Month: January 2022

Our neighbors, the Carnicellis, are down with Covid-19, joining the other 74 million Americans who have caught this virus since January, 2020. Hopefully, they will escape with no major side effects.

Galen and Sherry are the couple who proudly flew giant Trump flags in their yard, have the garish blue garage door lights (advertising their solidarity with local police, no matter what), and , for the past two years, have made known their (a) distain for the Covid “hoax” and (b) refusal to be vaccinated.

This despite their next-door neighbor Marcus Kline dying of Covid-19 early in the pandemic.

Some people don’t have the brains they were born with.

It appears that my good friend Lloyd Chartrand has decided to end his Mexico ex-pat experiment. He told Charlie today, via WhatsApp, that his newly purchased home in Progreso, Yucatan is up for sale, and he will be returning to the U.S. as soon as the sale closes. Hopefully, he can make a few bucks on the deal.

I’m sorry for Lloyd that it didn’t work out. I think he was hoping that his off-again, on-again relationship with his South African girlfriend Juanita might mature into something good down in Mexico. However, it appears that there is insufficient long-term chemistry. Super bummer: he deserves better.

I hope he moves back to Mesquite, as he has friends here and both Charlie and I adore him (except for his whacko politics!)

Got a call yesterday from Temecula Valley RV in So Calif. They’ve been completing my annual repairs to-do list. It appears that the whole shebang will run around $6,000, which will include fixing the door, replacing the rear passenger slide motor, replacing the roof ladder, testing and repairing air leveling system leaks, restoring the horn to working order, replacing a few window screens, replacing a light fixture, and performing annual maintenance on engine, transmission, generator, chassis, and battery systems.

The rig won’t be ready for three weeks as they are awaiting parts (you know, the the f’ing “supply chain” issue. No matter: we don’t have plans to use the rig until late June.

Today, we got our new occasional chair for the living room. It looks great!

It looks great along with our new “theater-style” sofa.

Yesterday, Charlie got to try out her Valentine’s Day gift: Wi-Fi headphones for the living room TV. She’s losing her hearing, a bit, and is always complaining that she can’t hear the TV, even when I turn the volume way up. Anyway, the headphones were a HIT last night: she’s a happy camper this week!

Vinnie is three weeks into his obedience training. Yesterday, Linda (the trainer) and I spent some time at a local park working with him. His biggest issue right now is following orders while distracted. The lad loses all control when humans or other dogs approach: he must go to them, greet them, and try to play with them.

I am going to work with him, solo, for a few weeks on this issue, and then do another session with Linda. Vinnie is a good guy, and I know he’s smart. He will eventually get the idea that Mr. Craig, not Vinnie The Dog, is in charge.

I saw my orthopedic surgeon the other day about the right shoulder, which hurts when I sleep at night. He put me through a few maneuvers (which made my upper arm very sore) and then decided that an M.R.I. was in order. I will have that next week and then go back to Dr. Parry for the verdict.

I could probably live with the bum shoulder as is…if I didn’t want to golf again. However, I hate to give up my sole remaining “sport” while I’m still YOUNG (74). If I end up having rotator cuff surgery, I will probably be in physical therapy for a month to six weeks.

There was a really neat Hot Air Balloon Festival this morning in Mesquite, which I noticed on my way up I-15 into Arizona/Utah on a Costco run to St. George.

Just as I was finishing this blog today, I saw the “breaking news” that Tom Brady, the NFL’s G.O.A.T. quarterback, is retiring after 22 seasons. That is actually nice to hear, as he is 44 years old, has a wife and young children to spend time with, and has accomplished so much without any major injuries.

Brady threw for 5,300 yards in his final season, going out in style like Kobe Bryant, who scored 60 points in his last NBA game.

Both were super competitors and class acts.

I was in a Del Taco drive-through this morning, waiting for my breakfast burrito order, when I noticed one of those ubiquitous “Help Wanted/Hiring” signs that seem to be everywhere these days.

Del Taco was offering $13 to $20 per hour for pimply-faced high school dropouts to come and help them roll tacos. My breakfast burrito cost me almost six bucks.

Wow, have times changed!

I vividly recall working at a Broasted Chicken joint in L.A. back when I was in college. I swept floors, cleaned restrooms, made cole slaw (after washing my hands!) in a 30-gallon plastic bin, and delivered meals in my car. The year was 1966 and I was paid $1.25 per hour. That was pretty easy work. However, in 1967, while still in college, I earned the same $1.25 minimum wage working HARD four hours per night at a shipping company. I would go home exhausted from that gig, five nights a week. It’s no wonder that my grades sucked.

Of course, money went a bit further in those days. Gasoline routinely cost $0.25 per gallon and a brand spanking new Ford Mustang cost around $2,500. Nowadays, fuel will cost in the $3 to $5 range, depending on how greedy the oil cartel is this month, and a new Mustang will set you back “from $27,205”. (Of course, at that rock-bottom price, you might not get tires or a steering wheel!)

We seem to be in an inflationary spiral lately, probably the result of (a) too much easy money in the economy, (2) pandemic-related manpower shortages, and (3) supply-chain issues. The stock market has been on a roll for about a dozen years now, which is highly unusual and inflationary, as has been the housing market. Too much money floating around, courtesy of the Federal Reserve’s near-zero prime rates, which results in prices being bid up.

At some point, the bottom is going to drop out of the housing market: it always does.

Charlie had a small house (less than 1,000 s.f.) when I met her in 1973. We sold that home for less than $30K, as I remember, and bought a larger home for $56K in a nicer areas of So Calif. After three years in that home, we purchased a new-build, two-story home in Riverside for around $119K. We were there for ten years. Then we bought a condo in Bear Creek (Murrieta) for around $200K. Ten years later we moved up to a larger condo in Bear Creek that we purchased for $237K. Twenty years later we moved to Mesquite, Nevada where we bought a new 2,500 s.f. home for about $450K.

As I recall, housing market values slumped several times during this almost-50-year period. It seems as though it occurs about every ten years. The last two, the one in the early 90’s and “The Great Recession”, about ten years ago, really pulled our pants down: our home wasn’t worth what we paid for it for quite a while, until the economy recovered! That was scary.

At this point in our lives, we don’t anticipate selling our house (it’s our “forever home” until we croak), and we can easily afford our mortgage, so I’m pretty sure we can ride out the next recessionary or “stagflation” episode. Many Americans will not be so fortunate.

Right now, there’s a glut of job openings, like those at Taco Bell. However, when money gets tight, demand for goods and services will drop, and there will be a glut of labor seeking employment. At that point, Taco Bell will be offering entry-level jobs, if there are any, at a significantly lower hourly rate. My breakfast burrito might cost me half as much.

We can probably expect this reversal in the next few years… no matter who’s President.

As much as some people hate to admit, the world economy isn’t managed in Washington D.C. The United States doesn’t control the price of oil, industries in other countries, shipping on the Seven Seas, and conflicts among nations. We are a big player in the world economy, but not as big as we used to be. Our stature and reputation have suffered in the past three decades from mis-adventures and mis-management by Democratic and Republican Administrations alike. Other nations are feeling their oats.

The fragility of the world economy was exposed for all to see by the Pandemic. Like Humpty Dumpty, “all the King’s horses, and all the King’s men” are having a heck of a time putting it back together… the way it was before, when we were riding high.

In the meanwhile, what is scarce is dear, so prices will go up.

It’s going to be a bumpy ride, Folks.

Wow, those were some exciting NFL playoff games this past weekend! I think that the Kansas City Chiefs vs. Buffalo Bills game was the biggest barnburner in history, with 25 points scored in the last two minutes and the lead changing numerous times.

Holy smokes!

Those two young quarterbacks, Patrick Mahomes and Josh Allen, are going to set a lot of records before they are done: they’ll probably both be in the NFL Hall of Fame someday.

Of course, no matter what they do (?) their careers will never eclipse that of the acknowledged “Greatest of All Time” quarterback Tom Brady. The guy is working on two hands full of Super Bowl rings and owns virtually every record that a quarterback is eligible for. The owners, TV commentators, and players all refer to him as the G.O.A.T….and he’s still playing at age 44…establishing records that will never be approached.

When Brady is through, they could build an entire wing onto the Football Hall of Fame building in Canton, Ohio just to display his records and memorabilia.

Ironically, this week will see the announcement of baseball players elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame, and the G.O.A.T., Barry Bonds, will be denied entry for the tenth year in a row.

Say what?!

Mr. Bonds played during the so-called Steroid Era (1990’s and early 2000’s) when many players were using anabolic steroids to improve performance. The use of performance enhancing drugs was not new to Major League Baseball, as methamphetamines (“greenies”) pills were commonly dispensed in MLB locker rooms after WWII to improve alertness, and steroid use among players began as early as the 1970’s. MLB owners, as well as the Commissioner of Baseball, knew of such things and looked the other way, particularly after the disastrous 1994 strike which wiped out 948 games and threatened the so-called “National Pastime”.

At that time, with fans disgusted at management/player greed, MLB owners were eager for anything that would jumpstart their downward spiraling league. Who knows how many players starting using steroids seriously at that time? It had to have been a pretty common practice, because previous “banjo hitters” starting swatting baseballs into the stands with regularity, and the real good ones (like Bonds, McGuire, Sosa, etc.) began to re-write the record books. This went on for many years, to fans, owners’, and the MLB Commissioner’s Office delight, before the league finally came up with PED testing rules in 2003.

The “War on Drugs”, you know.

Then, all of the sudden, the PED users (or at least the suspected ones) became pariahs to MLB management, the Press, and even Congressional representatives looking for publicity. The heroes who saved MLB baseball after the strike were now labeled…cheaters.

How convenient, now that MLB’s finances were back on a sound footing.

Barry Bonds is the poster child of the so-called Steroid Era. During his career, he won seven Most Valuable Player awards, five of which were awarded to him before MLB got serious about PED use in 2003. The guy played 21 years in the Big Leagues and hit 762 home runs, of which 623 were hit before 2003, by which time he was 38 years old.

The guy was Rookie of the Year in his first season and Most Valuable Player in his fourth season: he was a stud from the beginning. Mr. Bonds was never penalized by MLB for steroid use during his career and never failed a PED drug test by MLB.

The Baseball Writers Association of America, which confers “Most Valuable Player” awards, consists of sports journalists who are intimately involved with the game, hang out with players in the locker rooms, and presumably love the integrity of the game. It is preposterous to think that these journalists weren’t aware of rampant “greenie” and “PED” usage by players over the many decades and knew that such practices were common among most players. After all, those athletes had to compete against each other on an equal footing.

And, so, in the so-called Steroid Era, Barry Bonds was the best player…hands down…when MLB was being played in that manner (i.e. “juiced”), something that was condoned by team owners and the Commissioner’s Office. And the fans loved all of those muscle-bound freaks clubbing home runs!

Why shouldn’t the G.O.A.T. be in baseball’s Hall of Fame? The Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA), which canonized the guy during his career, vote on the nominees. Should be a slam dunk, right?

Nope.

I think some guilt is involved. Those supposedly professional BBWAA journalists looked the other way when PEDs were rampant in MLB and now want to pretend that they weren’t complicit in the Steroid Era kerfuffle. “Bonds fooled us!” seems to be the excuse for today’s righteous indignity. “He cheated!!”, seems to be the mantra, conveniently forgetting that they break the speed limit each day on the way to work and that millionaires don’t pay their share of taxes. Like those cheaters, Bonds was never caught, so…what’s he guilty of? And, besides, PED wasn’t against the rules until late in his career.

Indignant MLB stars of yesteryear, many safely enshrined in the Hall of Fame, look down their noses at Barry Bonds, pretending that his alleged “cheating” is more serious than their gameday use of methamphetamines back in the day. Of course, those PEDs weren’t against the rules at that time. Who know how many home runs Mickey Mantle would have hit without his “greenies”?

Pete Rose, another great MLB performer, also has been denied entry to the Hall of Fame, despite holding the record for the most hits in a Major League career. His sin? He was caught betting on MLB games after his playing career. Say what?!

Isn’t a Hall of Fame supposed to honor the athletic achievements the player accomplished out on the field, competing against athletes benefitting from the technologies of the time, and playing the game as it was played under those rules at the time?

The whole MLB Hall of Fame fiasco is tantamount to “cancel culture”: politics has entered the arena in the worst way. Grown adults are pretending that stuff didn’t go on…when they know it did, similar to the “stolen election” of 2020.

If we change the way that we view accomplishments, based upon today’s world and what we know now, then a great many players who are in Hall of Fames shouldn’t be there.

If we were to remove all of the players who didn’t have to play night baseball (prior to 1935), who didn’t have to play against Black players (prior to 1947), who benefitted from PEDs (1945 onward), and threw illegal spitballs and used corked bats (since the beginning of MLB), then the Major League Baseball shrine at Cooperstown would be an empty building. Ty Cobb, one of the original inductees, was an avowed racist; should he be in the Hall?

Should all of the players on the Houston Astros, who benefitted from “sign stealing” in 2017, the year that the Astros won the World Series, be denied consideration for future Hall of Fame induction because their hitting stats were improved…by knowing what pitch was coming? Interestingly, although this was an egregious violation of baseball rules, MLB did not rescind the Astros’ World Series title, sending the message that cheating was okay…even at the highest level.

Go figure.

The Football Hall of Fame honors a few individuals who, off the field, left much to be desired. Paul Hornung bet on games and was suspended by the NFL. O.J. Simpson murdered his wife and her friend, and Ray Lewis plea-bargained his way out of a murder conviction. (“So what, those guys could play!”)

If Hall of Fame voters in any sport are to consider a player’s “character” in the voting, no matter how dominant a competitor he was, it would seem a very slippery slope, considering that societal values change over time. It seems that younger generations than my own (I’m mid-70’s now) feel that virtually any conduct is legal, as long as you don’t get caught. It wasn’t that way when I was growing up, that’s for sure.

Let’s just imagine that it’s 2027, quarterback Tom Brady has been retired from the NFL for five years and is eligible for induction into the Football Hall of Fame. Let’s also pretend that Mr. Brady has undergone a messy divorce during that time, has been linked to some shady business dealings, or is maybe suspected of being a collector of child porn during his retirement years.

Should the Greatest Player of All Time be denied entry to the Football Hall of Fame because he’s been accused of being a creep in private life? Don’t laugh: a lot of sports writers, from cities whose teams were frustrated by Tom Brady and the New England Patriots, hate the guy. They’d probably vote against him just for spite. And now, they’d have an excuse.

Politics is an ugly sport.

I don’t dream often.

However, last night I had a weird dream that I was once again asked to manage the Riverside County Fair/National Date Festival, something that I did for six years back in the late 80’s and early 90’s.

I spent the dream thinking about things that I would do to freshen up the event. Hmmm…

To be honest, I hadn’t given much thought to that Fair Manager gig in the past thirty years. It was a pit stop in my time with the County of Riverside when I was about mid-career working in the Executive Office. The County Supervisor for the Coachella Valley area (Palm Springs is the largest city) needed some leadership at the Fairgrounds and decided that I was the solution. At the time, I was the Budget Czar of County government, knew a lot about a lot of things, but had no experience in entertainment or running a for-profit business.

At that time, the County Fairgrounds was an “enterprise fund” operation, which meant that no tax dollars went into the budget, so it was a separate business within the County government structure: it had its own bank account and was expected to make a profit on its operations.

I didn’t say it to the Supervisor, but I felt like Prissy in Gone With The Wind telling Scarlett O’Hara, “I don’t know nothin’ bout birthin’ babies!” Supervisor Larson was insistent, promising that it would only be for three years, and I went TDY down to Indio for the adventure.

It ended up being six years, but I’m happy that I accepted the challenge.

At the time, the annual 10-day National Date Festival was the tenth largest county fair in the United States (out of a couple of thousand!) and had a unique theme: Arabian Nights. The latter was a tribute to the date (fruit) industry in the Coachella Valley, it’s origin in the Middle East, and the Arabic folk story The Thousand and One Nights. Back in the 1940’s, a Hollywood set designer had imagineered an Arabic castle in the center of the Fairgrounds and this set piece became the focal point of an annual outdoor play (every evening of the Date Festival) and the setting for the Queen Scheherazade competition.

Back in the day, all of this Arabic stuff was much loved by the locals, many of whom worked in the date industry. Our fair was famous for its camel races, too.

However, by the time I came along, “Arab” was a four-letter word in American society, so marketing the annual event to new customers was a challenge. One of the first things I did was to emphasize the regional importance of the event (the Riverside County Fair) and the year-round, multi-use capability of the fairgrounds, which we renamed the Desert Expocentre.

The Arabian Nights pageant remained a fixture (one showing per night) at the annual Fair, because it was still popular with the old fogies, many of whom were “snowbirds” who wintered in the Palm Springs area. We also had several other entertainment stages scattered around the Fairgrounds, scores of food vendors, lots of commercial exhibitions, a 4H show and livestock auction, and one of the largest and most lucrative carnival operations (one carnival at each end of the Fairgrounds) at any Fair in the United States. For the local Hispanic population (the farm workers and their families), the annual carnival was their “Disneyland” opportunity, so we sold an ungodly amount of 10-day passes and made almost $1 million annually from that aspect of the Fair.

Our annual Fair was an unusual one in that it took place in the … Winter. On the positive side, this coincided with the migration of northern States’ and Canadian “snowbirds” to the desert, giving us the ability to run a 10-day Fair with decent attendance (10,000 to 15,000 attendees per day) during the mid-week. This, coupled with 25,000 to 40,000 attendees on weekends and the Presidents’ Day holiday, gave us attendance figures in the 250,000-plus range each year. I think we did something like 280,000 in my first year, setting an all-time record.

On the negative side, our Fair took place in the … Winter, which meant that we were susceptible to occasional crummy weather. In the outdoor entertainment business, like a Fair, a nasty bout of rain or wind can quickly wipe out profits. This is probably why most outdoor festivals avoid the Winter months. Generally, the weather in the Coachella Valley in mid- to late-February is pretty good (70’s to 80’s), and most carnivals, entertainers, and commercial exhibitors are lacking venues at that time. So, each year was a crapshoot, an opportunity for entrepreneurs to make a bunch of money but also there was the chance that bad weather would spoil everything.

This happened a few times while I was running things. It was a shame when that happened, as staff had worked for a whole year planning the greatest Fair of all-time, only be shot down by an uncontrollable factor. In 1991, I think it was, we had about 25,000 guests on the Fairgrounds and Tower of Power was playing on the main stage at 1 p.m. when an enormous haboob (desert dust storm) enveloped the fairgrounds, chasing virtually everyone away within about ten minutes. One year (1994, I think) we experienced four days of rain. A real bummer, that one was.

The County Supervisor who shanghaied me and exiled me to Indio was ashamed of the Fairgrounds, which had become neglected over the decades while the County Fair bank account had gotten fat with profits and which she could observe from her office atop the County Administration Building in Indio. I was directed to put that saved money to use. So, from the get-go, I set about beautifying the Fairgrounds, renovating buildings, and even built a new 50,000 s.f. convention center (Fullenwider Auditorium), replacing a dilapidated Quonset hut exhibit building. We inaugurated that facility by hosting a televised World Championship boxing match, in which the champ retained his belt by almost killing his opponent. Luckily, he came out of his coma in a week or so.

We also built one of the finest Off-Track horse racing wagering facilities in Southern California. There was an older one at the Fairgrounds when I got there; a converted Quonset hut commercial exhibit building which… sucked, to be honest. Our new upscale facility was built with “whales” in mind: bar and food service, private booths with TV’s, plush carpeting throughout, and such. We also prohibited smoking, which was my idea, to keep the operation first class. This move was frowned upon by all other OTB operators in California, because they were sure that bettors would not come to a place where they couldn’t smoke. We also instituted an entry fee…which everyone said was a No-No. Wrong… our OTB facility was an immediate success!

I recall a bunch of Hollywood characters, who had vacation homes in the Valley, who used to frequent our facility. Mickey Rooney, a cherubic bowling ball of a guy, came there often. He was a nice guy, as was Merv Griffin, who would visit accompanied by Marge Everett, the owner of Hollywood Park racecourse. Among our other “regulars” were two Catholic priests, from Palm Springs, who sat separately. “Hey, we’ll take anybody’s money…even the Lord’s!” was my motto.

The entertainment aspect of the job meant that I got to employ and meet quite a few performers over the many years. Most stage entertainment in America is booked in Las Vegas between Thanksgiving and Christmas for the following year. All of the major musicians, acts, and/or their agents show up in Vegas at that time to perform at the big casino hotels and showcase their wares. Their agents have rooms stocked with “freebies” and everyone is in a good mood. The IAFE (International Association of Fairs and Expositions) has their convention and this time, and Charlie and I attended each year, meeting a lot of great people, and making many important connections. Our entertainment agent, Dan Cunning, used this opportunity to lock-in our Main Stage lineup for the following Fair.

Our entertainment budget wasn’t all that much ($5,000 to $10,000 for two shows per day), so we had to settle for “used-to-be-famous” entertainers like The Marshall Tucker Band, The Coasters, Dr. John, Juice Newton, The Shirelles, Jan and Dean, and the like. A few of my Fair Manager peers had much larger stage venues and were able to afford acts like The Beach Boys and Willie Nelson. (I met Willie once, at the Lancaster Fair. He was a very nice guy who simply loved performing: he probably went an hour over his contracted one-hour show just because everyone was having such a good time. After the show, he signed my cowboy hat.) I had a chance to book Clint Black one year, before he was famous, but opted not to, against the advice of my talent agent Dan. That shows how much I knew about entertainment! Instead, we re-booked Tower of Power, who had shown so much professionalism during the disastrous dust storm (they played on, like the orchestra on the Titanic!). I loved those guys.

Good times, they were, for the most part. However, I was commuting 180 miles round-trip per workday for this job, and it eventually wore me out. I had back surgery in 1994, just after the Fair, was relieved of Fair Manager responsibilities, and returned to the County seat as Deputy CEO, a position that I held for another ten years.

Anyway, back to my dream: the return to the Riverside County Fair…

Mike drop!!!…I awoke this morning to find out that the annual County Fair/Date Festival has been canceled for the past two years because of Covid-19! That makes sense, I guess: who needs a quarter-million people sharing their germs and then returning home to infect neighbors and loved ones?

I also learned that the Expocentre operation is now being budgeted County tax dollars ($500,000 per year) to stay afloat during the pandemic.

What a shame…the City of Indio (the site of the Fairgrounds) must be devastated, as the event brings millions of dollars into the community each year.

Come to think of it, I like my current job: a retired schmo in Mesquite, Nevada, collecting my retirement checks, loving my wife Charlie, enjoying my three dogs, and not having to worry about haboobs.

And, occasionally dreaming….

I’ve got a cough this morning:  hope it’s not the “you-know-what”!

It’s now been almost two years since Covid-19 arrived on our shores and changed just about everything in “The Greatest Nation on Earth”.

We’re certainly not out of the woods yet, as new variants of the coronavirus seem to pop up every month or so, prolonging the misery of illness, missed work, forced at-home schooling, travel restrictions, hospitalizations, and deaths of family members.

The latest count indicates that, in two years, over 68 million Americans have suffered severe enough complications from Covid-19 to be hospitalized and 852,000 souls have been lost to the virus. Charlie and I have been lucky thus far to have avoided this plague, but most of our children and grandchildren have suffered a bit.

The new variants of the coronavirus appear to be more infectious but less severe. With more and more Americans availing themselves of Covid-19 vaccines, it is possible that this biological disaster will slowly ebb so that, in a year or so, it will be just another version of the annual flu that we can be routinely vaccinated against.

Until then, we will do our part to keep ourselves and our acquaintances healthy. We still mask up when appropriate.

We’ve managed to make it to our mid-70’s; how did that happen? Here’s Charlie at a birthday dinner with her Mesquite BFF’s.

Just to change things up and to brighten our outlook, Charlie and I decided recently to change-out our living room main sofa and love seat with a “theater-type” sectional sofa. It includes automated recliner seats at either end for Charlie and me, while the dogs have three sections to lounge on. So far, no one’s complaining. We’ve also ordered an occasional chair to complete the living room and have replaced the dining room rug with a new one.

We donated the perfectly good, off-white leather sofas to a Latino cleaning lady who does our house every month: she’s pretty excited about her good fortune. Her employer, Silver State Cleaning, is a bookkeeping client of Charlie’s. Two of the owners, Armando and Jesse, came by yesterday to haul the sofas away on a trailer. They are such nice guys, have been doing business in Mesquite for decades, and have a very good reputation. We are lucky to know them.

I recently completed the itinerary and reservations for our 2022 Summer RV expedition. The rig is in So Cal right now getting some things fixed: should be ready to rock and roll by the end of the month.

Yesterday, we took all three dogs to Virgin Valley Veterinary. Baby and BonBon had their anal glands expressed (1/2 full and 100% full), while Vinnie got a thorough follow-up exam for his allergy issues. He is 17 pounds of muscle and in great shape but will probably need to take allergy medicine for the rest of his life. We also found out that he has some hereditary issues with his eyes that might lead to problems down the road. He’s fine now, though, and we will be treating his red eye lids with drops, for the time being. His previous itchy, scratchy wound sites on his neck are healing up nicely and are beginning to grow hair.

The lad is doing fine, otherwise. He has the energy of two Boston Terriers and keeps Baby and BonBon busy with tug-of-wars, wrestling, and explorations around the back yard. He’s now undergoing Obedience Training once a week, working on “Sit”, “Down”, “Wait”, “Stand”, and such. Tomorrow, the trainer and I will work with him on walking with a leash. He’s a nasty puller, like Booger was when she was the same age.

Of course, if she turns out like Booger, that would be fine with us.

The pups are recharging their batteries right now.

It’s been about one year since Joe Biden was inaugurated, nothing much has been accomplished, and his popularity is in the dumps.

Is anyone surprised?

It’s not that the man is devoid of smarts, or sincerity, or ideas: he’s a pro, he knows how things work in Washington D.C., and he has good intentions. However, in these times, none of that matters because of the partisanship that is destroying our democracy.

And, to top off his woes, President Biden has two Democratic Senators, from Trump-friendly States, who are doing their best to frustrate his agenda and maybe increase their chances of reelection down the road.

Joe Biden is no Abraham Lincoln or Franklin Roosevelt, but he did win office by beating his opponent by ten million votes nationwide. This trouncing was not so much a measure of Americans’ trust in him as it was a referendum on the legacy of Donald Trump. The latter had worn out his welcome and just about anyone that the Democrats put up against him in the 2020 election would have probably prevailed.

As was the G.O.P. practice when Democrats Bill Clinton and Barack Obama were in the Oval Office, the current Republican Party guerrilla warfare experts in the Senate and House of Representatives have taken a solemn vow to frustrate every policy initiative that the Administration puts on the table. This leaves the impression that Joe Biden doesn’t know up from down and that the Democrats are totally inept.

Of course, this same scenario occurs when there is a Republican in the White House: Democrats make his life miserable, denying the President policy victories whenever possible. The fact that this “game” goes on, Administration after Administration, is a testament to our flawed system of Constitutional democracy. Or, possibly, democracy itself: maybe this type of government just can’t work in today’s world, where “yellow journalism” is now mainstream media and social media spreads misinformation instantaneously. Who knows what’s true anymore?

“Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Some British dude named Lord Acton came up with this quip several hundred years ago and its has stood the test of time.

Power-hungry men don’t like to share power and they will do anything to achieve their ends. Politicians covet power and spend most of their time trying to acquire more of it by any means necessary. In much of the world, dictators crush opposition by military force and intimidate the public with secret police goons. In more civilized democracies, gerrymandering and voter suppression are used to ensure reelection of incumbents, and the Supreme Court of the land has become politicized to the extent that it can implement policy that is not popular with the majority of the populous by creatively imagining the law.

Since 1980, the reelection rate of incumbent Congressmen averages about 90 percent and, for Senators, about 85 percent. It’s amazing: these power-hungry idiots are being reelected every year while just about every citizen, Republican and Democratic voter alike, feels that nothing gets done in Washington D.C. except spinning wheels and wasting money. When election time comes around, the voter has the choice of electing either a Republican or Democratic doofus who will happily settle down in the D.C., act like a big shot, be treated like royalty by lobbyists, and get absolutely nothing done of consequence during his or her term except score some verbal potshots against the opposing Party hacks. Inexplicably, these “victories” justify reelection the next time around.

Go figure.

I pity Joe Biden, for the struggles he will face in the next three years and pity the next schmo who follows him into the White House in 2024. It’s a no-win situation, with our democracy functioning/mis-firing the way it is.

My father used to say that the ideal form of government would be a “benevolent dictatorship”. Of course, that idea runs afoul of Lord Acton’s truism and the reality that autocrats typically surround themselves with sycophants who are loathe to utter anything critical to the ruler, who might be having a bad day and has come up with a really bad idea. Ex-President Trump, who tried to make the Presidency an emperorship, experienced bad days just about every day, it seemed.

I loved my Dad, and he was a great mechanic and father, but he thought Barry Goldwater could be that so-called “benevolent dictator”. The Arizona Senator was the same guy who said, “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice…”, which is pretty much what motivated the Capitol Riot insurrectionists in January 2020. He also advocated using nuclear weapons in the Vietnam War. It was his way or the highway, I guess.

The way things are going with our failing democracy, we might be heading for a Barry Goldwater down the road. With the system we have, a Presidential candidate with minority approval (i.e. loses the popular vote for President) could win the White House, Senate and House majorities (representing less than half of the voters in the United States) could rubberstamp the President’s agenda, and we could end up with, essentially, an autocrat forcing the majority of Americans to live under a regime that they don’t like.

Sounds far-fetched? It could happen in 2024… like it did in 2016.

And we know how that turned out.

Our new reddish-brown Boston Terrier addition, “Vinnie”, is a character.

The lad is a puppy (16 months), with an inexhaustible supply of energy, who likes to get in the faces of BonBon (2 years old) and Baby (5 years old). In fact, their favorite game together is…”bitey face”, which is common among Boston Terriers. This game can go on for minutes at a time, all parties looking quite aggressive and hostile. However, it is play anger, and no one gets bit…miraculously. They seem to like it, as did our previous Bostons.

Oh, what fun.

Vinnie likes to wrestle. Unfortunately, he’s got the spirit but minimal grappling technique. BonBon may be slighter (in frame) than Vinnie, but she’s pretty quick and experienced, because she’s had a lot of these bouts over the years with her sister. She can hold her own with Vinnie. Baby is the reigning wrestling champ of the house, the Dan Grable of Bostons. She is super-fast and nimble, and knows how to use her quickness and bulk (she outweighs BonBon and Vinnie by six or seven pounds) to keep her opponent on his/her back…essentially defenseless. However, she backs off when they tap out, never basking in victory. Baby has class.

Whenever Vinnie is bored, he will try to take Baby to the mat. It’s a learning process, I guess, and the young Boston is paying his dues. He’s full grown, so his status within the Manning clan is probably fixed, but he keeps trying, bless him. A WWE “rassler” Vinnie will never be, although if he could learn to toss a folding-chair or perfect a Figure Four Leg Lock he might stand a chance against “Stone Cold” Baby.

It’s always fun to watch the three of them burning energy and having fun playing tug-of-war with some doomed “Tuff” toy. I don’t know of any dog toy that can withstand the punishment that three determined Boston Terriers can deal out. Some toys last less than a minute. It’s amusing, but expensive, to witness the focused mayhem.

Vinnie’s skin condition (canine allergic dermatitis) on the back of his neck is on the mend, and he is now free of the inflatable dog collar and the red “smoking jacket” that he wore for quite a while. We now have him on Benadryl and are including Flaxseed Oil in his breakfast. The two remaining wounds on his neck are healing and are growing a new crop of reddish-brown hair.

The AKC calls his coat “Red”, while BonBon is a traditional “Black”, and Baby is a rare “Blue”.

Vinnie is quite the handsome gentleman, with great white markings.

The lad is getting comfortable in and around our property. I failed to put down some toys this morning after breakfast, so bored Vinnie went into our pantry and pulled down a Ziploc bag of tortillas to play with. I guess he feels that anything within his grasp is fair game. That is scary, because the fellow has coiled springs for legs…he can leap maybe four feet in the air from a standing position. During our recent Yuma trip, his favorite pastime in the motorhome was to leap up onto the dash while we were out and then lord over his perceived domain through the windshield.

Vinnie is also claiming some backyard decoration as his own: a large, sun-whitened cow femur bone that was recovered from the local desert by my buddy, Lloyd. Our newest pack member seems to think that the two-pound bone is a toy that he is entitled to move about and munch on at his pleasure. Not exactly what I had in mind when I put it in the yard, but I guess there’s no harm in it. That giant bone will outlast any abuse Vinnie can heap on it.

Another thing that the newcomer has claimed ownership to is the space immediately adjacent to me when I’m sleeping at night. We have a large California King mattress, turned sideways, so there is plenty of room for Charlie and I and the three small dogs to occupy comfortably. Vinnie must have been deprived of human intimacy as a pup, as he is making up for it now by crowding me all night long. He settles in and he doesn’t move, right up against me. And then he snores…like a sputtering chainsaw.

During the daytime hours, Vinnie likes to cuddle with his younger sister, BonBon: they are, after a month together, BFFs.

Another habit he has is to ignore directions from Master Craig when I need to control him. For example, he has the irresistible urge to run to other dogs that he sees while out on a walk with me. This is a non-starter, for our Bostons are known to be quite courteous when on the leash. And, I have a weak shoulder right now and don’t appreciate Vinnie trying to jerk it out of its socket.

So, we’ve got some dog obedience training scheduled in the coming weeks.

It is a process… raising a red-headed stepchild.

In the comedy classic Caddyshack, pompous snob Judge Smails, played by Ted Knight, consoles a college scholarship-hopeful kid with, “The world needs ditch diggers, too.”

Don’t we know it!

Right now, in America, we are struggling with a shortage of blue-collar laborers. These are the folks who, for low wages and scant benefits, get their hands dirty every day doing things like harvesting crops, waiting tables and washing dishes, building and remodeling homes, nannying young children, fixing cars, driving trucks, checking and bagging groceries, tending to old folks in nursing homes, working in factories, loading Amazon goods for transport, and…ditch digging, among other things.

The labor market appears to be lacking several million workers who were active prior to the Covid-19 pandemic. “Help Wanted” and “We’re Hiring” signs are everywhere. Employers are offering higher wages and promotional opportunities. Still, the gears of the Nation’s economy seem to be gummed up. Healthy workers appear to be sitting on the sidelines.

About a year ago, there was a hue and cry from conservatives that “all that free stimulus money” and generous “unemployment” benefits were keeping workers on the sidelines. That may have been true in the short term, but those freebies are but memories now and the labor shortage is still here.

I think that there are several parameters to this problem.

• Government immigration policy and Covid-19 restrictions have limited the supply of labor which has normally been supplied by Latin American immigrants, legal and illegal. Politics aside, our economy has traditionally relied on cheap, immigrant labor to keep costs down. We don’t have that now and prices are inching upwards.
• The “essential worker” label applied to low-paid labor during the pandemic, and the danger that those workers were exposed to, left a sour taste in many mouths. Essentially, those blue-collar working stiffs were deemed expendable by government, business, and society. That had to cause many of these workers to re-think their job choices. Some have probably gone back to school to qualify for cushy, better paying white collar jobs.
• Everyone in the health services industry has to be re-thinking their vocations due to public behavior during the pandemic. Doctors, R.N.s, nursing aides, and hospital custodians and cafeteria workers have been working under high stress for two years straight…while the public has taken a half-assed approach to protecting itself with social distancing, masking, testing, quarantining, and vaccination. The medical profession is burned out right now. The folks who lay hands on very sick people are sick and tired of working so hard for an ungrateful Nation.
• The sharp rise of the stock market during this time, stimulated by the Fed’s zero interest prime rate and “free” government money flooding the economy, has made it possible for many elderly workers to retire for good. Housing prices have skyrocketed, allowing many of these workers to cash out the equity and try alternative lifestyles…like full-time RV living.
• The extra money in the economy has allowed more children the opportunity to go to college, thus depriving the workforce of those bodies.
• The pandemic’s effect on K-12 education unleashed a groundswell of “remote working” and mothers staying at home to care for their children and begin home schooling. They were forced to leave their jobs behind and many are now opting to make the change permanent.

There is an old saying that goes, “That which is scarce is dear”. In other words, laborers are now temporarily in a “sellers’ market”…they can demand more pay and benefits for their efforts. This is welcome news for hard-working grunts who haven’t seen significant wage gains in decades, while white collar salaries have ramped up and executive pay has skyrocketed.

Inflation will be the next blow to the Nation’s economy. Interest rates are now rising, so business and personal loans will be harder to get as lenders become stingier.  Purchasing power will drop, people will buy less, and the need for labor to build, fix, and tend things will be lessened.

It’s the downside of the normal business cycle…a recession. We’ve endured many of those in my lifetime, seemingly one per decade.

What we don’t need right now…and we’re probably due for…is a stock market collapse. The Dow Jones Average has been on an 11-year Bull Market through three Presidential administrations. This is unprecedented…and scary. Inflationary indicators could panic investors and cause the “bubble” to burst.

If that happens, “Help Wanted” signs on businesses will be replaced by “Job Needed” signs being held by guys on street corners.

It’s a vicious cycle.

According to medieval folklore, the Pied Piper (a talented flutist) was hired by his village to rid his town of rats. When his magical tunes lured the rodents out of the city to their doom, and the town elders refused to pay him for his services, the enraged Piper came for the village’s children. His seductive tunes caused the children to follow him out the city gates and they vanished forever.

The term “Pied Piper” has since come to mean: (1) one who offers strong but delusive enticement; (2) a leader who makes irresponsible promises; and (3) a charismatic person who attracts followers.

In other words, Donald Trump.

Yes, the same guy who insisted that Barack Obama was born in Africa, Covid-19 was “just the flu” and “nothing to worry about”, and that Latin American immigrants were “rapists and murderers”. And, also the guy who claimed that he was cheated out of a win in 2016 (before it was announced that he’d won).

It is now one year since the infamous January 6, 2021 Capitol Riot, when a seditious mob, incited by then-President Trump, swarmed the U.S. Capitol and attempted to thwart Congress’ formal declaration of Joe Biden’s win in the 2020 Presidential election. One would think that this shameful spectacle, which we all saw unfold live on television, would have permanently stained the legacy of Donald Trump and his terrorist sympathizers and relegated them to history as a bunch of sore losers who had no respect for the U.S. Constitution or our democracy.

That’s not exactly what has happened.

The Pied Piper has behaved as if the whole sordid episode never happened, has continued to claim that the election was stolen from him (a ten million vote loss without a shred of evidence supporting election fraud), has collected millions of dollars from his deranged followers to pursue “justice”, and has used his influence over his political base to coerce Republican Party elected officials into pretending that his lynch mob was simply a bunch of patriotic tourists enjoying a fine Winter’s day in Washington D.C.

Accordingly, many G.O.P. Congressmen who were in the Capitol that day, and huddled in fear for their lives, now act as if the January 6^th events were a fiction of Democratic Party imagination and that the mob was, in fact, a bunch of left-wing thugs dressed as Trump supporters. Elected Republican officials who, on January 6^th, called the rioters “terrorists” have since changed their tune, kowtowing to the political influence of Donald Trump.

Such is the seductive power of the Pied Piper: he can make people believe in things that never happened (a “stolen” election) and simultaneously convince people that what they actually witnessed (live, on TV) was an illusion…that their eyes deceived them.

It is now apparent that this megalomaniac who covets power and influence intends to operate behind the scenes as a Republican Party kingmaker in the coming years, similar to the Wizard of Oz conducting his dubious magic from behind a screen. Those prospective candidates who kiss his ring and are willing to pretend that January 6^th either never happened or was a patriotic event, will receive Trump’s election endorsement. G.O.P. hopefuls, even sitting Congressmen and Senators, who don’t participate in the charade will find themselves “primaried” by Trumpist candidates.

Amazingly, polls indicate that a majority of registered Republican voters support the Pied Piper’s efforts and his Party’s effort to re-frame the Capitol Riot discussion and simultaneously “Democrat proof” future elections in key swing States.

Maybe I’m tone deaf, but I can’t appreciate the seductive enticement of the Pied Piper’s tunes. This musician always promised more than he could deliver as President, lied when the truth would have served him better, and behaved like a spoiled brat instead of a world leader. His Administration was a laughingstock both domestically and around the world. His only successes were (1) tilting the Supreme Court to the right, and (2) increasing the level of hate in America.

And yet, the Pied Piper continues to captivate his audience. As the 18th century philosopher Voltaire said, “Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities”.

Years from now, under a new Republican Administration populated by Trump sycophants, the spectacle of January 6, 2020 will probably be shrugged off as some innocent pranksterism by patriotic Americans.

In fact, there might be a monument erected in D.C. to commemorate The Stolen Election of 2020…and the Riot That Never Happened.

We are nearing the end of our 2021 year-end trip to Yuma and Southern California. It’s been an eventful time.

Charlie and I and the three dogs had a great time in Yuma with Dan and Peggy Quinn and their dog Katie. The Quinns had recently traded out their large 5^th wheel trailer for an almost new Super C motorhome (a Jayco with Freightliner chassis, Cummins diesel and all the fixins). It is a beauty.

Part of the changeover was the sale of their Freightliner tractor truck which used to haul the 5^th wheel. A deal was pending when we arrived in Yuma but had yet to be consummated with receipt of the $60K in cash. Dan and Peggy were anxious for most of the time that we were there, but the deal finally happened on the December 30, when an 86 year-old farmer named Joe arrived from Missouri to claim his new truck. Deal done, smiles all around, and the Quinns new focus became a tow vehicle for their Super C.

We ate well in Yuma. Dan cooked a Christmas brisket on his Big Green Egg, and we also patronized several local bars and eateries in the area (A&R Grille, Wheezy’s, Lutes, The Eatery, and a breakfast place whose name escapes me). On two occasions we shared meals with some of the Quinns friends (two Bills, a Marsha, and a Sharon) who were very nice people.

The four of us went to the Yuma Street Fair on Thursday the 23^rd, where I ordered a dash cover for the motorhome. I also bought a new I-Phone that day from Verizon, as my five-year-old version was having problems holding a charge. Got a good deal: $421 for an I-Phone 12.

I’ve described The Tea Party dog event in a previous blog. It was a great day of watching six Boston Terriers run wild around the Quinns property: they had a ball.

On the 29^th, Dan and I played in a golf tournament at a local course. It was a 3-person scramble with Dan and I and a gal named Sandy forming one team. We won the tourney, surprisingly, although I really messed up my sore right shoulder. I believe that I have a torn rotator cuff and will probably need surgery. However, we had fun on this day, and I actually contributed with some decent approach shots to virtually every green.

Charlie and Peggy spent part of the day on the 30^th in Algodones, Mexico doing some shopping. The border crossing is only about a 30-minute drive from the Quinns’ property, and the little town is an easy walk from the border. Lots of pharmacies, dentists, optomotrists, and such favored by Snowbirds from Canada.

As has been the case in the past, we really enjoyed our visit with the Quinns. They are great hosts, their property is wonderful, and we had a lot of fun shooting the breeze, playing euchre, snacking, and watching the Boston Terriers cavort about.

It was a great way to end the year. I enjoy talking with Dan, while Charlie considers Peggy one of her BFF’s. I hope we get invited back in 2022.

We concluded 2021 by driving from Yuma to Southern California on Interstate 8. It was a long slog made more burdensome by rain. I had bought a new pair of windshield wipers on the 30^th and had to spend a couple of hours MacGuyvering the incorrect wipers to fit my rig. They almost worked…but sufficed to get us into California without mishap.

After a long day of travel on New Year’s Eve, we arrived at a piece of shit RV park called Thousand Trails Wilderness Lakes near Menifee, California. Seventy-five bucks a night, no site was assigned; we were told to go find one. After driving about the park for a half hour, we finally did…a crummy, non-level,  graveled spot. The park appears to be populated by bums in trailers, there’s trash about, and we don’t really feel safe. But it is what it is…a place to park our asses for several days while we wait to turn our RV into the repair facility in Temecula for a laundry list of minor repairs.

We salvaged New Year’s Eve by enjoying a fine filet mignon dinner with Clark and Karin Pace at their condo in Murrieta, California. They are our old Bear Creek neighbors of 20 years. We had a great evening reminiscing and playing cards. On New Year’s Day we spent the morning watching the Rose Parade on TV. Charlie and I know this event well, as we grew up very close to Pasadena and attended the parade several times in our lives.

Clark, who is in his mid-sixties, is working at an Amazon “fulfilment center” in nearby Moreno Valley. He’s putting in some long, hard hours and it’s really showing on him: he’s probably down 40 pounds in the past year. Covid-19 really did a job on him, and then he took up this strenuous job. I feel sorry for him, having to work this hard at his age. But he’s a tough guy, an ex-Marine. Semper Fi.

Our son Tim and his wife Shanon, who also live in Murrieta, are watching the dogs while we bide our time until Jan 5^th, when we drop off the motorhome at Temecula Valley RV and then drive home to Mesquite.

It is a weird time in California right now.

Covid-19 Omicron variant is running wild here. We passed a Kaiser Permanente facility with several hundred cars surrounding the place, the occupants eager to be tested for Covid. Our son Ron’s wife Alison and their daughter Samantha have Covid right now, and Tim’s son Joshua does as well. His other son Craig and girlfriend Lexi are awaiting test results; they think they’re positive for the virus. Tim, who has had Covid twice already, got tested yesterday and is, thus far, negative. However, Craig and Lexi live in Tim’s house, so it’s not a good situation.

One thing that I noticed yesterday, on a visit to a large supermarket, was that many, if not most, of the customers aren’t wearing protective masks. Covid is practically rampant down here. On the other hand, masks are mandatory in Nevada and there is virtually no epidemic of Covid in Mesquite, where we live. I think that people in these large, urban areas have just thrown in the towel…what happens will happen, etc. I don’t understand the foolishness and stubbornness but, then again, I didn’t vote for Trump.

Our dogs are staying in Murrieta, keeping Tim and Shanon company. They are having a ball. Vinnie is a “hit”, and is attempting to make friends with the family cat. Our original Boston Terrier, Booger, also loved Tim and Shanon’s cats. We had lunch today with Tim and Shanon at Los Reyes Mexican restaurant in Murrieta and discussed the future.

Afterwards, we went over to our son Jeff and his wife Carol’s home in Murrieta to chat while watching a football game. They have paid off their house and are looking forward to going full-time RV’ing in a year or so.

The Covid-19 Omicron variant epidemic is not the only problem in the Golden State.

After a long year of drought and wildfires, California has been getting hammered by rain and snow lately. A record amount of snowfall has buried the Sierra Nevada range near Lake Tahoe where Charlie’s sister Theresa lives. She’s been snowed in for more than a week with no power. Theresa lives alone in a remote area which just barely survived the terrible forest fires that occurred this past Summer. Hopefully, she can make it a few more days until power is restored. She’s a 5’ tall gal shoveling snow in five-foot drifts. No bueno.

We have a couple more days here before we head back to the safe confines of Nevada. We will see my sister Claudia and her partner Ted at Black Bear Diner in Murrieta before we head home…hopefully without contracting Covid.

Fingers are crossed as we head into 2022.