will upset a few people, maybe.

I don’t understand the fascination with tattoos and piercings. Tattoos are a turnoff for me. Piercings are an even bigger turnoff, especially when they go through the nose or mouth. Little studs or rings through the eyebrows, those I can live with. I can accept them. That doesn’t mean I like them, though.

The human body, when taken care of properly, is a temple. It’s a work of art. (Especially the female body, but I’m a guy so I’m sure I’m biased.) “So what?” you ask.

There is a world-famous building in India called the Taj Mahal. It is renowned for its beauty. But is there a way that we can make it even more beautiful? Sure, let’s just get some cans of spray paint and spray graffiti all over the outside of it! If you think graffiti will make the Taj Mahal more beautiful, then you deserve tattoos. No doubt your friends are saying, “Looking good!”

And for those people of the Jewish and Christian faiths, note that the Bible has something to say about this subject. Leviticus 19:28 “Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourself.” If you don’t like my opinion on tattoos and piercings, go argue with God.

Think before you ink.

School Bus Tragedy

In the news now is the story of three children—two 6-year-old twin brothers and their 9-year-old sister—who were killed while trying to cross a two-lane road to get to their waiting school bus. An 11-year-old boy was also struck and is hospitalized with multiple broken bones. The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) is sending a “go-team” to the location to try to understand how the accident happened.

The news article reports the bus was stopped with its flashing lights turned on and its stop-sign-arm deployed. Folks, we don’t need the NTSB to figure out how this accident happened. I can tell the NTSB exactly how it happened. Somebody ignored the bus’s flashing lights and stop sign and blew past the stopped bus at full speed. It happens every day all over America.

If you interview any school bus driver, you’ll hear about people ignoring the bus’s lights and stop sign and driving past the stopped bus. It probably happens at least once a day to every school bus driver in America. Passing a stopped school bus is already against the law, but you can’t make people obey the law. They have to want to obey the law. These kinds of tragic accidents will continue to happen until careless drivers have some skin in the game. Give them something to lose and they will be more likely to obey the law.

How about this: if you blow past a stopped school bus, ignoring its flashing light and the extended arm with the stop sign, then hi-def cameras will capture an image of your license plate and you will be identified and your vehicle will be confiscated.

Too draconian? Then how about option 2: when the bus is stopped with warnings deployed, any large metal object (car or truck) passing the bus will be detected by a small radar device affixed to the bus and a squirt of paint will be sprayed down the side of the passing vehicle.

Still to harsh? Okay then, let’s go to option 3: a smart sensor on every new car that can respond to the flashing lights of a stopped school bus and order the vehicle to slow down.

A real hi-tech solution would be to install on every future vehicle a “black box” that is capable of receiving a radio signal broadcast by a stopped school bus. The black box will then tell the car’s engine computer and brake system to slow or stop the vehicle. This solution would also allow work-zone speed limit compliance, as vehicles would automatically slow down to a transmitted speed limit. And police could quickly and safely terminate a pursuit by electronically stopping a vehicle rather than pursuing the vehicle at high speed for dozens of miles.

I’m just thinking outside the box, as no doubt many others have done. There are people smarter than me out there (I hope). Perhaps one of them will invent a solution to this problem before more tragedies occur.

Vicious

Many years ago I read about a science experiment in which a few rats were placed in a large enclosure. Initially, the rats were very peaceful toward each other. But as their population grew and the enclosure became crowded, the rats began turning against each other. They began attacking each other, and as their population continued to grow their attacks became increasingly vicious.

When I was born, the US population was 141 million. Now it is 326 million. Over that period of time, many people in America have become increasingly vicious and increasingly callous in their behavior toward their fellow humans. And they go to extremes to justify their behavior.

Are people no smarter than rats? Sure we are, in some ways. And no we’re not, in other ways. That is something we must struggle to overcome if we want to survive as a species.

Fake News

We can thank Donald Trump for a new term added to the American lexicon: “fake news”. What is fake news? Is fake news merely news that is fake? No. The term fake news is just a longer way of saying this word: news.

However, the term fake news carries a little baggage that the word news does not. The person who uses the term fake news is implying that they do not like the news coverage they are receiving—even if, and especially if, the news coverage is completely true.

When you hear the term “fake news”, just think “news”. That is all it is.

Communication Overload

A couple of friends are scheduled to fly into town to visit me tomorrow. Also flying into town will be Michael, the hurricane. I’m sure the combination of heavy rain and tropical storm winds will make their trip memorable for all concerned, assuming their flight isn’t canceled. And here I’ve been thinking it was just me that gets the bad luck.

Richmond International Airport has a cell phone parking lot. If there is a space open in the lot, I’ll pull over and wait for them to call or text me to tell me they’ve arrived. However, there are complications. They live outside the US, so their phones normally operate in a different country. They have to “unlock” their phones in order to make international calls. Calling me from the airport terminal will be an international call. That is a small complication. The bigger complication is my phone situation.

I have two phone numbers. One number lets me make and receive free, unlimited phone calls and send and receive free, unlimited text messages using WiFi. The other number uses the cellular network and that company charges a fee for calls and texts. I have two phone companies, two technologies (cellular and WiFi) and one phone. Sometimes it confuses even me.

“What’s your phone number?”
“Depends.”

When I get to the cell phone parking lot at RIC, I will turn on my phone’s cellular data feature. I’ve never used it because I always use WiFi. But that will enable me to use WhatsApp over the cellular network. This means I will be burning cellular data, which will cost extra. But then, phone calls to my cell number also cost extra. But I’m not thinking about the additional fees, which are relatively small. I’m thinking, “How do I make this technology work so that my friends can reach me?” The more options we have for communicating, the more complicated communication becomes. I foresee a time when there are so many options for communication that no one can communicate with anyone.

I almost long for the days of rotary phones, when you stuck your finger into a hole in a dial and spun it around, and the most complicated thing was getting a dime from your pocket for a pay phone. I said “almost”. I’m not giving up on modern times, but I am still adjusting.

The Rutabaga Speculation

It’s a drowsy day. Overcast. Cool. Quiet. During the night, around 2 AM, as I lay semi-asleep in my bed, I hear screaming outside. It sounds like a woman is screaming “Owwww” repeatedly. After several screams my drowsy brain clicks into gear and hands me a thought: “Is that a woman screaming?” I arise and look through a window. A dark figure wearing a hoodie, apparently a man, is strolling past my house and under a nearby street light. Even under the street light the figure remains completely dark. Then he turns and strolls back down the street in the direction from whence he had come, back into the darkness. I see no one else, nor do I hear more screams. “Probably teenagers up to no good,” I decide, and I return to bed.

(As I type this, locomotive air horns bellow in the distance. Trains come through my city every day.)

Today my thoughts are of the lazy variety. I ponder what I can eat. I can’t keep anything tasty in the house. No sweets. No crackers stuffed with cheese or peanut butter. No flavored nuts. (I could live on wasabi and soy sauce almonds.) No big jar of trail mix. If it tastes good I can’t keep it in the house because I’ll eat it—all of it. Resistance is futile.

During the recent hurricane event, I bought a few tasty items to have on hand. I wanted non-perishable foods in case there there was a power failure. But the hurricane didn’t hit my city and as a result I snacked on those tasty foods to the tune of three additional pounds of body fat. And I won’t work it off because, as we all know, exercise sucks.

Instead of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough bars and Captain’s Wafers Variety Packs, I should keep rutabagas on hand. I would never have to worry about snacking on rutabagas. Even the name is a turn-off. Rutabaga. It’s a cross between a cabbage and a turnip. I’ve never cooked one and I know I never will. The name comes from the Swedish word rotabagge, which roughly translates as yuck. I’m kidding; I have no idea what rotabagge means. I could google it but I already know more than I want to know about rutabagas. I suggest that my readers eat some rutabagas and let me know how that goes. And bon appétit.

Florence and the Jeep

In a previous post (Waiting for Florence) I said, “If I prepare for the coming storm, it will miss me. If I don’t prepare, it will hit.” At the time, Florence was on a track that would take it through Virginia. So I prepared, and the magic worked. Immediately after I finished my storm preparations, Florence steered herself onto a new course, away from Virginia and into North Carolina. I’m not saying I made Florence change course. No, that’s for the weather boffins to decide. Maybe, it’s just a coincidence.

My city has been smacked by enough hurricanes: six since 2003, the year I moved back here. In 2011 we were visited by Irene, as documented in After Irene, which is now my generic post for visiting hurricanes. I could copy that post, change the name of the hurricane, and publish it after any hurricane and it would still be accurate.

Two days before Florence was due here, as I made storm preparations, there was an incident with my Jeep. A strange sound began coming from under the hood. It was kind of a whining, whirring sound. I was mystified. The car drove just as well as always. What was making the noise?

The Jeep was stopped at a red light and I noticed that when the steering wheel was positioned to straight-ahead, the noise went away. If I moved the steering wheel to the left or to the right, the noise returned. I knew I had a power steering problem.

I stopped at the next parking lot to look at the power steering pump. From the outside, it looked okay. I removed the filler cap and looked into the pump to see if the hydraulic fluid was low. I couldn’t see any fluid. I put the cap back on and drove off to get my Jeep fixed.

I drove to an auto repair shop. Cutting a long story short, a high-pressure power steering hose had developed a small hole. That’s how the fluid escaped. The shop could replace the hose. The cost: $205.

I decided to also get the oil changed, which had not been done for three years. The oil change cost was $30.

Then the mechanic told me that the right front axle CV joint had a torn boot. He took me to the bay and showed me. Yup, it was flinging grease everywhere. It had to be fixed. “Replace the axle,” I told him. Cost: $250. I could almost hear the register go cha-ching!

Next I learned that the Jeep’s sway bar bushings were almost completely worn out. Sway bar bushings are kind of important if you don’t want to roll  your vehicle. I said, “Replace ‘em.” Cost: $136. There goes that cha-ching sound again.

I was in a repair frame of mind. In for a dime, in for a dollar. I told the mechanic to replace the rear hatch gas springs. The old springs had been defunct for several years. New springs: $160. This time I definitely heard a cha-ching.

I said I was going to cut this story short, so suffice to say that my pain added up to $860. Now, I’m not blaming Florence for having to spend this money. It’s just a law of Nature at work: Sometimes you’re the windshield, and sometimes you’re the bug.

Midland

The song of the day is Drinkin' Problem from the 2017 album On The Rocks by country music group Midland.

Waiting for Florence

A hurricane is aiming for the Carolinas and Virginia. It’s a big one and its predicted course, especially after it comes ashore, is not certain. Still, I have a feeling this might be one of those storms that people remember for a long time.

I know how the universe works. If I prepare for the coming storm, it will miss me. If I don’t prepare, it will hit.

So I’m preparing.  If electricity fails, I’ll be unable to cook or keep food refrigerated. So I need non-perishable foods that don’t require cooking, and I need flashlight batteries, and I need—oh heck, I made a list and went shopping.

First, food. I bought two boxes of candy bars: chocolate chip cookie dough bars and lemon bars. I bought a jar of trail mix. I bought canned beans and franks. I have two sweet potatoes that I’ll cook before the storm arrives. All in all, it feels like a reasonable food supply.

Batteries. I need D cells for my flashlights and my radio. Walmart is sold out. So is Food Lion. So is Home Depot. I decided I don’t need batteries. I have a small radio that runs on AA cells but I don’t know where it is. It’s in the house somewhere. I just have to look for it. Plenty of time, I tell myself.

Water. This one is kind of important so bought a case of bottled water. I also have a few large bottles that I’ll fill with water. I’ll fill the bathtub with water and keep a bucket handy for flushing the toilet.

Car. I filled the gas tank and added a half quart of motor oil. Then, the power steering high pressure hose failed and I had to take it to a garage for repairs. One thing led to another, and that entire incident deserves its own blog post. Suffice to say, $860 later it’s ready to roll again.

After all my preparation, I have a good feeling that Florence is not going to come near my central Virginia city. That is the reason for preparation: it’s a ritual to keep away the storm. The more money you spend, the less likely you’ll get hit by the storm. It’s the way the universe works. The Aztecs and Mayans sacrificed humans. Now it’s modern times and I have only to sacrifice dollars to keep the badness away.

Now I’m waiting, as are millions of others.

Musings

Scientists at Yale University say we—by which they mean they—can now teleport a quantum gate. That’s great news. You’re probably wondering, “What’s a quantum gate? And does it mean I can get free cable TV?” Those would be the natural questions to ask. Answers: no one knows, and no. But if you teleport a quantum gate before midnight tonight, you may qualify for lifetime free antenna TV and a set of Ginsu knives.

Scientists at Tel Aviv University have created a robot bat. They call it robat. This is not a joke. Robat is like a bat except instead of flying through the air it trundles along the ground on 4 large wheels. It uses echolocation to navigate. Robat “pings” out ultrasonic sound and listens for the echo to detect objects around it. I hate to spoil their party, but I worked for a company which made and sold wheeled robots from the mid ‘80s until year 2000. Our robots used ultrasonic sound for navigation and obstacle avoidance. (Some models also incorporated LIDAR—pulsed beams of laser light.) But good luck, university guys, and don’t get discouraged just because decades ago someone else was doing what you’re trying to do. Better late than never.

Scientists at the University of Connecticut have created a cyborg cockroach. The hybrid “creature” is constructed by melding the creepily but probably aptly named Madagascar Hissing Cockroach with a microchip neuro-controller that sits atop the bug. The purpose of the cyborg cockroach will be to find you if there’s an earthquake and a building falls on you. Yes, as you lie buried and dying in the rubble, the last thing you can expect to see will be dozens of Madagascar hissing cockroaches approaching you … a comforting mental picture, I’m sure.

And finally there’s this: scientists from Cardiff University and MIT asked the question, “Could artificially intelligent robots develop prejudice on their own?” Their answer: not unless they interact with people. Just kidding! The actual answer is yes they could. In fact, the article says,

“… some types of computer algorithms have already exhibited prejudice, such as racism and sexism, based on learning from public records and other data generated by humans …”

But this new study says AI robots could develop prejudice without human help, just by interacting with other AI robots. Oh great. Now I get to be looked down on by machines. Wait till the Department of Motor Vehicles gets their robots. “Attention stupid human. You passed your driver’s test but I don’t like your looks so I’m flunking you. If you don’t like it you can go suck it. Have a nice day.”

Yeah, the future is going to be interesting. And weird.

Chicago News

This week, a young man went to Chicago to pursue a doctoral degree at Northwestern University, and after being there only three hours he was shot dead. He was waiting at a bus stop and got caught in a crossfire. (Source)

Here are some other Chicago headlines from recent days:

• In less than 7 hours, 41 shot, 5 fatally as violence rips Chicago (Source)
• 14 hours in Chicago: 25 people shot, including 3-year-old boy (Source)
• 30 shot over 3-hour span in Chicago, including 11-year-old and at least 11 teens (Source)

There are many headlines like these. I’m beginning to think if certain parts of Chicago don’t get rained on with fire and brimstone soon, the Lord owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology.

• Teen gun violence activist Delmonte Johnson fatally shot on South Side (Source)
• 27 year old woman shot and killed while sitting in car (Source)
• 2 killed, 6 wounded Saturday in city shootings (Source)

This is ordinary, everyday stuff in south Chicago. To be fair, you can read headlines like this in many American cities. There are simply more of them in Chicago newspapers. It seems like for south Chicago youth, life is the law of the jungle: kill or be killed. For many, it’s the only life they know.

Wednesday Morning Observations

Insomnia. It’s dark outside. I arise. I sit at the computer. What’s in the news at this time of the morning?

First headline: Demi Lovato selling home where she overdosed. Oh sure, blame the house. Look what you made me do, stupid house! You’re a bad house! I don’t want to live in you anymore.

The article says it’s a four bedroom, five bathroom house. Why is it rich people need to live in a house where they can be within 10 feet of a bathroom no matter where in the house they go? Do rich people have tiny bladders? Or is having a lot of bathrooms a peculiar sign of prestige?

“My house has 4 bathrooms.”

“You poor thing. Mine has 5 bathrooms. Next month I’m moving into a house with 6 bathrooms. I’m moving up.”

There should be a TV series: Lives of the Rich and Very Disturbed.

Second headline: Former 'ER' actress Vanessa Marquez fatally shot by police doing wellness check. What is there to say? Never call the police unless you want somebody shot. And that somebody might be you. Anyone who reads the news regularly should know this.

Third headline: 'Good Morning America' Star Lara Spencer's Wedding to Rick McVey Was Magical. Okay. But who the hell is Lara Spencer? Who the hell is Rick McVey? And what the hell is a ‘Good Morning America’? And why am I supposed to care?

Fourth headline: A quantum gate between atoms and photons may help in scaling up quantum computers. Huh? I mean, HUH?

Fifth headline: Dog apparently killed owner outside Md. home, police say.  Guess what kind of dog it was. Go ahead. Guess. It was one of those breeds that people are always calling sweet and gentle and loving and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yeah, right. It was a pit bull.

Here’s the thing about pit bulls: they might be sweet and gentle and loving and docile and all the other nice words you can come up with for a pet. But IF they go rogue, which does happen very occasionally, they’re the breed that can kill you. Maybe a poodle is more likely to bite you than a pit bull—I really don’t know. But a poodle won’t kill you. I don’t have an agenda against pit bulls. They can make great pets. But buying a pit bull is like buying a loaded pistol. Treat it properly and you’ll be fine and have no regrets. Mishandle it and you might end up dead. As some people, to their regret, have discovered.

It’s One of Those Nights

It’s 1 AM—time for bed. So I go to bed and wait for sleep.

I awaken in darkness. I look at the clock beside my bed. It reads 2 AM. That’s a little disappointing. Eventually I fall asleep again.

I awaken in darkness. I look at the clock beside my bed. It reads 3 AM. This is going to be one of those nights. But I get back to sleep.

I awaken in darkness. I look at the clock beside my bed. It reads 4 AM. Well, this sucks. I get up and go to the kitchen.

The house is utterly quiet. I don’t even hear the whine of my tinnitus—the constant B₇ note that seems ever present in my head. The battery-powered clock on the wall makes a soft click every second. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that before.

It’s too damn quiet. I open the refrigerator door and close it. A half minute passes and then the refrigerator turns on.

There’s probably a place I could go on the Internet and meet up with other people having insomnia, but I have nothing to say. “Couldn’t sleep,” isn’t much of a conversation starter.

So what am I doing about it? I’m sipping a rocks glass full of vodka, lemon-lime soda, and ice. After a sufficient number of shots I’ll get back to sleep, I bloody well hope. Till next time.

The Applebee Chronicles

One night recently, whilst in the throes of insomnia, I decided to rummage through the dusty archives of my hard drive and pull together a collection of blog posts from the year 1999. At that time I wrote a blog titled The Applebee Chronicles, so-called because I wasted an appalling amount of time and money at that establishment. When I say "wasted" I don't mean I didn't receive value for the dollars I spent; I mean only that the amount of money I spent at that bar could have paid for a nice automobile. Sigh.

I found 30 of the old posts and so I created a new blog titled—what else?—The Applebee Chronicles. The posts that are on the Chronicles are as banal as the posts on this blog but with, perhaps, a bit more introspection. You can find the Chronicles here. Remember, if you start reading at the top post, you’re starting at the end. Not that it matters a lot.

As a historical note, the Oxford English Dictionary says the word “blog” was coined May 23, 1999. Certainly at the time I was writing the Chronicles I had not heard of the word, so I didn’t know I was writing a blog. I posted the short articles on a personal website, and I did have readers! So there.

Wendy’s Again

I went to my local Wendy’s again today. That was my first mistake. I ordered a taco salad. That was my second mistake.

This Wendy’s seems to always mishandle my order. Why do I go back? Because I keep hoping they will train their workers and fire the ones who can’t be trained. That hope gets fainter with each trip.

I placed my order and waited. I knew they would leave some ingredient out of my salad. How did I know? They always do. The last time I was at Wendy’s I bought an avocado-chicken salad to go. I got home and discovered there was no avocado on the salad. How do you forget to add one of the two ingredients the salad is named after? 

Wendy’s salads are made in the morning so they’re ready for the lunch crowd. I placed my order and waited. And waited. Two men came in together and ordered. Each man received his meal and left. I thought, “I should have ordered something deep-fried or grilled.” Another man came in alone, ordered, received his meal, and left. I continued to wait for my “pre-made” taco salad. Finally, I received my salad and went home.

When I got home and opened the salad container I discovered—surprise, surprise—the shredded cheese was missing.

A taco salad is simple. The salad container has three ingredients: lettuce, diced tomato, and shredded cheese. Then the lid goes on. You get chili, sour cream, salsa, and tortilla chips on the side. A taco salad is not rocket science.

Or maybe it is, depending on who makes the salad.

Trump and the Economy

How is the economy doing under President Trump? My pro-Trump friends tell me it’s wonderful. My no-Trump friends are unimpressed. So what are the facts?

First, let’s look at the unemployment numbers. Obama inherited a very unhealthy economy, with a rising unemployment rate due to the worst recession since the Great Depression. By the end of his first year in office the rate had stabilized and then began a steady decline that lasted through both of his terms in office. This decline in unemployment has continued during Trump’s 18 months in office.

Source: Bureau of Labor Statistics: https://data.bls.gov/timeseries/LNS14000000

Now let’s look at the Gross Domestic Product. The increase in GDP in the 2nd quarter of 2018 was 4.1%, higher than usual because shippers accelerated exports to avoid trade war tariffs. The previous quarter was 2.2%. The quarter before that was 2.3%. Obama’s best quarter saw 5.1% growth followed by 4.9% growth. In fact, GDP growth went from minus 8.1% in the 4th quarter of 2008 to plus 4.5% a year later. If Obama had been a Republican, GOP Congressmen would have been shouting his praise from the Capitol dome.

Source: Bureau of Economic Activity: https://www.bea.gov/national/xls/gdpchg.xlsx

After looking at these charts, the thing that stands out the most is that the economy has been stable and improving. Unemployment has been on the decline for eight years. Under Obama, GDP growth averaged just above 2% over his two terms in office. That is reasonable for a mature economy like the U.S. has.

The GDP can grow too slowly but it can also grow too fast. When the economy grows too fast, it “overheats” with too many dollars chasing too few growth assets. So investors start buying mediocre assets. When their value goes down, investors panic and a selloff ensues. Asset prices fall. That happened in 1999-2000 with the bubble in high-tech stocks. It happened again in 2005-2006, where the asset bubble was in housing. When the housing bubble burst, the result was a financial crisis. When an asset bubble bursts, the GDP usually goes negative and that signals a recession.

Politicians have said recently that they want a GDP growth rate of 3-4%, but economists agree that an ideal growth rate is 2-3%. If GDP growth spikes above 4% for several quarters, it usually means there is an asset bubble. So our economy is presently healthy. Obama handed Trump a stable economy growing a reasonable amount each year. Maybe Trump can keep the economic engine on the track. Maybe he can’t. We can only wait and see what happens.

Eat, Drink, Be Merry

I'm trying to reduce my weight by eating and drinking less. I successfully got through most of the day eating only one bowl of oatmeal. I planned on finishing the day by eating a half of a baked sweet potato and a serving of collard greens, but a friend unabashedly convinced me to go out and buy more spirits. So I had no choice but to do that. As fate would have it, a Burger King is located across the street from the liquor store, and though I didn't want to, I had no choice but to go in and buy a Whopper. So I did. I also bought a Spicy Chicken sandwich. I heard somewhere that beef has positive calories and chicken has negative calories so they cancel out. Who am I to argue with science?

Inside the fast food store, water dripped steadily from a florescent light fixture into a half-full bucket on the order counter and splashed out onto the floor. It hadn't rained all day, so I assumed the rooftop air conditioner was responsible.

After a few minutes a cashier appeared and I gave her my order. The cashier was a young woman. I commented to her about the water steadily dripping from the ceiling. "Looks like your air conditioner has a problem."

"That's not the air conditioner," she replied. "It's ..." and her voice transitioned into GirlSpeak, that indecipherable concatenation of fast-flowing verbiage that young women are so adept at using. I have no idea what she said.

The Whopper arrived immediately, but I had to wait for the Spicy Chicken.  The Whopper waited, too, growing steadily less hot. The phone rang and the cashier answered it. She walked into the back as she talked. I heard her say, "So it is the air conditioner. I thought..." and her voice trailed off.

I looked at the bag with the Whopper. The brown bag seemed so lonely and so ... getting colder.

The cashier returned. Several minutes had passed so, being in a droll mood, I asked her if the cook was growing a chicken. "The chicken takes six minutes to cook," she responded. Of course, that six minutes starts when they get to your order and begin the cooking process—not when you place your order.

Another customer came in and placed his order. A few minutes passed. We chatted about the leak. "With all the electric wires in the ceiling, that's really not where you want to have water," I said. He agreed. His food came and he left. Now it was me, the staff, and my forlorn hamburger waiting for its deep-fried partner. A couple more minutes passed and I told the cashier that I may soon have to look at their breakfast menu. She understood.

Then the cook—a tall, thin, somewhat sinister-looking man—picked up tongs and grabbed the chicken out of the fryolator—that big vat of boiling, nasty grease that fast food eateries fry everything in... chicken, cheese sticks, onion rings, Oreos, pickles, ice cream, liver, shoes, toy poodles, condoms, your mom, the Falkland Islands, ANYTHING.

As he walked back to the counter where the bun was waiting, the cook scowled daggers at me. I assumed he had overheard my remarks about waiting for the chicken and had taken them personally. I watched him closely to make sure he didn't adulterate my sandwich with something that wasn't supposed to be in it. Like, for instance, spit. (See the movie Waiting.) But I saw nothing unusual. Maybe it was all my imagination.

Assembly of the Spicy Chicken was finally complete and the sandwich went into the takeout bag. I wished them luck with the air conditioner and I left the store. I had a Whopper sandwich. I had a Spicy Chicken sandwich. I had a bottle of vodka. What more does a man really need to be content?

Joe Bonamassa

The song of the day is Mountain Time from the 2002 album So, It's Like That by blues rock guitarist, singer, and songwriter Joe Bonamassa. Bonamassa started playing guitar at age 4. By age 12 he had his own band called Smokin’ Joe Bonamassa and opened for B.B. King at approximately 20 shows. Bonamassa placed #1 in Gibson’s Top 10 Modern Blues Musicians.

Orianthi

The song of the day is Light of Manos by Australian singer-songwriter Oritanthi (Orianthi Penny Panagaris). In 2009, Orianthi was named one of the 12 Greatest Female Electric Guitarists by Elle magazine. She also won the award as "Breakthrough Guitarist of the Year" 2010 by Guitar International magazine. Orianthi is also known for being Michael Jackson’s guitarist on his This Is It tour.

Face to Face

The song of the day is The Devil You Know (God Is A Man) from the 1999 album Ignorance Is Bliss by California punk rock band Face to Face featuring vocals by front man Trever Keith. The song is featured in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer first soundtrack album.

Heavy Metal Happiness

My favorite story in today’s news: two elderly men in Germany went missing from their retirement home. Police were called, and the two men were found at Wacken Open Air, a days-long festival billed as the “world’s biggest heavy metal festival.” It draws about 75,000 metalheads from all over the world each year. Police believed the men traveled 25 miles to the festival by foot and public transport.

Police found the men at 3AM acting “disoriented and dazed.” I ask, what’s the problem? “Disoriented and dazed” is exactly how you’re supposed to feel after spending all day and half the night at the world’s biggest heavy metal festival. Success!

Police told the men they had to go home, but the men were reluctant to leave. In the end, they left voluntarily. Police put them in a taxi and took them back to their “home” — with a police escort, just in case they decided to jump taxi and go back to the fun.

These elderly men are my new heroes. Go for the fun! Just because you’re elderly, it doesn’t mean you’re old.

Spider

I got out of bed around 3AM to journey to the porcelain facility. While there, my eyes caught sight of a small black spider on the wall near the bathtub. It was making a web. I watched it for a while. It had started the web in darkness, and I recalled that web-making spiders are usually blind or nearly blind. The spider creates its web without ever seeing it. A web-making spider tunes its web so the web will vibrate when struck by certain frequencies. These spiders “hear” their world through vibration sensors in their legs. A spider can also “pluck” its web’s silk strings and monitor the echoes that return in order to locate things on its web. They’re amazing little critters.

Finally my task was done and I was ready to leave. But first, I grabbed the toilet brush and whacked the spider. One whack sent the spider to spider heaven. I marvel at the things a spider can do, but that doesn’t make me want to live with one.

Gnat Nuisance

It’s mid-summer and I’m fighting the usual summertime battle with the no-see’ums that get into my house. At least, I think they’re called no-see’ums. Notwithstanding the name, you actually can see them if the lighting is right, but they’re tiny and I believe they could pass through an ordinary window screen. I once had a camper van and the manufacturer bragged that their window screens were impervious to no-see’ums, so ordinary screens won’t stop them.

No-see’ums bite, and these critters don’t seem to bite, so either they’re not no-see’ums or they meet their ends before they grow to the biting stage. I considered they might be fruit flies, but they’re smaller than fruit flies. They’re about 1 – 2 mm long. I considered they might be drain flies, but they’re smaller than drain flies, too. Plus, they don’t look like the pictures I’ve seen of fruit flies or drain flies.

Whatever they are, I call ‘em gnats and they’re a nuisance that I don’t need. They’re attracted to my kitchen garbage can. My kitchen can has a lid and I keep it closed, but the gnats find a way in. The garbage can isn’t hermetically sealed, after all, and any tiny crack between the can and lid that allows air (and odor) inside the can to leak out is all the gnats require for their miniscule noses to home in on the garbage. There, apparently, they reproduce. One day I open the lid and hundreds of gnats fly out. Okay, dozens. Whatever. All I can tell you is, it’s a lot of gnats.

I don’t know how other people kill these things, but I use a vacuum cleaner. When they light upon my kitchen cabinets, I switch on the vacuum and suck them up using the wand. They seem to be drawn to my oak veneer kitchen cabinets. Sometimes they light upon my kitchen’s white walls. Since they’re dark in color, they stand out pretty well, and they get suctioned up. Yesterday after lunch, I suctioned 25 of them into the next world, and after dinner I got another 40. It’s time consuming, though. I might spend a half hour killing a single flock of the critters.

Stores sell fly strips, so why not sell gnat strips? There are various home remedies, of course, which focus mainly on preventing them rather than eradicating them. I guess I’ll keep the vacuum cleaner near the kitchen and plugged in, ready to go at a moment’s notice. The battle isn’t quite a stalemate. The gnats are definitely on the losing side. Some people get their thrill by shooting a deer or a bird. I suction tiny black gnats out of the air. Basically, it’s the same thing.

Headlines

With immediate thoughts.

Boeing’s already-delayed Starliner spacecraft suffers propellant leak during engine testing >>

They’re going to get these rocket ships right one day. Mark my words, the day will come when almost all of them don’t blow up. There will be no more drama. Somebody pushes a button, the rocket goes up, and it’s over. Boring. Enjoy these days of exploding rockets while we still have them.

Hot Cheetos and Takis under fire after snacking teen needs gallbladder removal >>

The teen’s mom blames Cheetos and Takis but no one really knows why these things happen. I lost my gall bladder years ago. I blamed fresh vegetables. Since then, I’ve avoided vegetables. For breakfast I’ll eat bacon and eggs with extra bacon grease. Sometimes breakfast is hot dogs. For lunch, takeout burgers, extra cheese and mayo, hold the lettuce and tomato, and a side of fries, extra greasy, extra salty. Occasionally I’ll eat a salad, but I know I’m doing myself no favor. Those garden salads are probably the reason that my cholesterol is too high to measure. Meh.

'Nobody needs to die of AIDS anymore,' Elton John says >>

When it comes to medical science, if you can’t believe Elton John then who can you believe? At any rate, I think what Mr. John really meant to say was “No wealthy celebrities need to die of AIDS anymore.” And no doubt he’s right.

Is Trump a Russian operative assigned to destroy America? >>

Wait, that wasn’t a headline. Just a question I’ve wondered about. Sorry.

Wealthy Shoppers Push Aside Trade Dispute Fears to Fuel LVMH >>

You may be asking, “What the heck is a LVMH?” If so, you’re not a wealthy shopper. Don’t worry, you have plenty of company. LVMH (actual name: LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton SE) is a multinational luxury goods conglomerate. And their business is booming. It’s nice to know that Trump’s tariffs aren’t hurting the wealthy class. That wouldn’t be right.

Trump Will Spend $12 Billion Bailing Out Farmers Hurt by His Trade War >>

Who are these un-American farmers griping about not being able to sell their soybeans because of Trump’s tariffs? They should take a tip from our wealthy class and go shopping. Buy a few feel-good trinkets for the nightstand. I suggest a Steiff Louis Vuitton Teddy Bear for $2.1 million, or a Shimansky soccer ball for $2.59 million. For those who prefer something a little pricier, there are plenty to choose from, including a Lamborghini Aventador Model Car for $4.6 million. I don’t know how many soybeans our farmers have to sell to buy one of these trinkets, but I suspect it’s a lot. Better get to work, guys.

Special Deal

I went out for fast food tonight. The fridge was empty and I needed to pick up some frozen dead food for my freezer. On the way home I pulled into the BK parking lot. I had decided to buy a Whopper for supper. A Whopper plus tax is exactly five dollars. But BK was running a special: Whopper, Chicken Sandwich, or Spicy Chicken Sandwich—any two for six dollars. Sounded good to me.

“Let me have a whopper and a spicy chicken,” I told the cashier.

“We don’t have any spicy chicken and we can’t get any,” she replied.

“Oh,” I said. “You know, the special is a lot less special if you don’t have the special in stock.”

“Tell me about it,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll have a whopper and a regular chicken sandwich.”

“We can put spicy sauce on your chicken sandwich if you’d like,” the cashier offered.

“Yeah, do that.”

I told myself that I would eat the whopper tonight and the chicken sandwich tomorrow for lunch. So I put the chicken sandwich into the fridge and ate the whopper. After that, my will power lasted about 30 seconds before I got up and retrieved the chicken sandwich and nuked it. I cut it in half, rationalizing that I would eat half tonight and half tomorrow. That didn’t happen. I didn’t even pause between the first half and the second half. I used to have will power. I know because I remember: I was a two and a half pack-a-day smoker and I quit smoking. Will power, I had it! And now? Phttt. Gone with the proverbial wind.

The sandwiches were tasty, with the requisite amount of fat and sodium. The spicy sauce was so mild as to be undetectable. I could’ve sprinkled red pepper flakes on the fillet and made my own spicy sandwich, and it really would have been spicy. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Next time.

It was a big meal but I worked off the calories by mowing my yard. Yup, I drove that lawn tractor around the yard like it was a Porsche 911. Don’t laugh—steering is more work than it looks.

Trump Explained

I have friends who are ardent Trump supporters. I’ve always been ambivalent about Trump. I think it’s obvious that he has narcissistic personality traits, tells more than his share of lies, and wastes time becoming embroiled in Twitter feuds with people we’ve never heard of, but that doesn’t automatically mean he can’t do a good job as president.

However, there is one thing that might disqualify him from being president. I’m not a lawyer and I doubt Trump could be arrested for this, but he might be impeached for it. So what is this one thing? I’m asking the question that surely others must be thinking:

Is Donald Trump a Russian operative?

That sounds harsh, but look at the evidence. Throughout his campaign and during his presidency, Trump created divisiveness both within America and between America and its longtime allies. He has publicly and vociferously attacked NATO. He has attacked the European Union. He has withdrawn the US from at least one treaty, the TPP, for which there was broad agreement that it was a good deal for the US. But he has put nothing in its place. It’s possible Trump thought he could work out a better deal than the TPP offered, but if so, it didn’t work. The other 11 countries have said, in so many words, we don’t need you. They have moved on and aren’t looking back. They are building their own trading order without us.

As a candidate, Trump accepted an endorsement from former KKK grand wizard David Duke—a virtual green light to various white supremacist groups. When anti-Nazi protesters clashed with pro-Nazi marchers in Charlottesville, Trump said there were “good people” on both sides. (No there weren’t; there were good people on one side and wannabe-Nazis on the other side.) Trump started a trade war which looks likely to cost American jobs as well as create higher prices. Trump has been trying to dismantle the ACA (Obamacare) piece by piece. He makes baseless slurs on immigrants. He enacted a Muslim travel ban when, in fact, Americans are far more likely to meet their deaths at the hands of other Americans with guns. He has nominated extreme and unqualified Cabinet and sub-Cabinet officials who then went to war with their own departments. He has criticized our court system because he dislikes any check on his power. He has even gone to war with his own executive branch (especially the intelligence community). He has relentlessly attacked America’s news media, calling any news story he dislikes “fake news”. He has attacked Congress, including belittling and insulting any Senator or Representative who is critical of him. He is un-American in so many ways, and doing so many things to damage America’s reputation, that the only rational conclusion is that he is an operative for a foreign power that wants to hurt America. Which country would that likely be? Here’s a hint: Trump’s White House has many ties to Russia. (This chart on Politico is worth a look.)

On July 27, 2016, Donald Trump called on Russia to find 30,000 “missing” Hillary emails. Within hours, Russian hackers attempted to hack into Clinton Campaign email accounts. Whether or not Trump was speaking in jest (as he later claimed), there is little doubt the Russian hackers were responding to Trump’s request.

Trump’s actions have hurt Americans (see How has Trump hurt Americans) but until now I have attributed those actions to hard-right conservative principles. But with his performance in Helsinki, I now have to consider that maybe, as some have said, Trump really is “Putin’s poodle.”

Trump Deals A Shocking Blow to Our Intelligence Community

Seven U.S. intelligence agencies including both parties on Capitol Hill have concluded that Russia meddled in America’s 2016 presidential election. Those agencies are:

1. Central Intelligence Agency
2. Office of the Director of National Intelligence
3. F.B.I.
4. National Security Agency
5. Justice Department
6. House Intelligence Committee
7. Senate Intelligence Committee

American Intelligence Community:

“Russian President Vladimir Putin ordered an influence campaign in 2016 aimed at the US presidential election.” Jan. 6, 2017 > link
Intelligence assessment by the C.I.A., National Security Agency, F.B.I. and Office of the Director of National Intelligence

“The director stands by and has always stood by the January 2017 intelligence community assessment.” Nov. 11, 2017
Mike Pompeo, C.I.A. director

“As you can see with the FBI indictment, the evidence is now really incontrovertible and available in the public domain.” Feb. 17, 2018 > link
Lt. Gen. H. R. McMaster, President Trump's national security adviser

“In 2015, Russia began engaging in a covert influence campaign aimed at the U.S. presidential election.” April 27, 2018 > link
House Intelligence Committee

“There is no doubt that Russia undertook an unprecedented effort to interfere with our 2016 elections.” May 16, 2018 > link
Richard M. Burr, Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee

“In 2016, Russia conducted an unprecedented influence campaign to interfere in the US electoral and political process.” June 8, 2018 > link
Dan Coats, Director of National Intelligence

“The Committee concurs with intelligence and open-source assessments that this influence campaign was approved by President Putin.” July 3, 2018 > link
Senate Intelligence Committee

“The blame for election interference belongs to the criminals who commit election interference.” July 13, 2018
Rod J. Rosenstein, Deputy attorney general

“We have been clear in our assessments of Russian meddling in the 2016 election and their ongoing, pervasive efforts to undermine our democracy, and we will continue to provide unvarnished and objective intelligence in support of our national security.” July 16, 2018 > link
Dan Coats, Director of National Intelligence

Donald Trump’s responses:

“Somebody did say if he did do it, you wouldn’t have found out about it. Which is a very interesting point.” July 12, 2017

“And by the way folks just in case you’re like curious, no Russia did not help me, O.K.? Russia. I call it the Russian Hoax, one of the great hoaxes.” Sept. 22, 2017

“He said he didn’t meddle. I asked him again. You can only ask so many times. Every time he sees me, he says, ‘I didn’t do that.’ And I believe, I really believe, that when he tells me that, he means it.” Nov. 11, 2017

“Russia continues to say they had nothing to do with Meddling in our Election! Where is the DNC Server, and why didn’t Shady James Comey and the now disgraced FBI agents take and closely examine it? Why isn’t Hillary/Russia being looked at? So many questions, so much corruption!” June 28, 2018

“They said they think it’s Russia; I have President Putin, he just said it’s not Russia. I will say this: I don’t see any reason why it would be.” July 16, 2018

And In today’s news:

The White House has declined to rule out accepting a Russian proposal for the questioning in the United States of Americans, including former US ambassador to Moscow Michael McFaul, sought by the Kremlin for “illegal activities”. > link

This is an outrageous request and should have been immediately denounced as such. But Trump was willing to consider it. Is Trump a loyal American? The fact that he would consider, for even a second, turning over a former US ambassador to the Russians for interrogation is unacceptable.

Either we and our allies have the least competent intelligence agencies in the world, or Russia meddled in our election because they wanted to help Trump get elected, and Trump is okay with that. I can’t spin these events any other way.

If Donald Trump is not a Russian operative, he’s doing a great impression of one.

The Raid Reaction

Occasionally I find a cockroach in my house. I went into my kitchen a few minutes ago and found a roach sitting atop my electric range like he owned the place. I grabbed a can of Raid and began spraying him generously. He didn’t like that. He began running and dodging and trying to hide, but I was onto him. I sprayed the Raid relentlessly, following him down to the kitchen floor, across the kitchen and onto the hardwood floor, where he continued fleeing in the direction of the living room sofa.

Now let me pause a moment and explain that Raid is a fine cockroach killer. I’ve seen it work in 30 seconds. But this was apparently a new, hardier version of cockroach. I call it cockroach version 2. On and on it ran, with me holding the can of Raid three inches above it and spraying continuously.

Now the roach was mere seconds from refuge beneath the sofa. I used my last resort maneuver. I hit the roach with the can of Raid. I slammed that Raid can right down on his ass. Human: 1, cockroach: 0.

The roach is now deceased and relocated to its new home: my kitchen garbage can. It’s nice to know that Raid is still an effective roach killer for this new cockroach version 2. Effectiveness is just a matter of how you use the can … how you use the tool you have available. I think there’s a life lesson in there somewhere, but I’ll leave that for the reader to ponder.

Hardee’s Revisited

I said to myself, gotta go mow the yard. So I pulled on my jeans and sneakers and went outside and pondered the grass. Is it tall enough to cut? Hmm. It doesn’t look bad. Why should every blade of grass in my yard have to be exactly 1/2 inch tall? It’s societal pressure. Conform or be ostracized. Then I remembered that my neighbors already ostracize me, so screw ‘em. I went back into the house.

Next I decided to drive to Hardee’s for supper. I had a sheet of coupons that came in the mailbox. I used one a few days ago when I ordered a thickburger combo. At that time, I asked the order taker (a young white girl) if I really had to bring in a coupon to get the special price and she said, “No. Just ask for number 5.” Tonight I decided to get a double cheeseburger combo, and I almost left the coupon behind because the girl said I didn’t need it. At the last moment I decided to bring it with me, just in case.

I arrived at Hardee’s at 6:50 PM. I was their only customer. I ordered the double cheeseburger combo which includes what Hardee’s calls “natural-cut” french fries and a drink. (Though I have to ask, what is natural about cutting a potato into long, skinny pieces?) The order taker (a youngish black man this time) punched my order into his machine and asked me if I had a coupon. I pulled the crumpled coupon out of my pocket and handed it to him. I asked him if the coupon was really necessary to get the discount and he replied, “Yes, you have to have the coupon.”

“The last time I was here I asked the girl if the coupon was necessary and she said it wasn’t.”

“You have to have the coupon,” he said. “It’s the only way I can give you the discount.”

Despite the conflicting information, I believe the black guy is probably correct. But who knows? Not me, and obviously not all Hardee’s employees, either.

I selected a table and sat. The meal was brought to me promptly. The burger was warm and tasty and much more suited to the size of my stomach than the 1/3 pound thickburger I had purchased last time. Double cheeseburger, fries, and drink: three dollars. Not a bad deal. The burger was tasty. The diet cola tasted like diet cola. The fries: a different story. I don’t care much for Hardee’s fries. You get plenty of them, but they’re never hot (my experience) and they never seem to have much flavor. I should probably ask for fresh-cooked fries. They’d be hot, and they might even taste better. Also, the fries are too skinny for my liking. Thicker fries seem more flavorful.

I finished my meal, topped off my drink and left. I was still the only customer in the store. Nor had I seen anyone go through the drive-thru. I don’t know why they keep the doors open after 6 PM, but it’s a good time of day to go there if like your fast food fast.

The Wendy’s Deficiency

I don’t want to pick on my local Wendy’s but their service is so often disappointing that I feel compelled to complain. So I choose to complain to the world.

I drove to Wendy’s yesterday and noticed one of the cooks in the parking lot having a conversation with someone in a parked car. I entered the store. It wasn’t busy at all. There was one customer seated and one customer waiting for his order.

As I waited at the register for someone to take my order, the cook that had been outside came in, put on an apron, and proceeded to his workstation. It didn’t escape me that he didn’t wash his hands. I know Wendy’s has rules about hand-washing, so this is a rule-enforcement issue. And that makes it a management issue.

I ordered the Southwest Avocado Chicken Salad. As I waited for my order, I chatted with the customer ahead of me in line. He lives in central Virginia and drives to New York City every week; his mother lives in Brooklyn; he retired from the Army after 23 years of service. And so on. It’s surprising how much you can learn about a stranger while waiting for fast food. Then his hamburger arrived and he left.

Finally, my order was ready and I took it home to eat. Right away I noticed there was no avocado on the avocado chicken salad. That annoyed me because avocado is probably the most expensive ingredient in that salad. If they were going to forget an ingredient, why couldn’t they forget the tooth-breakingly-hard bacon bits?

How do you screw up a salad? Probably by chatting with co-workers while you’re making it.

But other than the missing avocado and the too-hard bacon bits, the salad was tasty. I chewed carefully (I already had a recently broken tooth thanks to an un-chewable bacon bit, so it’s a touchy subject). The salad contained enough diced chicken to get the word “chicken” into the name. There were a couple of squeeze packs of tangy dressing as well. All in all, not a bad salad, if you get everything you paid for.

But Wendy’s needn’t feel picked on. I’ve blogged about several fast-food restaurants in this town. I’m no longer surprised when one occasionally slips up. Now I’m surprised when they get everything right. I’m surprised when the food is hot and reasonably fast, when the fries are salty, when the ketchup dispenser contains ketchup, when the icemaker dispenses ice. I’m surprised when the process works as advertised.

Why is that? It says something about low expectations and the service we’re accustomed to receiving. No doubt many customers leave unhappy about some aspect of their purchase. But they don’t have the time to confront a manager who obviously can’t manage; they have to eat and get back to work or get back on the road. There isn’t enough customer feedback to inform management as to how poorly they’re performing. But management should get a clue when they’re in a good location yet business is slow. They should get a clue when they have to run special offers to entice customers in. They need to take a close look at their store and ask, “Why isn’t this operation working better?”

Or they could read my blog. All the clues are here.

It Can Happen Here

Scenario: a political candidate appeals to voters with a mix of crass language and nativist ideology. Once elected, he solidifies his power by energizing his base against immigrants, people on welfare, and the liberal press. Who is this political candidate?

Think you know?

The candidate is Buzz Windrip, the main character of a book by Sinclair Lewis titled It Can’t Happen Here, published in 1935. According to fact-checker Snopes:

“Lewis painted a vivid counterfactual portrait of a United States of America sliding into dictatorship, one that is still cited as a cautionary tale to this day.”

And this brings us to the most asked question on Snopes:

Did Sinclair Lewis say, “When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross”?

Lewis probably never used those exact words, but he did express the thought in different words.

Let’s put our heads together and see if we can think of a politician who is known for frequent attacks on our free press and our democratic principles, who rallies crowds with attacks on our justice system, who leads populist rallies with calls for political opponents to be locked up—even when their opponents have not been charged with a crime—and who would like to throw out the parts of our Constitution that interfere with his powers. Is there a politician who fits that description?

Yeah, I can’t think of anyone like that, either.

To Sleep Or Not To Sleep

I have insomnia; it’s 3 AM and I can’t sleep. So I got up, but now the question is what to do? I could write a blog post, but what can I write about? I guess I’ll write about the obvious: insomnia. It’s a subject I’m too familiar with.

All animals sleep. Migrating birds sleep: half the brain goes to sleep while the other half continues flying and navigating. Then the two halves swap and the half that was awake gets some snooze time. Whales sleep: pods of sperm whales have been observed sleeping vertically. Even insects sleep. It appears that sleep is an essential requirement for all life forms that have a central nervous system. So if sleep is so important, why do I have insomnia so often? I suspect a lot of people ask that question.

Drugstores sell over-the-counter pills that help to induce sleep. They work for a few nights, then they don’t work. Companies that make them tout this ineffectiveness as an advantage. “Non-addictive” the package brags. Of course they’re non-addictive. How would you become addicted to a pill that doesn’t work for more than two or three nights?

Drugstores also sell prescription sleep aids. They’re stronger and they remain effective longer, but even they begin losing their efficacy after awhile.  And they have many potential side effects, including causing the user to arise during the night and raid the fridge in order to eat mayonnaise and raw eggs (including the shells), or drive one’s car around town while asleep.

I saw a news story about an Italian man named Silvano who, at age 53, completely lost the ability to sleep. In desperation, he entered a sleep clinic and four months later, exhausted, he fell into a coma and died. Italian scientists discovered he had a rare genetic defect called fatal familial insomnia, or FFI. (It’s worth noting that Silvano died from a lack of sleep while he was in a coma. One might think a coma is a state of being asleep, but apparently not.)

On sleepless nights, I sometimes wonder why I bother going to bed. Then I think of Silvano, and I think maybe I should try to get an hour or two of sleep.

The Cat Conjecture

Much has been written about the Drake Equation and it boils down to the question: Where are the aliens? Not the illegal kind of aliens but space aliens. Although, technically, if space aliens landed here they would, in fact, also be illegal aliens. And I don’t know how we would make them leave. Creatures that can travel across light-years of space probably wouldn’t allow us to arrest them. And even if we could arrest them, how would we deport them? We have no regularly scheduled outbound starships to put them on.

But back to the Drake Equation. There are 200 billion stars in our galaxy and many, if not most, have planetary systems. If only a small fraction of these planets have spawned life, and if only a small fraction of that life has become intelligent and reached our level of technology, we should be detecting signs of radio transmissions from their planets. But we don’t. So, again, where are the aliens? I think I know the answer. Cats.

I’ve always been a little suspicious of cats. There is something not quite right about them. They have a kind of intelligence that isn’t entirely terrestrial. I understand dogs. Birds can be surprisingly brainy, as well. Even dolphins are quite resourceful. But cats have a kind of intelligence that is, well, alien. And what about cat people—the people who claim to own cats. Do they really own cats, or do their cats own them? Consider the obvious possibility: cats are aliens and they control certain humans that the rest of us consider to be harmless “cat-lovers”.

What dog owner would put up with the behaviors cat owners put up with from their cats? If you want to feed your dog, just open a can of dog food or pour the dry stuff straight into a doggy bowl. But if you want to feed your cat, you have to entice it to eat with just the right combination of dry food and wet food, and it had better be the right brand of wet food. “My cat is particular about his food,” their human companions tell me. “My cat will only eat Fancy Feast.” Cats make their humans jump through hoops, and their humans don’t seem to mind at all. These humans are clearly controlled by their cats.

And did any of us notice when cats required the makers of catsup to re-label all their bottles ketchup? That condiment was spelled catsup for hundreds of years and then, virtually overnight, it was ketchup. And when that change happened, did any of us notice how smug the cat population was behaving?

There is something definitely not right about cats. If you have a cat in your house, you are probably its unwitting human slave. It is likely monitoring the goings-on in your house and telepathically transmitting this information back to its home planet. So be careful out there. Never discuss national security secrets in front of your cat. That goes especially for those of you living in Bismarck, North Dakota. But don’t get me started on that subject. It’s too big to get into right now, but there’s evidence that Space Aliens Grill and Bar is actually owned and operated by cats. Laugh if you want, but remember: I couldn’t put this on the Internet if it wasn’t true.

Monument Avenue

Richmond, Virginia, was the capital of the Confederacy for most of the Civil War. As such, one would expect to find many historical landmarks from that era in the city, such as monuments to prominent Confederate generals and to Jefferson Davis (the president of the Confederacy).

Probably no bigger concentration of Confederate monuments exists in Richmond than on Monument Avenue. According to the National Park Service:

Monument Avenue is the nation’s only grand residential boulevard with monuments of its scale surviving almost unaltered to the present day. The district is nationally significant for its architecture and as an example of city planning. A broad residential tree-lined street extending for some five miles from inner city Richmond westward into Henrico County, the avenue takes its name from the series of monumental statues that mark its major intersections, generally in the center of traffic circles.

“The nation’s only grand residential boulevard with monuments of its scale … nationally significant,” according to the National Park Service.

But now it’s modern times and we must obliterate the remnants of a past that offends us. A “Monument Avenue Commission” appointed last June by the mayor has just recommended to the mayor that the statue of Jefferson Davis be taken down. The removal of the statue of Davis may be the the camel’s nose, so to speak, and other removals may follow. If that turns out to be the case, it would be unfortunate because Monument Avenue is famous for its monuments as much as for its beauty and history.

The remnants of the Old South are being hurriedly cast aside. Elsewhere in Richmond, J.E.B. Stuart Elementary School was recently renamed after Barack Obama. (Stuart was a Confederate general.) That’s okay with me, but it reminds me of a quote from George Orwell’s novel 1984: “Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.”

Allow me to propose an idea. Instead of obliterating references to our past, why not add new references alongside the old? We could mix Civil War legends with reminders of the pain they sought to preserve. The contrast between the past as some would glorify it and the real past with its human abuses would be powerful, while a street cleaned of monuments would be, after all, just another street. Monuments depicting the suffering of slaves contrasted against bronze effigies of stern men on horseback make a compelling statement. A street laundered of its memories says nothing.

The Internet Is Watching

I’ve lived in this city for 15 years and I never ate at a nearby Hardee’s until a couple weeks ago. I’ve dined at McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Burger King, and perhaps one or two other fast-food franchises I can’t recall at the moment, but never at that nearby Hardee’s.

Then recently I bought a meal there and something surprising happened. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.

I have an Android phone that gives me notifications that pop down from the top of the screen. A few days after I ate at Hardee’s, my phone sent me a notification from Google asking me to help them by rating that Hardee’s restaurant.

So my immediate thought was, how does Google know I ate there? Then I remembered I had paid for my meal with a credit card. The credit card company knows I ate there and somehow that information was communicated to Google. The two companies probably have an “agreement”.

Our lives are stored in marketing databases. Corporations have access to these databases and constantly update them to keep them current. They collect information about you, your family, your friends. Information about me. Information about everyone. These databases are being updated every day, every hour, every minute. I can search Google for an item I’m thinking about purchasing, and the very next website I visit will display an ad for that item. It works that fast. I’m sure we would all be amazed at everything the databases know about our lives.

George Orwell wrote a novel titled 1984, of which Wikipedia says: “The novel is set in the year 1984 when most of the world population have become victims of perpetual war, omnipresent government surveillance and public manipulation.”

Perpetual war? Government surveillance? Public manipulation? Does any of that sound familiar?

Considering that the book was published in 1949, I think Orwell was a bit of a prophet. Novelists write dystopian novels in the hope that we can avoid the future they describe. Have we avoided 1984’s dystopian future?

Perhaps you’re worried about government surveillance. I don’t know what lies at the bottom of government surveillance. Terrorism and crime prevention, probably. Political manipulation, maybe. Control of the populace, hopefully not but I wouldn’t rule it out. On the other hand, what lies at the bottom of corporate surveillance is surely money. In this case, money may be the lesser evil.

Money and profit may be the goal of collecting so much information about us, but when a lot of information about a lot of people is collected and made accessible, there is a danger of misuse—and this collected information about all of us is always for sale. 

In the world of surveillance, I suspect the government wishes it had the surveillance network that the Internet has become. Wiretaps are time-consuming and have legal hurdles. Monitoring every keystroke on your computer and every website you visit and every request for information you make with your phone has become effortless. The network is in place. The technology is working day and night.

Perhaps I’m overstating the pitfalls of having so much of what we consider our private information available for purchase. Or perhaps I’m understating the pitfalls. To paraphrase John Philpot Curran, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” Before you use a search engine, before you “Ask Google,” before you say “Alexa, help,” you might pause a moment to consider what you are revealing about yourself. If you don’t care, then ask away.