DESPOTS

  It only took a dozen years but I watched the final episode of The Hunger Games last night. Seventy-some years after a civil war, the oppressed underclass revolts against the ruler and a privileged upperclass. The only way to endure over 8 hours of screen time is that you know in the end the good guys win. The diabolical President holds out with his ruthless, vindictive schemes until he is killed in the end. His successor (a rebel) with her cadre of dedicated rebel followers replicate the same oppressive, dystopian government in reverse. The former, privileged, ruling class will be subjected to the same transgressions that sparked the rebellion. The heroine realized in the end that she had been manipulated by the devious new President’s promise of democracy and egalitarian rule. When The MockingJay is designated to execute (Bow & Arrow) the old President she kills the new President instead and the mob kills the old President. Then a good leader emerges, the sun comes out and it’s a happy ending for everyone. 
I like it when the good guys win. But even a long story on the big screen comes to an end but stories don’t end, movies end but stories keep unfolding with new characters and an evolving plot. It’s just a movie, one adventure in a larger story. Looking back all through the miniseries, President Snow (the evil schemer) grew more evil and more treacherous as his options died on the vine and he felt his grip slipping away. Donald Sutherland (Canadian actor) played President Snow. His appearance and demeanor made him appear as a warm and caring, fatherly figure but sooner or later everyone figures him out. Ultimately, with convincing bullshit, he justifies why the underclass must suffer an unthinkable,  devastating sacrifice in order for him to be (God) if you will and his tunnel vision, self righteous followers to live comfortably in that myth. 
When I was a little kid I peed on an electric fence, not knowing. The consequence was instantaneous. My experience with the movie was similar just in in slow motion. Sutherland’s character role modeled the Donald Trump stereotype. Narcissists around the world share the same self obsessed fixation but if they lack the means to suffer it upon the rest of the world, who cares. We all know a narcissist or two but we manage to avoid their insanity. However, if one falls into that niche (sinfully rich, powerful and omnipotent without a conscience) those despots and demagogues become world leaders. Vladimir Putin has the Russians eating out of his hand as he plunders Ukraine, making Russia great again. Hitler had Germans by the millions, signaling the Nazi salute as he attacked the Jewish problem. Cast from the same mold, Donald Trump takes aim on everyone who is not a white supremacist, an evangelical bigot, Misogynist, racist, self righteous nationalist or conspiracy addict. With seventy million voting admirers who think DT is God’s gift then he might as well be. The glaring weakness in a democracy is that voters can elect terrible, horrible leaders and the country is stuck with them. 
At the end of the movie you feel good but then it’s a movie. The real despots and demagogue leaders are like weeds in the flower bed. When you’ve pulled them all, a dandelion sprouts up underfoot and before you can uproot it another one pops up in its shadow. Trump bigots don’t surprise me. I just thought it would happen some other place, not here, not so soon. I don’t pick on him here in this blog often, no point. His loyal supporters won’t raise an eye lid. They can’t remember World War II.  Hitler comes off as a poor loser rather than a monster and we won it anyway. They want to make America Great Again, like it was when lynching blacks, beating your wife was legal and isolating people of color in ghettos was the rule. But watching the conclusion of The Hunger Games sort of set me off and see what that gets you. But I feel a little better getting it off my chest. 

HOLY MOLEY

  My Friday morning coffee group is made up of either members or friends of All Souls Unitarian/Universalist Church in Kansas City; that’s a mouthful. It’s not uncommon for people to confuse us with Unity, a left leaning, liberal, Christian denomination and though we do lean left and favor hard won knowledge over medieval mythology, we do not practice Christian religion. If we need a label it would be Secular Humanists. I can’t recall the source but I’m sure it has Buddhist roots, it goes; Whether or not there is a god at all is irrelevant. We are born with everything we need to live in peace and serve the greater good. In this coffee group our spiritual fingerprints can range from that of aggressive, hardshell atheists to passive disbelievers to simple unbelievers and agnostics, then come the philosophical agnostics and people who don’t like labels and balk at all of the ‘Come to Jesus’ hyperbole. Talk is cheap; we try to focus on what we do. What one truly believes is like cream in a jar, it comes to the top.
Yesterday (at coffee) one of our more aggressive atheists was chewing on a bone, that our minister was using the Big G (god) word and alluding to biblical wisdom way too much and it was not only inappropriate but offensive. How are you supposed to practice your atheist faith with all of that distraction. Me, on the other hand, I don't think of myself as an atheist rather, one of those philosophical agnostics. I don’t know and I don’t care. To my knowledge, no one has ever proven or disproved the God conundrum. I learned that the lack of compelling evidence does not prove anything. That was Bertrand Russell’s argument when debating his Christian adversaries in the late 1800’s. “In theory I am an agnostic but I go about my life with the atheists.” Leaning on Russell I feel like I am in good company. 
I make the distinction between unbelief and disbelief. I don’t believe because I have no reason to believe. It’s not an (Either, Or) but simply a vacant space. All logic and effort to find cause has failed so far and enough is enough. I don’t believe and I don’t care. Disbelief is simply belief turned upside down. It is a negative premise, predicated on the same emotional need that drives others to belief, some kind of direct or vicarious experience that creates an insatiable appetite to validate something that cannot be validated. Rather than keep digging in that bottomless hole I concur with Rhett Butler's rebuff of Scarlett O'Hara,(Clark Gable to Vivian Leigh); Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. 
Next time we will chew on a different bone and I will try to stay out of it. But when someone asks what I think, that old ‘Gone With The Wind’ quote doesn’t satisfy anybody. We, (Unitarians) pride ourselves on being tolerant with a high value on diversity but truth be known, sometimes we are neither, sounding more like upside down Pentecostals, more concerned about seizing the moment than turning the page. In the movie, ‘Grumpy Old Men’ when, from his bedroom window in the middle of the night, Walter Matthau first sees Ann Margaret on her snowmobile with her long hair and he mutters; “Holy Moley”. I don’t think he was sanctifying a righteous dude named Moley. Joseph Campbell said, “God is a metaphor to which we attribute everything profound and mysterious that we cannot comprehend, God must have done it.” (a metaphor). When I spit out an O.M.G. I am not claiming the big G. We take lots of liberties with religious language that resonates a secular if not condescending lack of piety. I know a guy who, when truly amazed, falls back on, “Jesus @%#king Christ!” and we all know he’s not preaching. So when our minister prefaces a humanist idea with something out of the bible, I understand and I take it for what it is. I’m really trying to be tolerant and appreciate the diverse nature of all things, temporal and spiritual. But ‘Spiritual’ is another loaded word for my hard-shell atheist amigos and I’m not up to another philosophical disclaimer. Holy Moley after all. 

LIKE A LAWNMOWER

  I’m not saying the World (Civilization) is worse and getting worser; all I’m  trying to say is that this world (planet) isn’t getting any bigger. Still, for the last few hundred years especially, Human population has been increasing at an unprecedented rate. Something to think about: world population was about 700 million people (six zeros after the 700) at the start of the Industrial Revolution (1750 CE) or Ebenezer Scrooge, factories. heavy machinery and wholesale burning of fossil fuel. After another 250 years (Now) population has surpassed 8 billion (nine zeros after the 8) an increase of about 1,040.% from then to now; a mind boggling gain in just 250 years. In the 240 years before factories and fossil fuels (1500 CE) Christopher Columbus, world population increased by about 450 million or 55.%. In the previous 250 years before Columbus, that would be (Marco Polo), world population increased by only about 50 million or 12.%. I see a pattern developing? For tens of thousands of years, human population gains using arbitrary 250 year increments were relatively modest. From 12% to 55% in two and a half centuries is significant but from that to over 1,000% in the next period is absolutely mind boggling.  
If you plot human population out on a proper line graph you get a gentle slope (increase) over thousands of years, until civilization shifts  into the Industrial Revolution. After that, the line takes a steep angle upward in what is described as a population ‘Spike’. Since people first started collecting data and plotting graphs, it has been accepted universally that the spike itself is unsustainable. One way or another there will be a significant correction (die off) that reduces the species to a sustainable number with the possibility of extinction. We have been caught up in a population spike for the past 250 years, brought on largely by our own collective ignorance and tunnel vision greed. The ‘Crash’ can come in the form of a cataclysmic catastrophe, pandemic, meteor strike, etc. or take several/many generations. When breeding adults become scattered or so few they can’t find each other the writing is on the wall. The process is arbitrary, does not recognize the Gregorian calendar or a human lifespan; no one in charge and the numbers do not play favorites. 
So why am I detailing such an obvious flaw in the human psyche? For one thing, people do not behave the same way in large groups like nationality, (kill the stranger) as they might  in small, familial groups (feed the stranger and see what we can learn). Immersed in a large, cultural construct it is nearly impossible to resist the tide of conformance. Being different is asking for trouble and people generally act accordingly. 
There is a great line from a movie (I’ve forgotten its name) where the Director of the CIA is being chastised by his superior for an unforgivable blunder. He says, “You’ve been given a Maserati (an expensive, high performance car) and you treated it like a lawnmower.” It was a warning if not a threat; if you can’t fix the problem it will come back on you. I make the obvious corollary; “We’ve evolved a wonderful mind but we treat it like a penis, play with it like a toy and think ourselves great thinkers and problem solvers when we pee downwind. For hundreds if not thousands of years, civilization has burned the candle at both ends, breaking natural rules in a quest for more material wealth and more power than we need. Dr. Robert Sapolsky (Stanford Univ.) neurologist and primatologist observed: “Male baboons are extremely violent in defense of their harems and territory and likewise in acquiring additional females and expanding their domain.” Then he adds, “The most common cause of death among male baboons is male baboons.” I get it. 
I love this self awareness and creative, problem solving nature with its language and collaboration. But they come with the warning; don’t treat it like a lawnmower. Not from a movie, rather an observation on human nature; Two passengers in an airplane flying over a wilderness. One, the smartest man alive and the other an illiterate laborer. The pilot has them secure seat belts, engine trouble, may have to ditch. The smartest person in the world asks, “Are there any parachutes?” The pilot tells him “Yes, there is one in the gear locker back by the door.” The smartest man on earth is not about to take a chance with the laborer who surely must be thinking the same thing and runs back to the locker, puts on the parachute and jumps out. The pilot feels the plane respond to the open door and wants to know what is going on. The illiterate guy answers; “The smartest guy on earth just jumped out with my backpack full of dirty laundry.” People, even me, we think that we think and it's a powerful feeling. I hate to admit, but I suspect that having the 'think we think' suspicion gives me an edge. But I have no idea what to do with it. 
I’m afraid the Barons of Business and Lords of Government all qualify as the smartest guys onboard with their contingency plans stowed away in a locker near the exit and we (the masses) we pick one of them to follow, like sheep, nose to butt with the next sheep in line. Most sheeple believe in a mysterious, supernatural, omnipotent, omniscient, angry, loving, self righteous god who punishes and rewards people as he sees fit. I was raised to believe that myth but it didn’t take. I’m lucky to be out from under that yoke. I enjoy the benefits that I have been afforded and both the affection and loyalty of friends and family. I’m not trying to make the world a better place or take more than my share, just treat people the way I want to be treated and also treat my lawnmower like the marvelous vehicle that it is. At the bottom of it all, I just don’t want to be lumped in accidentally with ultra-ego-inteligencia who see no downside from spending my grandchildren’s future for a profitable bump in the GDP. 

WITH A LITTLE LUCK

My Grandpa lived with us, with a few intermittent gaps, from about 1947 to his passing in 1961. In my lifetime he worked at Union Station (Railroad) In Kansas City, moving baggage carts to and from the trains. Roy A. Porter was neither a good husband nor a good father. My mother was next to oldest with five brothers. Her mother was a frail, sickly woman who required at least as much nurture as she was able to provide and my mom filled two roles, big sister and surrogate mother. In the 1920’s, Roy left his family for long periods on sketchy schemes that never panned out. The money he was supposed to send home never met their need and they survived on charity. 
My parents courted for a year before they married in 1930. Roy refused his permission and threatened my dad. Mom was savvy to his bad behavior all of her life and called his bluff. She told him if he would not sign for her to marry that she didn’t need his permission to get pregnant and he could add another mouth to feed at their table. My grandpa lost that battle and signed the paper. That netted a thin, troubled truce between may dad and the old rounder. Grandma Lottie died in her sleep in early ’46. By the fall of ’47 Roy couldn’t maintain a residence by himself and couldn’t draw social security yet. My mom Dorothy negotiated a deal with him to a live with us, all of it on her terms. He didn’t like being outranked by his daughter and her husband who never liked him to begin with. He had always been able to have his way but not any more and his pride was bruised beyond repair. It was either our back, upstairs bedroom or live in his car. 
I was 9 at the time. My brothers were 12 and 3, neither particularly interested in Grandpa but the two of us  grew a different kind of kinship. Mom called him ‘Papa’ but my dad wasn’t about to call him anything that familial. He just called him by his name, Roy. We learned early on that the old man liked be recognized in the morning; “Good morning Grandpa.” to which he would reply in kind. One day I greeted him with, “Good morning Roy.” He was taken aback, paused and replied, “Good morning Bub.” and went on about his business. His rank in that house was #3 and I don’t think he wanted to make waves but he needed to save face, even with a 9-year old. From then on I called him by name, Roy and he called me Bub; as if it were an insult but time has a way of softening insults. If any of us other than my dad tried to call him Roy he would correct them, with an implied “and don’t forget it.” My bothers and cousins wanted to know why I got to call him Roy but their interest waned and it became the norm. One way or another, between the two of us, I had risen to his rank or he had dropped to mine. I paid attention to him, found it entertaining and educational as well to ask him provocative questions like where he got his calendar with a naked lady for every month and then punctuate my leverage with, “I like February best.” We talked about planting trees and bird poop on his windshield; I never was his equal but certainly enjoyed privilege and tolerance that we kept between us. In a few years we had enough dirt on each other to explode the family. We both felt safe indulging in unauthorized activity, knowing neither would not betray the other. When I went too far teasing or taking liberties that even I couldn’t get away with, I let him catch me and give me swats which was absolutely against my mother’s rules. I knew where he kept his booze and ‘Girlie’ magazines which were not supposed to be on the property either. We manifest our own brand of (Honor among thieves).
I asked him about his alcohol consumption and sex and he would put me off. I kept on with the questions until he gave up, gave me something he thought I would believe and we kept each other’s secrets. He had women friends come to our house with him sometimes, just to prove he had a family and a roof over his head. I asked him if he used ‘rubbers’ and he would fake anger but his growling and disapproval was mostly camouflaged laughter. For a decade we were like spies in our own house. In the Army I was home on leave before shipping out for Okinawa in 1960, found him with two of my uncles, drinking wine. I asked if he had been getting any and he shot straight back with his own question. “How ‘bout you, you been getting any?” I told him I was, so much that I had to start taking naps in the afternoon. He laughed and slapped his leg, offered me the bottle. That was the last time I saw him alive. He failed at everything that called for taking care of family but he appreciated having a #4 who he outranked. Beyond that we had bent and broken rules, unforgivable as it was, we didn’t care. 
In 1961 he was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack when he had several more, one after another and at 75 his body gave up. I am anticipating my 85th birthday this summer and wonder how Roy would have navigated the 1960’s, another decade with its hippie culture, free love and smoking weed. I was an adrenaline junkie and never took comfort in the hippie experience. I didn’t approve but then neither did I judge. I was too busy with my own business. Here I am remembering my grandpa and the lessons I learned in his shadow. They say that as long as someone remembers your name and your smile, part of you remains. DNA is in there as well but we tend to value the conscious, memory link. I’m just feeling a little nostalgic. Whatever one’s place in time you want it to fit, and with luck to feel good. 

GRAVITY STILL WORKS

  I have a sizable list of heroes who I look up to as role models. Some I know or have known personally while others stand out for their contributions to the greater good. E.O. Wilson (1929-2021) is positioned near the top of that list. A world class authority (Harvard Univ.) on insects and ants in particular, discovered pheromones, he conceptualized and developed the theory of Sociobiology which is no longer a theory but universally recognized. In short, many animals live together in community within a social construct where each individual has a role to fill and a programmed pattern of behavior to perform, much like mating, migrating, nurturing young, defending against predators, etc. 
He noticed how large numbers (thousands) of ants cooperate with highly specialized behaviors (collecting food, waging war, building tunnels, etc.) and switch as a group from one role to another with ease: Sociobiology. Most mammals live within a social construct but nothing like the organization and uniform attention to a single purpose as with ants, bees, etc. Wilson identified those coordinated, large numbers-single purpose species as, Supersocial. He discovered over a dozen Supersocial species, all insects or closely related, wannabe insects. To be Supersocial, individuals in the pod or hive or colony could not venture off and join another group or start a new one of their own. It’s not in their DNA, they will die if they get separated even if they have food, etc. Neither could they adapt to changing environment by modifying their behavior. But they were extraordinary when it came to working in sync with each other. The Supersocial colony survives or dies as a group, doing what they’ve always done, the same way that they’ve always done it.
This is turning into a biology lesson and I don’t want that. So I will cut straight to the chase. Humans are now the only non insect species to be considered Supersocial. We have large, complex brains and insects don’t. We can think about things and ideas but we don’t believe insects can think at all.  But we share the critical traits, we also cooperate in large numbers for common cause but we can adapt, change the rules, invent new behaviors, shift from one task to another with ease. We can improvise and teach a stranger the new way. Several species are creative problem solvers but don’t do well in large numbers (primates). Others work together in mass but can’t adapt their behavior to meet a changing set of circumstances (wildebeest). What makes humans special is that we are the only species that can do both. Chimps can make and use tools and teach others as long as they are in small groups. But if you get too many chimps together (let’s say 40 +) their intelligent behavior breaks down into chaos and most likely violence. 
Humans on the other hand cooperate with total strangers in large numbers, by the hundreds if not thousands. In combat, armies move in carefully planned, sequentially timed maneuvers with precision until someone notices a problem, then individuals may swap responsibilities or go left instead of right without asking first and it works, or the leader may change the strategy from ‘Attack’ to ‘Retreat’ and everybody gets it. 
People are uniquely skilled at adapting to changing conditions and circumstances. But two people cannot go off on their own and create a new community. A couple or even 3 cannot meet the diverse and extreme need for getting food & water, providing shelter, safety and protection. Human children require several years of constant nurture and food before they can contribute to the group At the same time the nutritional demand (calories) on the parents is compounded with the mother needing twice the normal nutritional requirement with much less time and ability to meet even her own need. There is a number, depending on the environment and risks involved and whatever that number is, it is more than a few. People need to live in community in order to survive, replicate, reproduce successfully and maintain a sustainable population. We are Supersocial. We need each other. It is my nature to ask “Why?” and “How does that work?” But like the blind leading the blind, no one is in charge, there’s nobody at the wheel. Gravity still works and the big dogs eat first.
I want to know better how things work, a better understanding of human behavior. Why; after so many thousands of years of hunter gatherer culture and roughly six or seven thousand years of civilization, why is our species stuck in the same repeating pattern of self defeating behaviors and unnecessary violence? In contrast, our toys and tools have moved right along, keep evolving into better, more effective instruments for meeting a need. How does that work? Pure, hard core naturalists would rationalize; we sacrifice the many in order for the most fit to prevail and replicate the next strong, fit generation. That’s how it works with plants, why not with people? I understand how that can work but humans want not only to prevail but also to be happy, make everybody happy, and the species has failed on that task. I have an idea but not a plan, and it may be all wrong but still, it leans on logic, it is defensible and I cannot just give it over to a religious mythology and play Let’s Pretend.

I CAME IN FROM THE WILDERNESS

 'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm.

Religion is not (say again) is not where I would look for meaning and purpose but Dylan (Bob) seems to with Shelter From The Storm. He famously carves out lyrics that speak to us between the lines as profoundly as within the text. Isaiah was an Old Testament prophet from roughly 720 BCE who warned the nation Israel that God was going to punish them for their wickedness. Israel wasn’t the only nation that was on God’s sh*t list but evidently he had higher expectations for them that he did the Babylonians, etc. Dylan’s (toil & blood, blackness a virtue) said as much to me and shelter from the storm would have been wishful thinking. I don’t known why but the song reminds me of Isaiah’s dismal prophesy but it does. In it he (Dylan) holds out a shred of hope for a safe place to take refuge. 
Last night I dreamt an awful dream. Figuratively, the wrath of God was coming back around and I felt ‘void of form’ much like Isaiah must have in his dark days when Israel was misbehaving. In the year 2024 CE the world is a wicked place again. Israel is misbehaving again and the rest of the world is full of self righteous, evil, greedy people who justify lust by calling it Liberty. I take some comfort in the otherwise foreboding grip of old age; at least I got a good, long ride before God pulls the plug on our wickedness. Maybe I’ll succumb literally and miss the fall altogether. Now that’s a pretty grim dream. But trying to fill in the blanks with Dylan is like herding cats, you talk ‘smack’ and whatever the cats do will pass for obedience. I don’t put much stock in dreams; the subconscious is free to make up stories and sometimes it plays the ‘Herding cats' game.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE

I don’t know how to begin. For me to weigh in on controversial issues seems too little, too late and who really cares what I think anyway. True, I write for my own benefit but I’ve gnawed on those issues for long enough I don’t need my own Cliffs Notes study guide. But sometimes, and this is as much about being old, approaching decline and I think all old people have to react to the impulse; sometimes you think maybe, just maybe, when I’m not around to speak for myself someone will wonder, “I wonder what old So-&-So would have said or done or thought about (whatever it might be).

It is going on two weeks since the shooting at the Super Bowl celebration in Kansas City. The rest of the world has moved on but it’s still in the news here, fueling a new out cry over gun control measures, or the lack there of. For the record, I own both long guns and hand guns and I keep them locked in a vault designed specifically for that purpose. Once upon a time I was a hunter but I don’t hunt anymore. I still have my fire arms largely to keep them out of circulation, haven’t fired one in over 40 years. But I understand from experience how guns can find their way into the hands of irresponsible folks and others who would wage violence.  

I trust my judgement, that I understand and appreciate the lure and the appeal that fire arms provide their owners. In my youth (U.S.Army) I qualified on the range with both 30 cal. rifle and 45 cal. hand guns. Several times as conditions required, we went back to the range and refreshed the firearms skillset. I never had difficulty hitting the target but I’ve never pointed a  loaded weapon at anybody; the very thought is disturbing if not repulsive. It’s not like riding a bicycle. If you want to carry a weapon it is crucial that you practice often. The consequence of diminished skill or lax rules of engagement is literally the difference between someone’s life and death.

Of 23 victims at the Super Bowl celebration there was only one fatality and I suppose we should be thankful there weren’t more but that callous reaction (being thankful) is symptomatic of the sick culture we take for granted. Shortly after gun powder and fire arms were invented (@ 1000 years ago) their design and primary purpose were focused on killing animals & people. Civilization has moved on but the design and purpose of firearms has not. Sometimes people us cars as weapons agains people (road rage, suicide, etc.) Even though cars have never been designed to do violence, it happens. Still, to operate a motor vehicle in this country you need to pass a test, have a license and carry liability insurance. Carrying a gun is a right that shooters wear like a crown while driving a car is a privilege to begin with. I mean really; do you need someone to explain the absurdity there in?

Regulations for the possession and discharge of guns have gradually eroded away in the pretense of Liberty. Government needs to know there are armed citizens who can hold them accountable (fight back). So when the smoke clears and the courts close the books on gun control, anybody, and that means anybody who wants a hand gun or a military, semiautomatic assault rifle can have one. All it takes is some money and knowing someone who knows someone who will sell it to you no questions asked, out of their house or the trunk of their car. The real insult is that the legal system does not enforce existing laws intended to keep guns out of wrong hands until after the shooting. After the fact, the courts punish shooters. The sick culture I spoke of is set on punishing shooters and literally ignores prevention. Sadly, there is no viable process to affordably, effectively curing a sick culture.

I will not labor through all of the reason and logic that would explain and debunk the rhetoric used by radical gun proponents. We all understand the analogy that likens the gun to a man’s penis: with a gun in hand one’s penis doubles in size. Men generally reject the comparison but what would you expect? We all understand (except for the Supreme Court) that firearm’s niche in the now culture does not equate to George Washington bearing arms or the need for deadly force in self defense today. I’m not interested in taking guns away from legitimate gun owners but when a 17 year-old can carry an assault rifle openly, along side of police officers at a demonstration, fire on (killing) two demonstrators (Kyle Rittenhouse, May, 2021, Kenosha, Wisconsin) and walk away free and clear, then this nation has crossed the line and become a 3rd world clusterf##k: translated (disastrously mishandled situation). In this country, in 2023 over 40,000 people were killed by guns. I would think a culture that holds human life to be sacred would squirm with that in mind.

Missouri’s governor simply extended his thoughts and prayers to the victims of the Super Bowl shootings and affirmed the need to punish criminals, thugs who spoiled the day. Thoughts and prayers are no more than piss in the wind, an inert dismissal, change the subject and move on. Punishment is a lot cheaper and more easily measured out than addressing cause but that moral failure is nothing new. Whatever else they may be, firearms are instruments of death by design and function and means of protection by partisan whim. The perceived need for protection is caused by the unchecked availability of more guns. As Pogo famously observed, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” I thought of an analogy for the situation. It is a long stretch but the corollary is profound. It goes; trees and being cut down against the law so everyone tries to think of a way to save trees and they come up with the perfect solution - more chainsaws. I’m afraid we will keep on keeping on, getting what we’ve already got. My opinion is irrelevant, an old man’s take on people killing people. So someday, who knows when; when the last bullet kills another innocent bystander, Frank has already taken sides and been written off as an old fool. 

SO MUCH POTENTIAL

  In college in the 1960’s I had several role models (if not mentors). One of them was on a mission, selling liberal education. I gobbled it up like a baby bird feeding in its nest and I’ve never had cause to regret that. Education is a life long endeavor. It is both the accumulation of skills and understanding as well as the process of critical thinking and open ended possibility. Education can flourish in the formal mode (classrooms and instructors) and the school of life experience. Formal schooling tends, I believe, to expedite and organize the learning; certainly in my case. My journey was at the time, non traditional. After high school I spent eight years in the school of life experience before immersion in the formal discipline. But the result has been a rewarding life that is fueled by a need to know everything about everything. Naturally, that need has never been satisfied but I would’t want it any other way. 
In my first semester I had a professor (mentor) who planted a seed: What is the definition of the word, ‘Potential’? He made it a point to tell us as a group and individually, “You have so much potential.” In his classes from year to year you could count on that little treasure showing up on quizzes and tests with regularity. The only acceptable answer was; Potential, a list of all the things you haven’t accomplished yet. Liberal education was not liberal in the social context, rather in the scope and process of exploring content, correlating ideas and making meaning. We didn’t have to be told that preparation for a particular career and preparation for living a full life are not the same and we were committed to the latter. Socially the college was about as conservative as one could be. But I had the benefit of eight years in the school of life and had just experienced the Joy Of Discovery. All of that Baptist hyperbole and conservative propaganda were easily dismissed. 
Another word I toss around is ‘capacity’. It is associated with measurement in terms of volume or the ability to perform a function. I have serious doubts and suspicions with human intelligence. People who know me well are familiar with my reservations, some even understand the complexity and give me space to keep on digging in that hole. In short, I think intelligence is overrated. Much of our behavior and decision making are governed by a part of the brain that is inaccessible to the conscious intellect. But we presume the conscious, intelligent part of the brain controls every choice and all behavior exclusively, because it is the only part we can access; sort of like the (read only) functions of a computer. From that perspective I reason that our brain has the capacity (volume & skill) for reason and logic to prevail but that is where common sense would steer us down a dead end. Humans respond to their emotional core (they decide) long before they weigh objective logic and decide what is reasonable or logical. This is my perception but it is based on some pretty compelling research. When it comes to using creative intelligence to solve puzzles (problems) and invent the better mouse trap the conscious cortex is amazing. But emotions tend not to be so invested with (things) and the frontal cortex can make magic; smart phones, chemotherapy, internet, etc. We are great problem solvers when it deals with things. But when it comes to issues of human interactions, emotions are really fast, incredibly powerful and influence behavior (decisions) before you can actually think about it. People would rather fight, even kill in some cases over who has control over women’s uteruses or over where to draw tribal boundary lines. 

Looking back at 600 words here, it’s not much but it may be too dense for others who don’t care for this kind of stuff. Most of what I’ve written in the past three weeks has been depressing and I cured it with the delete key. The world is full of bad news and getting worse. I don’t need to paint a picture to sense the gravity of cultural divide in the U.S.A. In the last decade racism, classism, sexism, unchecked nationalism and authoritarian leadership have gained a passionate following. I can’t get my head around the idea. In 1936 Germans wanted to make  Germany great again (MGGA). All they needed to do was (Ethnic Cleansing) eliminate the Jewish problem and conquer their neighbors who were obviously inferior to the Aryan (German) race. Intelligent Germans bought into it, saluted the kingpin and looked the other way when it got grizzly. The  pious residents of Auschwitz (the town) pled ignorance to what was going on at the prison camp and felt persecuted when they were required to help clean it up at war’s end. 
Russia has been pummeling Ukraine for two years for the sake of a self obsessed, authoritarian leader’s ego/ambition, and Israel is pummeling Gaza for much the same reason. The Jews are getting even. If they have to kill a million Palestinian bystanders trapped in the war zone to eliminate every Hamas fighter, then they should kill them all. I said it earlier, the news is bad and I get depressed. Americans are no better. We have a worn out leader whose time has passed but he still clings to the hope of reelection. His competition is another ( too old) authoritarian, demagogue leader who employs popular prejudices, false claims and exploits (emotional) fears to gain power. I thought my generation would move the world in a better direction but where we are now makes that expectation a cruel joke.
I am an old man who, like our current President, needs a nap after lunch and lots of fiber in my diet. I guess I am venting my feelings but I understand it is just my midbrain, the inaccessible part. It isn’t a decision, just a reminder; never in all of my memory has there been a time when human animals have showed so much potential. 

TRANSMOGRIFY

  How long has it been since Anita Hill (an attorney with the U.s. Dept. of Education) accused her boss Clarence Thomas (then U.S. Supreme Court nominee) of sexual harassment? I really doesn’t matter how long it’s been but it was about the time Rodney King (an intoxicated, unarmed black man who had been taken into custody after a high speed car chase) was brutally beaten in the street by Los Angeles police officers. The point is that police departments across the country have become not only aware but extremely sensitive to the possibility of having their unauthorized brutality filmed, of it turning up in internal investigations and on the evening news. But on the other end, at the Supreme Court, Clarence Thomas is still measuring out polarizing opinions that punish poor people of color and rewarding the (1% which is as rich & powerful as it is white). The King beating was on every news channel that night. I would never, not ever try to imagine what goes through Clarence Thomas' head or how he was transmogrified into such a champion for White Privilege. 
My reason for writing this piece began with words; I am drawn to words that get used infrequently but create a memorable sound bite when they do fall on a discerning ear. One of those words is ‘Transmogrify’. Garrison Keller (Prairie Home Companion) was a wordsmith who showed off his unparalleled vocabulary with neither shame nor pretense. He presumed his audience was equal to his verbiage. Occasionally, one of my word choices will carry a worthy pedigree but nothing like the literary plethora of a Garrison Keller phrase. It was an election year and Keller was ranting about Republicans apparent disregard for human dignity when he dropped the ‘Transmogrify’ bomb. It was in regard to sweet, well intended children growing up only to become self worshiping ogres. The word itself would more than suggest a change or transformation that was generally unexpected, unsavory and certainly mysterious if not magical. So the change Keller spoke of was both unwelcome and mysteriously magical. He went on to beg; how can one trust anything you hear from anyone who is so sure of everything, and I gave it a thumbs up at the time.
That was before 2016 or ’17 when a woman writer accused the man from Lake Wobegon (Keller) of inappropriate contact (touching). Within a few days of internal sleuthing, National Public Radio cut their ties with Garrison Keller. He still has a career but not in the mainstream. A year or so later another one of Minnesota’s  favorite sons was forced to resign from the U.S. Senate for sexual impropriety. Al Franken had a long career as a humorist, writer and actor before winning a seat in the senate. For so long; the good old boy’s club had enjoyed a hand grasping, back slapping code of membership. Then they had trouble adapting to the KY2 influx of women into the public service domain. Too many men needed something for women that paralleled the hands shake, back slap. So what do you do with women, you hug them; and if the hug is a real or perceived attempt at copping an unauthorized feel, you suffer the consequence. If a woman lets it go that is about how she deals with condescending gropers. If she calls the culprit out for his indiscretion; Go home Al, console Garrison Keeler. There is no transmogrification in that bad choice just grown-old gropers with teen age arrested development.
Rodney King died before his time some twenty years later at age 47. The change for King was not transmogrifying, nothing magical. His tormentors wanted him dead at the time but Rodney wasn’t ready to go yet but the beating certainly did nothing to promote his health. I don’t know how to qualify Clarence Thomas’ longevity. Speaking only for myself, it seems just another ripple, like graffiti on a passing railroad car, that if there really was a God he would have swapped King like the NFL does with players for Thomas who would have been beaten too a pulp by an angry husband. Rodney would probably have lost his driver’s license but would still be drinking. 

GET AWAY EARLY

  This is my last night in San Francisco. After nearly three weeks on the road I am running out of reasons to keep on with the nomad thing. My house back in the midwest has been suffering through subzero temperatures high winds and heavy snow and I feel some responsibility to be there; bad things happen when temperature looses its way, either way. I have a good crew checking for leaks but the urge to go on the road has been satisfied and I need to get real again. Day before yesterday the sky turned clear and sunny here so we drove up on top of Twin Peaks; The only Twin Peaks I ever heard of was a TV series from the last century but this one the view is breathtaking. San Francisco is spread out below like butter on bread and you can see the entire bay from the Golden Gate to San Jose, Oakland across the way, Alcatraz and all the ships coming and going. 
It rained later, I got all wet and came down with some kind of a bug, sinus, dry cough and suffered all day yesterday. The Covid test came out negative along with all the flu bugs and I woke up today sounding like a bull frog but feeling pretty good: better by the hour. When you are literally living in the moment it comes as a surprise when the hour comes for you to move on. That hour will be tomorrow morning and I will head south. My host in Cupertino is a long held, treasured friend and I hadn’t seen my cousin out in the valley for a dozen years and I thought at my age I should touch those bases; you never know. So I’ll pack before I go to bed and get away early.  

Maybe I should have posted the short beginning when I put it aside for the night. By now three days plus have gone by and I can’t tell if I am leading the way or being dragged along behind. The saying, ‘Just when things can’t get worse, they get worse.’ maybe it should be (PIA) pain in ass distractions more so than things getting worse. I left an expensive, necessary computer device & cable in San-Fran - went to a Best Buy store in Palmdale, CA, bought its generic equal. At motel discover the Best Buy thing didn’t work. Motel fiasco needs a full page to deconstruct so I’ll come back to that train wreck another day. On way out of town next morning I return the Best Buy dud and still need the thing to charge my computer. Slept in car at truck stop in Quartzite, AZ; saved a motel bill so I can pay for the cable & charger at Apple Store in Phoenix next day and up the road to Flagstaff, AZ, make a right turn. Had a bucket list event: stood on corner in Winslow, AZ, such a find sight to see but no girl in flatbed Ford checkin’ me out and I didn’t let the sound of my own wheels drive me crazy (Winslow is a railroad town, lots of trains). Drove late (dark) and I don’t like that but long road, no place to land. Then: Red Roof Inn (Gallup, NM) and the world slowed down. I slept good and am in the waiting room at a Dodge dealer in Albuquerque while my transportation (Fargo) gets new oil and filter. I have no plan, no destination, just a direction, east. My head is breathing clear, both nostrils drawing air but still hack a little dry cough once in a while. Covid tested negative before leaving SanFran. My computer is running on free wifi at the customer waiting area and fully charged with new Apple charger.
An extremely dissatisfied customer just stood in the front lobby and delivered a civil but loud (screaming) disclaimer. a fusillade of insults against the dealership and employees. She was really, really loud and it echoed with effects I would think only professional sound system gurus can produce. It went on and on, again and again for over a minute, maybe 90 sec. That’s a long time in public, in the place of business. Shortly after she left, employees began cruising, looking for the source but I don’t think they actually wanted to find her, only satisfy the company security policy. I always wanted to stand and scream insults in a place of business, without profanity, just really, really loud, well framed and purpose pointed against the people who lie to us and charge too much after not fixing their broken product. Seems my family just went through that and my son took care of the service manager in person. I wanted to tag along but he wouldn’t let me go inside with him. The dealership did the fix for no charge.
This oil change is taking a long time. Not enough for me to yell and raise a ruckus but time is money I’m told; and if you don’t have the one it’s good if you have the other. 

IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT

  Having friends scattered across the map who are happy to see me and let me shelter under their roof is both a privilege and cost effective. But after a few days I begin to feel like I’ve overstayed that privilege. In every case so far they have assured me otherwise but the disclaimer doesn’t resolve the feeling. Today we are going up to Muir Woods, a patch of old growth redwoods just north of the Golden Gate. I’ve been there twice before but in a secular way, it’s a sacred place. After that it will be, find a winery or a beach, depends on the weather.
I feel compelled to start looking ahead to the next pitstop. I will go to my travel club’s directory. There are lots of travel club members spread out from SF to San Diego and odds are in my favor. Don’t know anyone in LA well enough to drop in; makes me feel like Clark Gable in the movie, It Happened One Night when he and Claudette Colbert were hitch hiking. Every passing car whizzed by him with his thumb out but when she took his place and raised her skirt up to her knee the next car slid to a stop and took them up the road. When I email another travel club member it’s like hanging my thumb out for a bed. I should be moving on soon if just to ease my conscience. 
By now my sense of purpose has pooled into a single puddle, best described by a line from ‘Everybody’s Talking’ a Susan Tedeschi song about sunshine and sailing ships, “Goin’ where the weather suits my clothes.” Not that I dread snow and cold so much but I do feel the need to be in motion and I haven’t been out of town since summer. Something about waking up not remembering where we put our head down that feels good (Oh yeah, California. . . Cupertino.)
We went to Chinatown the other night. Parking space anywhere in the Bay area is impossible. But we found a parking garage on a side street that looked like an improvised hole in the wall and steep ramp down into a basement. A tall guy guided us into a slot that would be blocked by the next car (have to move before we could leave). My host asked how much and the guy ask how long. We got two or three prices but my friend wanted a firm price. He gave us a lot of arm waving with a frustrating Chin-glish dialect, a toothy grin and, “You pay now.” We payed more than we were supposed to but when you don’t release the fish it should have thought again before it took the bait. Our car was in his basement and we paid. The restaurant was surreal, the food was awesome and expensive; the T-shirt I got next door was awesome too at $6 after all, it’s Chinatown.

BUT THEY EAT

  I am in California for several reasons but the most significant is to escape winter’s blast across the midwest. Last week Kansas City’s football game was played in sub-zero cold, minus 20-something wind chill. I saw some of it on TV but where I was we walked the dog and I had to take my jacket off and carry it over my shoulder. The natives here don’t think this is comfortable but they do see the news. We drove down south last week for a day at their world famous Monterey Bay Aquarium. It’s interesting what gets your attention and what you remember. The animal techs were feeding the sea otters. Adult females, otters, not the techs, weigh about 70 lbs and eat 25% of their body weight every day which comes to about 18 lbs, give or take. Males weigh closer to 100 lbs but we’re not trying to pump up numbers, only illustrate a principle. At that rate one adult eats well over 3 tons of shrimp, clams and scallops per year. Just to keep it easy, figure conservatively that those shrimps etc. cost $10  pound or $6,700 per otter and there are 5 resident females ($33,500 yr.) just to feed otters. Besides the five residents there are injured and orphaned otters that are being rehabilitated for release and they eat too but nobody said how much they eat; but they eat and it adds to the $$$. The point is; running a world class aquarium is expensive. 
Then I go to the gift shop and look at all the pretty stuff. The souvignier item I always check price on is T-shirts. However they are priced it’s an indicator for everything else in the store. They can be soft, dense fabric with uniform seams or cheap & thin. The graphics can be a simple logo on the front or back but not both or multi color detail everyplace possible. Those T’s in the aquarium gift shop were average material with a one color logo on the front only; $34. O.M.G. So much for the gift shop. Then I thought about how much they spend on otter food and all the pipes and pumps to keep all that fresh ocean water coming into the building, through all the tanks and discharged back into the bay. Maybe the T-shirts should be considered token gifts in appreciation for a generous donation in the gift shop. Then I step out on the outside deck, looked out at nearby rock outcroppings in Monterey Bay and notice several sea otters, wild ones, floating around on their backs, feeding on shell fish off the bottom. I love seeing them in the wild and somehow the otters inside seem cheated in spite of their admirers and civilized surroundings. 
On our walk from the garage to the aquarium we passed ‘Bubba Gump’ sea food restaurant and stopped there for dinner on the way back. I had fried shrimp and a bowl of gumbo. It crossed my mind that I could mimic a wild, free, feeding otter; lie down on my back on the floor, spread shrimp on my chest and beat on them before eating but certainly also be asked to leave the restaurant. I really do like shrimp, not so much the clams and scallops but 25% of my body weight was never an expectation. It was a clever make believe but I will just admire otters from a distance and eat off my plate at the dinner table. 

NOT ALL WHO WANDER

  After only six days into the new year I closed up the house and set off for the West Coast, just hours ahead of a Bomb Cyclone that was closing in from the mountains. Four days later after two motel stays, a ‘Travel Club’ B&B in Phoenix and boondocking (sleeping in the car) in the Bakerfield, CA Pilot truck stop I had outflanked the storm. But Missouri was still suffering under nearly a week of sub-zero temperatures. I spent the next week with my cousin in Turlock, CA. Yesterday, armed with a big bag of juicy, sweet oranges from the tree in the yard I took off in the early morning fog. That didn’t work very well and the two hour trip to Cupertino too nearly twice that. But I’m here, we went to China Town last night, over the mountains this morning toward Santa Cruz and (Giant, tall Redwoods) and are back to decompress. I could hang out here for several days; escaping the weather in Missouri was my primary idea when I flew the coop and I am in no hurry to get back. 
The weather here isn’t that great, rain, gray and more rain but it is the rainy season after all, not so cold. I won’t complain. California simply is what it is. People here think it is normal and go about their business. Come the weekend and they go to the mountains to ski and dodge avalanches which have been troublesome this past week. 
I just want to be inconspicuous, fly-on-the-wall and easy to get along with. As long as I be nice and they are happy I can stay out here. There are lots of Travel Club members (mates) in Southern California. With a little luck I can hook up along the way for a night or two and prolong my get-away. Lots of good stories but I’m going to take a nap right now. 

LITTLE TO LOSE

  The tyranny of the majority (or tyranny of the masses) is an inherent weakness to majority rule in which the majority of an electorate, even if its majority is razor thin, pursues exclusively its own objectives at the expense of those of the minority factions. This results in oppression of minority groups comparable to that of a tyrant or despot, argued John Stewart Mill in his 1859 book On Liberty. 
The idea that people who live by free and open elections in the practice of self rule end up behaving like, if not actually becoming tyrants (Nazi Germany, 1936). Having fringe groups on the margins of any culture is understandable but by definition they remain small and irrelevant. But when two competing ideologies are nearly equal in their support and their differences are profound, constructive negotiation and the art of compromise can give way to mob rule. That is what Mill was referring to with ‘Tyranny Of The Majority’. Whichever political party gains power they interpret the outcome as a mandate, license to expand their own power and advance their controversial agenda to its limits, by whatever means is available. Winner Take All is the principle and whatever you can get away with is the rule. Keep telling the same lie long enough and the truth gets lost. The lie is what we remember. 
The Tyranny part is manifest in angst between competing parties and one’s identity and sense of purpose is as much if not more about the color of your necktie. Winning and holding power is more important than what you do with it. If you break ranks with your constituents over anything at all you get punished and become the proverbial, Man Without A Country (Liz Cheney; Wyoming). 
According to the Oxford Dictionary, Tyranny is cruel, oppressive, government rule. If the government is authoritarian and rules by force it is what it is. But freely elected officials, even by the thinest margin of victory prevail with the pretense of manifest destiny and divine right. Reelection and personal careers are nearly always equal to serving a particular ideology. First and last, regardless of how qualified and competent leaders may or may not be; the American electorate is vulnerable to voting out of ignorance and prejudice at the polls. 
I have been addressing human nature for years and the most compelling trait I find there is that we respond to charged emotions with extreme actions long before we ever consider reason and logic. We believe and behave as well, based on fears and desires that can not stand up to rationale scrutiny. What should be top priority gets kicked like the proverbial can, down the road. In this case the danger is that we use self rule to elect ruthless, selfish demagogues to high office and believe their emotionally charged propaganda. For the record, history has not been kind to demagogues across the ages. 
When I think about the truly profound challenges we (U.S.A.) must address, if not sooner then certainly later; our most compelling concern is, who is to be in charge of a woman’s uterus, which books should be banned from public libraries and whether or not undocumented immigrants should have any rights at all. I would repeat myself: we respond to charged emotions with extreme actions long before we ever consider reason and logic. We prefer unreliable emotional feelings with decision making rather than logic and rationale, facts and due process. 
I am old. If I die today I have lived a long and rewarding life. Since I don’t believe in a ‘Here-after’, I have little to lose. In my lifetime the U.S. population has more, much more than doubled and my great grandchildren (I have 2) will have face a daunting future. Because of population growth and lack of access to technological progress, they have more to fear and less influence on their culture than I experienced (mathematical probability). Mother Nature does not give our species, Homo sapiens, any special privileges. My concerns for young people is real. But since I have no control over anything after I’m gone, any anxiety on my part would simply be, piss in the wind so I don’t really care. But for those of us who pay attention and do the math, Mother Nature has been telling us all along; “Pay me now or pay me later.” When that dreadful day does come the political party that is in power will be blamed by the other, as if it matters.  

FARGO

  Saturday, January 6, 2024: I feel like a tethered dog who has freed itself from the leash. I might be exaggerating, yeah I think so but anxious (as with anticipation rather than anxiety) but it feels good.  I pulled out of Grandview, MO at 5:15 a.m. - 2:30 p.m. and the motel was, once upon a time, upscale but time is relentless on motels just like it is on old men. I’ve always had good luck with Econo Lodge and come back with high expectations. This one, in Elk City, Oklahoma has maybe 60 rooms around an indoor pool but it hasn't seen water since Noah's flood and the fake palm trees are still strewn around the deck where somebody left them in another century. But I’m not complaining; my room is clean and the heater has it just about right. When I opened the door it was chilly, I tapped the controls and the unit came to life like they were on drugs. I will get away early-early again. The first hour will be draining a medium cup of dark roast from the Flying J Travel Center and looking for a lite breakfast up ahead in Amarillo. 

First time for me out on the road in the new (preowned) car. All of my vehicles have had names and this one took some time to find a good one; came to me this morning in Joplin, MO. Dark gray 2019 Dodge Grand Caravan reminded me of an old time-wild west stage coach, Wells Fargo. Drop the ‘Wells’ and you are left with Fargo. With a little shape shifting you can imply; “Go-far” and that sounds like a mission statement. So FARGO it is. 
Fargo had a problem. Miles & miles today brought into focus a blind spot in the mirror coverage. No way to adjust driver’s side mirror or seat to see it all. So the first thing I did in town here was a side trip to O’Reilly’s Auto Parts for a round, fish-eye mirror to stick in the upper corner of the Dodge mirror. So far in town it works fine, we’ll see tomorrow.