Month: August 2022

Yesterday was my brother Terry’s 76^th birthday.

Amazingly, he is alive to celebrate it. He’s been grossly overweight for decades, has a bad back, and his heart is on life-support. However, he is still amongst us, doing whatever it is he does.

I rarely see my brother because I live 500 miles away in Nevada and only get into Southern California once per year. Terry’s medical issues are such that he can’t drive long distances, so I have to be satisfied with one, brief visit with him when Charlie and I spend our month in Oceanside every year. I’ll be seeing him in September.

I miss my Bro’.

He was, of course, my best friend when I was a school-age kid. We were together a lot, did stupid things together, and had a little gang of buddies in the neighborhood that got into a bit of innocent fun in the mid- to late-Fifties.

Terry was bigger than the other kids in the neighborhood and pushed his weight around a bit. Being his younger brother and the runt in the crowd, I was the butt of many neighborhood jokes and my brother would occasionally mistreat me in front of everyone just to show them what a bigshot he was, I guess. I wouldn’t say that I was a human punching bag, but Terry found opportunities to get physical with me whenever his ego needed a boost.

I was pretty resentful of this role until my brother took on some bullies one day on my behalf down at the local golf course. Our neighborhood group was making some small change by finding and selling golf balls, and the interlopers accosted me and told me to take a hike or else. When I told Terry about it, he became a man possessed, chased after the punks, and put them in their place. I was so proud of him, and it seemed that he felt pretty good about it, too.

It was a turning point in our relationship. I was maybe 11 or 12 at the time.

My Dad, a Ford mechanic, relocated our family to the Santa Cruz area to try his hand at running a gas station/auto repair shop. Terry and I had great times up there in the redwood forests, exploring, shooting BB’s at every living thing, camping overnight in the woods, etc. It was paradise for us. Unfortunately, my Dad lost his lease at the gas station after a year.

After Santa Cruz, our family returned to So Calif, eventually moving into a new house. The home was still in Monterey Park, where we had grown up and where our buddies were, but it was in a different school district. With some finagling, we found a way to attend schools in the Montebello School District with our old neighborhood friends. Terry was a freshman in high school and I was in eighth grade.

Then, my brother did something that changed our lives forever: he got kicked out of school.

I believe there were two fights that he got into, one a dust-up with a Mexican guy and the other a towel-snapping contest with a friend in the boy’s locker room. Minor scrapes, for sure, but the District appears to have had a “two-strike, you’re out!” policy, particularly when they found out that Terry didn’t live within the District. The upshot of the drama was that both of us had to enroll in our correct (Alhambra) school district: Terry went to Mark Keppel High School and I went to Garvey Intermediate School.

The downside of this disaster was that we got separated from our boyhood buddies and were unable to continue our watersports careers (competitive swimming and, potentially, water polo) because there was no swim pool/swimming program at Mark Keppel H.S. So, we had to satisfy ourselves with summertime swimming (regional swim meets) and occasional trips to the beach with our old friends.

Terry was a football player in high school and was also into shop classes, particularly electronics. His goal was, I think, law enforcement. I was a basketball player and a cross country runner, while planning to go to college after high school. We were on separate orbits, for sure.

My brother, who was no dummy but was not a serious student at the time, changed completely when he got a girlfriend (“Kay”) in his senior year. He got serious about her and also about his studies, and became a pal of Kay’s father, who was an extremely successful businessowner in Los Angeles. Terry eventually joined the Air Force (becoming an Air Policeman), married Kay, later left the Air Force, and went into business with his father-in-law’s guidance and assistance. Terry eventually owned and operated a tool rental business, made a crapload of money, and invested much of it wisely in real estate. Kay pursued a career in child development and education, eventually getting a PhD, I believe.

Just think: If it weren’t for that locker room towel-snapping “fight” with his friend at Montebello H.S., Terry would never have met Kay and, most likely, never would have become a millionaire. He would most likely have been a policemen or Highway Patrolman, working in the public sector for “peanuts”. (And, of course, I would never have gone to my Senior Prom, because my sister-in-law-to-be Kay arranged that coup.)

It’s funny how things work out.

Did I mention that my brother was “into” electronics in high school? This was back in the early 1960’s, way before the Digital Age. However, his aptitude for electronics shone through later in life when he began to operate his tool rental business. He saw the need for a “system” to manage his enterprise and decided to take up newly emerging computer technology. Terry bought a few books, taught himself code, bought a crude Radio Shack computer, and wrote a comprehensive proprietary program to run his business. None of his competitors had such a tool, and Terry was able to grow his operation into a very successful enterprise.

Terry probably knows as much about computer technology as anybody that I know. As I said, it’s all self-taught. He’s a smart guy… except when he talks politics (haha).

One other thing that was self-taught was my brother’s golf game. He took up golf in the early years of his marriage, got obsessed with it, and his wife Kay became a “golf widow”, as Terry spent more time at the course than with his wife. It was all in vain, however, as he was a terrible golfer (he didn’t have the temperament for it) and his marriage suffered for it. I think the couple began to live separate lives, to some extent. Eventually, Kay returned to school and developed her own career and identity.

The both of them have been married for over fifty years together, but each does his/her own thing… and seems okay with that. They appear to love each other in their own way and I’m happy for that, because they are both good people whom I enjoy being with.

By the way, Terry and Kay still live in Monterey Park, where they both have lived since early childhood. The city is now probably 90 percent Chinese-American, as opposed to the 99 percent Caucasian when we lived there as kids. I believe that the house they live in is the same one that they’ve always been in, where they raised their two kids. They’ve remodeled the house completely and it is now worth a boatload of money.

Terry and I used to fish a lot together, from the time we were little kids on into adulthood. Terry eventually bought a fishing boat and we used to do a lot of day trips along the So Calif coast and out to Catalina Island. Lots of fun, lots of great memories. Then, we got into long-range fishing on charter boats out of Los Angeles and San Diego. And, one year we flew up to Alaska to fish for salmon and halibut. What a great trip! I even caught a 200-lb “barndoor” halibut.

This was many years ago, around the time that I retired. I was expecting my brother, who had oodles of money by then, to retire soon so that we could fish and travel together. But, alas, he didn’t retire but, instead, worked another five years or so. That window of opportunity closed, my brother developed health issues, and the dreams of us doing things together in our Golden Years faded quickly.

Terry is now disabled with his back and heart issues. He cannot golf, fish, or travel, and has to satisfy himself with his daily coffee with friends, his computers, and an occasional nice meal at a good restaurant.

And yet, he seems to be in a pretty good mood whenever I see him, talk to him, or text him. We’ll probably have a nice lunch somewhere in September when I see him.

I love my Bro’ and cherish the times when I get to see him and share stories.

And thank him for snapping that towel! Because having to go to Garvey Middle School on the bus gave me a chance to buddy-up with my new neighbor “Pat” Freemon, who turned out to be my best friend in high school. Pat was later Best Man at my wedding, as I was at his. The four of us (the two couples) skied together, cruised together, and had a lot of good times before relocating to different areas.

Thanks, again, Bro’!

There has been a lot of hullabaloo lately about the FBI raid on ex-President Trump’s Mar-a-Lago home.

Some of Trump’s supporters are so pissed about it that they’ve attempted to attack FBI offices, verbally threatened FBI employees, and a couple of Republican legislators have suggested that the F.B.I. should be “defunded”. One G.O.P. Congressional candidate from New York said that the F.B.I. Director should be executed. Another Republican hopeful from Florida said that if the F.B.I. raided his house “they’d have gone home in a body bag”.

So much for the Republicans who used to brag that they were the “law and order” Party. Nowadays, the Republican base likes politicians who advocate tearing our democracy down. I think that they are now the Testosterone Party, with elected officials and candidates each trying to out-Schwarzeneggar the next.

Really, is anyone surprised that Donald Trump would have unauthorized Top Secret files at his residence? He called them “his” files.

While President, Trump used the word “my” an awful lot. Does anyone recall “my Generals” when he described the top military brass? The Prez seemed to think that the whole government apparatus belonged to him, that centuries of Federal rules and traditions could be ignored, and that he could do pretty much what he wanted because he was, essentially, King.

“Classified”, “Secret”, “Top Secret” and “Your Eyes Only” information shared with him by intelligence agencies somehow, in his mind, became HIS property. He felt that he could “declassify” secret stuff simply by waving his hand over it, rather than comply with Federal laws and security procedures that apply to such stuff. Sometimes, to his NSA Director’s dismay, he blurted out classified information in a public setting, delighting our foreign adversaries, I’m sure.

It was quite apparent before he became President, and certainly while he was in the White House, that Donald Trump was not qualified to be Commander in Chief of the dominant nation on Earth. He had no public service background, no education in government, and no experience in managing anything other than his own family business. The ex-draft dodger’s ignorance on geopolitical issues was evident from the get-go when he publicly sucked up to dictators such as North Korea’s Kim, Russia’s Putin, and the Philippines’ Duterte. His chief advisors, many who had significant experience, quit his Administration in droves, to be replaced with inexperienced sycophants. He fired “his” intelligence experts who dared disagree with him. Other countries began to laugh at the U.S., even publicly when Trump spoke at the United Nations.

A guy without a clue… that we elected.

Trump was/is a great believer in secrecy when it pertains to his own actions but is seemingly cavalier about secrets that protect the lives of the folks who work behind the scenes of American diplomacy, intelligence, and espionage. Everyone who works for him (or was appointed by him while President) was required to fill out a Non-Disclosure Agreement, i.e. “no snitching on the Boss”. Evidently, the guy who prizes loyalty above everything but money is not so loyal to Federal employees who risk their lives in the employ of the Nation’s security agencies.

Another aspect of the Trump personality that could be involved with the classified files that he was keeping at Mar-a-Lago is an obsession with leverage.

Trump the businessman is used to exerting pressure, legal and illegal, on competitors and public agencies to get what he wants. “Go big or go home!” seems to be his motto, and often (as it is now apparent by all of the lawsuits that he is fighting) his audacious actions cross the line legally. The F.B.I. raid of Mar-a-Lago was the culmination of Federal efforts to reclaim files that Trump had no reason possessing, and the raid was necessary because Trump and his lawyers had blown off numerous previous attempts to quietly secure the files.

If the ex-President has just returned all the classified files, there would have been no raid, no public spectacle, and the need for everyone in the Trump orbit to get so excited. Trump probably expected the Feds to back down; instead, they doubled down, stealing a page from the Trump playbook.

Why such fierce resistance to giving up those files?

It’s only speculation, but there could be stuff in there that has legal value to Donald Trump. As in, leverage to avoid prosecution re: Jan 6^th Capitol Riot or to minimize jail time if found guilty (a Trumpian “Get Out of Jail Free” card). “You drop all charges or I’ll reveal who really shot JFK!”

Alternately, the file information might be used to embarrass politicians, foreign and domestic. Donald Trump loves the role of Kingmaker and being relevant. As the saying goes, “information is power”

Recall the impeachment trial regarding the extortion attempt on the Ukrainian President: Trump wanted “dirt” on his opponent’s son (Hunter Biden) to use in the 2020 campaign. He used leverage (a threat to withhold promised military equipment) in order to secure damning political ammo. Trump was not successful in this extortion attempt, but it gives a glimpse into his ruthless nature when it comes to securing and retaining power.

And, of course, U.S. secrets could be sold. Let’s be honest: the guy knows how to make a dollar and is ruthless about it. He has proven that he has no love for democratic ideals. And, he’s proven that he has no conscience.

It is unlikely that the public will ever find out what was on those files that the Federal government wanted back under lock and key and that Donald Trump coveted so much… because the information is classified.

The bottom line is that there are laws and procedures governing classified files, private citizens have no right to possess them, and if Joe Sixpack obtained such information and kept it in his personal residence, he would no doubt be arrested, prosecuted, and sentenced to prison.

Presidents are not above the law, and the same goes for ex-Presidents.

It could be that, as the various legal proceedings against the ex-President approach the final curtain, strategists in the Department of Justice decided to remove Trump’s “Ace in the hole” to put more pressure on he and his co-conspirators.

The political blowback from the F.B.I. “raid” on Mar-a-Lago will probably include tens of millions of additional dollar donations to Trump ostensibly to fight his “harrassment” by the Federal government.

This might have been his “secret file plan” from the beginning: make a fuss, get people excited, and cash in… again.

As P.T. Barnum said, “There’s a sucker born every minute.”

Last night Charlie and I watched an old movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You”, a rom com which brought back memories of my dating career.

Craig Manning was a shy, redheaded, freckle-faced fellow in high school who stuck pretty much to schoolwork and sports and hung out with a few neighborhood guys. I was younger than others in my class and was probably behind the curve in terms of social and sexual development. I also had no job nor a car, so taking a girl on a date (if I’d had the courage to pursue) was a non-starter.

I never dated in my four years of high school up until the last month or so. Then, I got hooked up for a Senior Prom date by my brother’s girlfriend Kay. She knew everyone and was aware that one of her girlfriends wanted to go to the Prom but her boyfriend was off at college. Sally Browne was her name, I knew of her, and she was a very nice and good-looking gal. In fact, she was a Homecoming Princess.

By this time, I was a varsity basketball player and cross country runner during school months and a lifeguard/swim instructor in the Summer. I was coming out of my awkwardness around girls and felt okay asking Sally out. We had a nice date at the beach before the prom and a very nice time at the prom itself. It was a one-off deal, there was no possibility of romance, I understood and was okay with that.

That Summer I got a car and had a few dates with gals that I’d met in my job as a lifeguard. I also hooked up with some nice girls from my old high school who’d I’d never noticed in four years. One was named Lynda, she was a Junior Lifeguard at the pool, and she was the first girl I ever kissed. Another one was named Cindy and I really liked her. We did a lot of fun things together; we were a good match. Unfortunately, we got into a silly argument one day and “separated” for a while. When I got back to her, a few months later, I found that she’d moved on with another guy. Damn, I was mad at myself. (I think she eventually married that guy, who was also named “Craig”.)

Then I was off to college (Cal State Los Angeles). Eventually, I got into a fraternity (Delta Chi) because they needed a good football player on their Greek intramural team. We competed in the championship game that year and lost to a TKE team that featured my old buddie from high school, Oscar Guerrero. (He actually beat me on a blown coverage and scored the winning touchdown. Damn, I was mad at myself.)

My time in Delta Chi was an eye-opener for me because me and my frat brothers were constantly going to fraternity mixers and meeting new sorority sisters. I ended up living at the frat house and we’d have big parties there, too. I recall dancing one evening with Cheryl Tiegs who was not only a Cal State sorority gal but also a world-famous model by the tender age of 20. She was tall and skinny, beautiful, and nice.

I had an on-again, off-again relationship with a gal named Judy during that time. She was also in a sorority (Delta Gamma, I think) and I got the feeling that she was on the prowl for a husband. I wasn’t ready for any of that stuff, so we eventually moved off on our own.

By 1967 I was dating a different girl pretty much every week. They were all interesting and nice and, in retrospect, taught me a lot about women. I enjoyed every one of them, to be truthful. I can’t recall ever having a “bad” date, at least in my mind. Every woman is different and I appreciated the variety of characters that I encountered.

I was also becoming a big shot down at the pool during the Summer. I had started as a Junior Lifeguard when I was 16 and moved up the ranks to the point that, by 1968, I was the Manager of the Barnes Park Pool in Monterey Park. I would teach swimming for three hours in the morning, get the 50-meter pool ready for customers (up to 500), manage the lifeguard and customer service aspects of the pool from 1 to 5 p.m., have some dinner, and return in the evening to teach swimming to adults. Long hours, lots of money earned, a few lives saved, and lots of socialization with the crew.

My best friend Pat Freemon managed the other public pool (Grandview) in Monterey Park, and the crews working these facilities knew each other and socialized together. We had bonfire parties at the beach in the evening. It was So Cal living at its best.

I met and dated a lot of female lifeguards, cashiers, and locker room attendants during my years at the pool. Every one of them was interesting in their own way and we had good times.

One of them was a former classmate of mine from high school who was drop-dead gorgeous and just as nice a person. “Nancy” was physically a blend of Marilyn Monroe and Scarlett Johansson. I can recall taking her to a fraternity mixer in Westwood (UCLA) and the head of every frat guy turned in my direction when I walked into the room with her. Nancy and I dated a couple of times that Summer and I could tell that she had some problems at home: there was a sadness in her that she kept to herself. I hope things worked out for her.

Back at college, I was burning the candle at both ends, socially, but not really focusing on my studies. I played more pool in the Student Union than I studied. Not surprisingly, I got mononucleosis toward the end of my third year and moved back into my parents’ home to recoup. At about that time, I met a friend of my sister Kellie and really hit it off with her. Her name was Pam Townsend, she was short and petite, pretty, and fun to do stuff with. I had a Honda Scrambler back then, and we liked to ride off road in the local hills. I’d take her to first-run movies in Hollywood and Westwood. She was perfect and life was good, in that respect.

However, I had an epiphany that year in college. I realized that I was un-focused, not getting business done in class, and was in jeopardy of losing my academic deferment draft status. I was depressed. One day, after doing some soul searching, I decided that I would try to jump-start the serious side of my life by enlisting in the Air Force. I don’t think I told anyone about this “plan”, not Pam nor my parents.

It was time to grow up, so off I went into the military during the Vietnam War.

Pam stuck by my decision, we wrote letters back and forth a lot, and it really helped with the loneliness during the first year. I saw Pam when I came home on leave from basic training, we did a lot of fun things together, we had sex, and I told her I loved her. When I later got stationed in Washington D.C., I had Pam fly out there and we spent a week seeing all of the sights, living together, sleeping together, and such. I thought I’d really found true love.

A few months later, though, I got the dreaded “Dear John” letter from Pam. She had begun airline stewardess school in L.A. and had met a guy (a cop, I think).  She was in love, she said,  and I was devastated, although I couldn’t blame her for wanting companionship.

So much for my “true love”.

I didn’t do a lot of dating during my two-year stay in Washington D.C. I was heartbroken, to a certain extent, and was there to become a certified xray tech. I concentrated on learning my craft and socialized on occasion with some of my military peers. I dated a fellow student named Marge for a bit, spent a weekend at her parents’ home in Pennsylvania, but she was a very traditional Catholic girl, kind of stodgy, and there were no romantic sparks. (She was a nice gal; I sure hope she found Mr. Right).

My dating life picked up when I got relocated to Castle AFB near Merced, California in 1971. I was a Sergeant now, living off base, and my Air Force job was essentially a 9 to 5 commitment. In my spare time, I attended Merced J.C. and then Cal State Stanislaus, where I pulled straight A’s.

I was beginning to get my drive back… which was the sole purpose for joining the military in the first place. My plan was working.

I dated a couple of gals early in my time at Castle AFB: one was a nurse (an AF officer), who I took camping in Yosemite, and another was a student that I’d met at Merced J.C. Both were nice gals but there was no romance happening with them.

The hospital at Castle AFB was a teaching hospital for xray students enrolled at Merced JC. I was one of the teachers and, accordingly, met a couple of students named Pat and Ruby. They were buddies, were in their thirties, and were both friendly and good-looking. Pat was a sexy divorcee and was quite flirtatious, and it was not long until we were exploring each other in the darkroom while ostensibly developing xrays. That led to some dates and some sex. It was all good fun among consenting adults. I think Pat was looking for a Sugar Daddy and I wasn’t that guy so, after a month or two, she moved on to her next mark.

Pat’s friend Ruby was the nicest of the two. She was married to an AF pilot who was off in Vietnam doing who-knows-what to those Vietcong. She was evidently very lonely, as she came onto me as soon as Pat was through. (I’m guessing that I got a good review, because it wasn’t long before Ruby and I were getting frisky.) Ruby was a very warm and cuddly gal (kind of Dolly Parton-ish) who had a couple of kids at home. I felt guilty about her husband and all, but really enjoyed my brief time with her, including some great sex.

I hope Ruby and her husband stayed together and had a happy life together.

A lothario I am not, but in the eight years since high school I had dated maybe four dozen different women and enjoyed the company of them all. My brother Terry, on the other hand, married the only girl he ever dated. My best friend, Pat, did the same thing. Who knows what’s best in this field? I am very thankful for my experience in this area because it helped me appreciate women in all their variety and find the right gal to marry.

I met Charlie when I was recently separated from the Air Force, was finishing up my B.A. degree requirements at Cal State and was working part-time at Queen of the Valley Hospital in Covina, California. It was there that I met a cute LVN who used to bring patients down to radiology for xrays. Little did I know that she was a divorcee with four young sons, living in a crummy neighborhood in Valinda, needing food stamps to feed the family, and barely making do. She also had an “ex” who was an abusive asshole. To top it off, she was a product of a very strict Catholic upbringing; in fact, she had gone to high school in a convent.

Scary…

However, I was able to see that this gal, with all her baggage, was the right one for me. She was warm, caring, hard-working, and a good Mom. Everyone at the hospital knew her and loved her because she had a heart of gold. Charlie allowed me be Dad to her kids, who really needed it. My parents loved her from the get-go. Her parents respected me, even though I was not Catholic nor religious in any manner.

It all fit, surprisingly.

Charlie and I have been together now for about 49 years; she’s obviously the best thing that ever happened to me.

Had I never dated all of those women, I probably wouldn’t have been able to discern the “right one” when she, a very unlikely prospect, materialized before me.

So, I have all my previous female friendships to thank for helping me discover the Mother Lode.

Will it ever end?

I am talking about the manic obsession that is known as Trumpism in this country.

The adoration of ex-President Donald Trump by his followers is hard to fathom. The man is a serial adulterer, a misogynist, a pathological liar, a dishonest businessman, a failed entrepreneur (many bankruptcies), a convicted scam artist, and a bosom buddy to dictator/warmongerer/President Vladimir Putin of Russia.

The billionaire loudly brags that he pays no taxes, something that average citizens and his ardent followers must do to avoid Federal fines and/or prison time.

His 2016 Presidential campaign was assisted by Putin’s army of cybercriminals. He is the only President in history to be impeached twice by Congress, first, for extorting the Ukrainian President to help him in the 2020 campaign and, second, for inciting the Capitol Riot of January 6, 2021.

His manic conspiracy theory about a “stolen” election in 2020 has found no basis in fact (by Federal and State agencies, courts, and private investigators), and Trump has turned this imaginary scandal into a fund-raising juggernaut that has put $250 million into his pocket.

Donald Trump is currently under investigation by the State of New York for tax fraud, the State of Georgia for election tampering, and by the Department of Justice for possessing Top Secret classified documents in his private safe in Florida.

Trump followers, Republican politicians, and conservative media personalities spend day after day making up excuses for the ex-President’s actions, rewording things he has said publicly, and attacking anyone (including G.O.P. electeds) who dare to criticize him.

Why? That $250 million available to support political campaigns of Republicans who fawn over him.

Mr. Trump routinely fans the flames of outrage among his core followers. His rhetoric on January 6^th, 2021 incited thousands of his followers to storm the Capitol, trash the place, and hunt down (unsuccessfully) legislators and the Vice President who would not support his coup attempt. This past week, one of the Trump faithful stormed an FBI office, intent on killing employees of an agency that the ex-President has termed “corrupt”. Another man crashed his car at the Capitol, intent on doing harm to Congressmen, and then shot himself when confronted by police.

(Interestingly, the man in charge of the F.B.I., Christopher Wray, was appointed by ex-President Trump. At that time, our fearless leader noted that Wray was exceptionally qualified, well-qualified, and a man of the highest ethics. Now… he’s a bum… because the F.B.I. is investigating the ex-Prez.)

Every day, Donald Trump publicly dispenses inflammatory rhetoric designed to undermine the democracy that he once swore to protect and defend. Because of his incessant propaganda against elections in this country, a large proportion of Americans now harbor distrust in the very institution that guarantees them control of their own government.

Surprisingly, this disgrace of a President and a human being appears to be the Republican front-runner for the Presidential nomination in 2024! A poll conducted a week ago indicates that Trump has about a ten percentage point lead over his nearest competitor, Governor Ron DeSantis of Florida, among Republicans voters.

That is the state of Republican politics in 2022, championing a failed leader for one more bite of the apple in Washington D.C. It is becoming a tougher challenge by the moment, as the investigations and court cases are rapidly approaching critical mass.

Is this guy truly the BEST that the G.O.P. can come up with? He’s already lost the popular vote for President two times in two tries. He will undoubtedly make that three failures if he runs in 2024. He could win the Presidency due to the flawed Electoral College mechanism, but if he did he would begin his second Presidency being unpopular with about 2/3 of registered voters.

The upcoming mid-term elections, where the Republican Party was expected to steamroll Democratic candidates because of inflation, are being lost in the hubbub about Donald Trump, who isn’t even on the ballot. Elected G.O.P. officeholders are being daily queried by the media about the latest Trumpian escapades and are having to invent all manner of excuses and misdirection to keep reporters at bay. Even some of his Fox News cheerleaders are expressing dismay, as new revelations seem to crop up with every news cycle. Trump is sapping the energy out of the G.O.P. midterm campaign.

Dyed-in-the-wool Trump supporters, Republican Congressmen, and the ex-President himself complain that the various investigations about him are “politically motivated” and that he is the most picked on politician of all time. Of course, Trump has said and done a lot of stupid things in business, in government, and on the outside.

Actually, the most investigated politician of our lifetime is likely Hillary Clinton. The Republican Party put her in the crosshairs way back in the 1970’s when the young, up-and-coming Harvard law student worked on the Watergate investigation. From that time onward, conservative media personalities like Rush Limbaugh fomented one after another conspiracy theories about Hillary and her husband Bill. To this day, long after Mrs. Clinton has left governmental service, the far-right wing nuts continue to claim that she and Bill were/are behind some universal cabal enabling pedophilia.

Mrs. Clinton had to endure numerous “witch hunts” (to use Trump’s term) during her career in Federal service. There was the Whitewater land scheme investment, a cattle futures investment, Filegate, Travelgate, the Benghazi hearings, her husband’s Monica Lewinsky impeachment trial, and a lot of hullaballoo over government information stored on her private mail server. Candidate Trump, in 2019, was relishing all of the investigations of Mrs. Clinton and would energize his rally audiences with the phrase “Lock’er Up!”.

None of the aforementioned investigations ever turned up any serious misdoing by Hillary Clinton, despite her being hounded for 25 years by conservative Republicans. One might say that the harassment was “political”, exactly the complaint that Donald Trump is making about all of his current legal problems.

The guy can dish it out, but he can’t take it. He can lie and bully with the best of them, but if it weren’t for the army of attorneys who clean up after him, and the 400 times that he “took the Fifth” when testifying in a recent deposition, he be in prison.

Why is it, then, that Donald Trump is the darling of so many Republicans in our country?

I think it is the “idea” of this manly bull in a china shop, kicking ass where he sees fit, ignoring rules and laws he doesn’t like, and forcing a WASPish agenda upon a Nation whether it likes it or not.

Trump cultists consider him their Superman who is going to single-handedly mold the Nation into something that works for him and them.

The problem is that he is an egomaniac who is not a fan of the democracy that he desires to lead. If re-elected, his authoritarian agenda will undoubtedly involve a lot of “getting even” with politicians and bureaucrats who he believes torpedoed his Presidency.

This is the guy who, angry about protesters near the White House, asked his military and Homeland Security folks if they could just shoot the citizens, who were exercising their First Amendment rights to assemble and protest, in their legs.

If that is the kind of government that people want in this country, then they will surely get it in spades if Trump is re-elected in 2024.

Vinnie turned 2 years old today and his birthday present was going to the Pirates of the Pacific street-fair down at Brookings Harbor.

Charlie and I took him by himself so that he could demonstrate how his on-leash training is going. I’ve been working with him around the neighborhood at home and also at the various RV parks that we’ve visited on this trip. He has been doing much better lately: not so much pulling and going into beserk mode when he sees another dog. Today was the test, in a crowd of people with lots of strange dogs.

Vinnie flat-out aced his exam.

We wandered through the street fair, up and back, weaving through hordes of people and vendors and encountered quite a few dogs en route. Pitbulls, French Bulldogs, Terriers, Poodle mixes, Labradors, Heinz 57’s, and even a Boxer/Mastiff mix. Vinnie didn’t bark or make a scene; instead, he was gentlemanly, greeting and sniffing appropriately, and didn’t pull or lunge. In the past, big dogs seemed to bring out the worst in him (probably because he had been bit). But, today, he seemed quite at ease in his surroundings: no tenseness, no growls, no barks, no nada. Literally, a stroll in the park.

WTF, I was dumbfounded! Cesar Millan would be impressed.

It appears that the long hours are paying off with this little feller. Charlie and I could hardly believe it.

Vinnie has also grown very accustomed to RV living. Here in Brookings, we have about 150 square feet of artificial grass deployed in our patio area where the dogs are expected to stay when outside. Park rules demand that they be leashed but we only do that when we take them on “walks”. Un-leashed when we are chilling in our patio area, all of the dogs seem to understand that the green grass is their boundary and that “accidentally” wandering off is not allowed. We have had no incidents, even when one of the dogs has done down the steps and exited the rig on their own. Vinnie seems to be taking his cues from the older dogs, just like Booger and JayJay taught them back in the day.

After today’s excellent showing, I am much more confident about Vinnie’s behavior in public and am looking forward to Paradise By The Sea (in Oceanside, California), where there is a several acre public park next door for the dogs to run and play off-leash.

We’re about three weeks away from So Cal as of today, so Vinnie and I have a bit of time to further hone our skills.

He’s a good boy and we are so proud of him.

Charlie and I watch a lot of home remodeling shows that always culminate in a “reveal” where the clients and/or their friends and relatives inspect the beautified property.

These are so-called “reality” shows, so they purport to be non-fiction even though the dialogue is scripted and the property owners are obviously attuned to everything that has happened prior to the scene being shot. The amateurish actresses often use very affected speech, like “What a gorrrrrrrrgeous view of the beach!” or “That nursery room is sooooooo sweeeeeeeeeeeeeet!”

The big “reveal” is always accompanied by exclamations of surprise, astonishment, and amazement as the homeowners and their friends enter each room of the home that has been transformed. “This isn’t our house!” is a commonly used script line. There are audible gasps from the women (men never gasp, for some reason!) and the usual  “Oh, My God!”, “Oh, My Gosh!”, “My Word!”, “My Stars”, etc., all separated by pauses, as in “Oh (pause) My (pause) Goodness!”.

My suspicion: there is one scriptwriter who supplies all of the dialogue for every home remodeling show on TV.

I’m imagining the scene rehearsal/walk-through, where each of the participants get to choose their exclamation from a printed list, as OMGs are pretty standard no matter in what part of the country the show is being produced in. Some women gasp upon entering every space in the house, including mud and laundry room, as if they’ve just seen a naked man. Every once in a while, the astonished homeowner/lousy actress gasps before she opens she opens the door, trying (I suppose) to outdo Meryl Streep.

The husbands have also been in on the rehearsing because the Lunch Bucket Joes will utter interior design terms and phrases like “luxury vinyl”, “shiplap”, “farmhouse sink”, “subway tile”, and noting design elements that really “pop”. (Yeah, and how often do cab drivers and mailmen use the word “juxtaposition”?)

Sometimes the women are so dumbfounded by the miraculous transformations (“SHUT UP!” they will exclaim) that they cover their lips with their hands or, my favorite, fan their face with the fingers of one hand, creating some kind of primitive air conditioning effect, I’m guessing.

The men typically don’t gush as much, probably holding back their thoughts about the cost of the extravagant finishes and the change orders. If they could, they’d probably exclaim something like “Holy Moley!”, “No F’ing Way!”, “You gotta be sh.ting me!”, “For God’s sake!”,  “I’ll be Goddamned!”, or something more colorful.”

“Heavens to Betsy!” and “Gee Willikers!”, where do all these odd exclamations come from?

My old boss, CEO Larry Parrish, used to brief his lieutenants after a Board meeting and, if some amazingly stupid proposal surfaced, would punch up his monologue with an exclamation of simultaneous disbelief and disgust, “Jesus, Joseph and Mary!” I’m pretty sure Larry was brought up Catholic and was admonished if he used cuss words. Acceptable Catholic substitutes might have included, “Saints preserve us!”, “Mother of God!”, “Jeez!”, “Goldarn!”, “Sheesh!”, “Dang!”, “Friggin’”, “Hells bells!”, “Sonofagun!”, “Crips Mickey!” and the like: almost nasty, but not quite blasphemous.

Lots of people say things that not only don’t make sense but also pervert the English language.

Many of the remodeling shows that we watch are filmed in the South, so it is common to hear the term “Y’all” used. I can understand using that hokey term in a CROWD of people, but down in Dixie it is normal to address a married couple that way. “What were y’all thinking about backsplash?” Now, if an interior designer is standing in front of a couple and asking the question, doesn’t a simple “you” suffice? (Particularly since the wife makes those decisions 99 percent of the time!)

What does the word “fix” mean? How about correct or repair? Why is it then that Southerners are always “fixin’ to go”, “fixin’ to do barbeque”, “fixin’ to demo the house”, etc.? This term doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.

We watch a lot of real-life crime dramas where policemen are wearing videocams and are talking to actual perpetrators, suspects, and fellow officers. It’s not surprising to me to hear bad English from high school dropouts, but I am surprised when patrolmen and detectives utter horribly mangled syntax like, “The subject had went…” or “He had saw…”. (I hope that crummy English didn’t make it into the official report. How embarrassing it would be if that officer had to read his incident report in court!)

Many of the suspects or actual “perps” in these real life dramas are inner city residents who speak a street version of English.  It is common to hear that someone “be” doing something, “He done gone off and…”, “Where is the money at?”, “He ain’t say no names”, “Anybody that know me…”, “He done it hisself”, “I ain’t want nowhere near that shit!”, “We wasn’t there”, and such. (Yeah, you weren’t there in English class, for sure.)

Closer to home, there is an epidemic in this country among Generation X, Y, and Z’er women who favor the word “like” to describe a myriad of meanings. “He was like…”, “I was like…”, “They were like…”. etc. This was known as “Valley Speak” back in the 1980’s in Southern California, and might have been popularized by Moon Zappa and/or the self-absorbed high school socialites in the teen movie “Clueless”.

“Like” in this usage appears to mean what someone is or might be thinking but not actually saying, although it is hard to distinguish what is actual verbalization and what is not. We had a neighbor friend, a 50’ish lady, who talked in this manner. Her rambling conversations went something like this:  

I went to the gas station and I was like, “What the hell, these prices are obscene!” My girlfriend was like totally upset about it, too. We were like, “Damn that Joe Biden!” On the way out of the gas station, I was like “Maybe I should get a hybrid?” Like, who knows where this inflation is going, anyway? Maybe I should, like, ride my bike everywhere? My girlfriend just got a new puppie who is like real cute. I think he’s like a ChiWeenie or something, and it cost her like $1,000! Inflation… like I’m totally done with it, you know what I’m sayin’?

It was very hard to understand whether our friend (or her friend) actually said any of these things or merely thought them when using the introductory “like”. To be honest, I don’t have the slightest idea what’s she’s saying.

Like Gabby Hayes’ “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!”… what in the Sam Hill is this person talking about??

I be totally confused.

We are in Brookings, Oregon now, staying in the At River’s Edge RV Resort on the Chetco River.

This is a very nice RV park and we are staying in Space 131 which, in my opinion, is the best site on the property. The nose of our parked RV is right at the edge of the riverbank, so our view out the windshield is the river and the thick forest which ascends up a thousand feet or so.

It’s a beautiful mountain scene. The park is about 1-1/2 miles upstream from Brookings Harbor, so we get the “ocean effect” of fog and overcast in the a.m. followed by sunshine in the afternoon. Yesterday was quite sunny, with the temperature reaching the upper 70’s.

There’s only one problem with this RV resort: it’s surrounded by mountains, which means that the Verizon cell phone signal is crummy. Phone calls are okay, but data transmission is marginal. This impacts Charlie when she is trying to do work with banks and the like, or attempting to link up with her siblings via a Zoom conference. It also makes sending/receiving photos and other images problematic. I have a 5G phone but am limited to a couple of bars of LTE.

That sucks.

Our good friends Dan and Peggy Quinn have recently installed Starlink in their rig. It is the fancy system created by Elon Musk’s company and made possible by all the satellites that he has launched via Space X. Starlink is a space-based data transmission system, much like the Dish TV system that we use in the RV.

We bit the bullet today and ordered Starlink RV. It should be delivered here within the next two weeks. Cost was $650 for equipment, plus we will need to pay $135 per month for unlimited high-speed data. One good thing about Starlink RV is that we can discontinue the service when we aren’t using the RV.

Hopefully, this will solve our communications problem when we’re in sketchy locales.

My gosh, the bathrooms here in this RV park are super nice, clean, and well-maintained. There’s only one problem, though: they have PAY showers! I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before in any of the places that we’ve stayed. It’s only $0.25 for eight minutes, $0.50 for sixteen minutes, and there’s plenty of hot water. It could be that the paying thing is about water conservation, as that is a big thing in the West nowadays. However, we’re located adjacent to a flowing RIVER, so maybe the charge thing is just a way to put a few more jingles in the park owner’s purse.

Because we use Dish TV for entertainment, and we have no high-speed data available to us here (until we get Starlink!), then we cannot stream any content from the Internet like YouTube, Discovery Plus, Paramount, or others. Thus, for the time being, we are stuck with Dish TV programming, which includes lots of re-runs and junk channels.

Consequently, Charlie and I watch a lot of home remodeling shows and crime dramas. Most of them we’ve seen before but, hey, we’re bored but highly informed about these subjects. I could probably build a house from scratch or commit a perfect crime with all the knowledge that I’ve absorbed.

Speaking of “real” crime dramas, of which we’ve seen hundreds, it seems that there are two basic types: the ones that take place in urban areas, where the perps and their victims are almost always people of color; and the ones that take place in the “heartland” of the U.S., where the perps and suspects are usually Caucasian. Urban crime is usually drug/gang related or domestic abuse gone beserk, and the stuff out in the Bible Belt tends to be economic crime-related/domestic violence and weird sexual crimes/love triangles/kidnapping/rape atrocities.

It always annoys me that the introduction to a “heartland” crime drama notes that the community where the crime occurred is “a small town where everyone knows each other, goes to church together, and is very tight knit”. Yeah, that’s all cool, but then we find out that the Mayor, or the police chief, or the guy who owns the car dealership is as dirty as Satan. Sometimes, the culprit in a grisly abduction/murder of a child turns out to be the Boy Scout troop leader or a church pastor. What the Hell!

There’s only one problem with believing that certain groups of citizens are inherently bad: the truth is that there are bad guys (and some bad ladies) in every community and that sex, greed, jealously and anger can make even God-fearing citizens do some God-awful things.

Speaking of human misjudgment and folly, we are a bit annoyed every time a home remodeler/design expert enters a home and starts identifying features that are “dated”. Things like kitchen peninsulas, popcorn ceilings, carpeting, one-sink vanities in bathrooms, natural wood cabinets, and such are, in the opinion of the remodeler, so gauche, so passe that they are something to sneer at. But, wait a minute! Back in the day, those items were considered stylish, just like the luxury vinyl flooring, the must-have kitchen “island”, the stainless-steel kitchen appliances, the farmhouse sink, the white kitchen cabinets, etc. that everyone must have in the 2020’s.

There’s only one problem with new remodels: in ten years, all of the new flooring, fixtures, and appliances will be scoffed at, like skinny ties and bell- bottomed jeans. They will then be “dated”, like me, you, and everything else.

Speaking of old-fashioned ideas, I’m a pretty big proponent of free speech. There’s a reason that this Constitutional right earned the number one spot in the Bill of Rights: because the truth needs to be heard even when it is unpleasant.

However, our right of free speech is not absolute. For example, one cannot shout “Fire!” in a crowded theater when there is no danger: the panic that is induced could hurt or kill innocent people. Shouting “Fire!” in that instance is a lie, which we are all entitled to use when it serves us, but it is injurious to bystanders.

This distinction came into play recently when Alex Jones, a conspiracy theorist/podcaster/disseminator of misinformation, was tried and convicted for broadcasting hurtful lies about the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre some years back. Mr. Jones repeatedly broadcast lies that the event never happened, was staged to promote an anti-gun agenda, and that the parents of some of the slain children were grandstanding to make money off of the “fake” tragedy. As it turned out in Jones’ trial, he knew that the claims that he was making were false and that the massacre “was 100 percent real”.

The grief of the parents of the slain children was compounded by Mr. Jones’ rhetoric and some of the parents received death threats from Jones’ followers. Damage was indeed done to parents’ reputations by the lies broadcast through Jones’ InfoWars organization.  He was found guilty and fined a total of around $50 million for his hateful, pain-inflicting abuse of free speech.

One wonders how history will treat the spectacular “Stop The Steal” grift.

In that instance, which is ongoing, free speech (in this case, an outright lie) is being used to generate donations to the Trump organization to fight fraudulent voting in 2020 that was never proven to have happened. It has been estimated that ex-President Trump’s political action committees have received at least $250 million in donations from this scam. This enables the disgraced, ex-President to be a powerful kingmaker in current G.O.P. politics.

As P.T. Barnum used to say, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” This axiom is the basis for salesmanship, which uses lies, exaggerations, and misdirection to convince a customer that they need to purchase something that they don’t need for more than it is worth. Society and the law feel that those “suckers” deserve their fate, similar to the idiots who purchase the “miracle healing cloths” from televangelist Peter Popoff.

“Caveat emptor: Let the buyer beware.”

There’s only one problem with the “Stop the Steal” scam: the money donated by the “suckers” harms Republican candidates that have not bought into the Big Lie, i.e. that Trump legitimately won the 2020 Presidential election. These honest politicians (I know, that’s an oxymoron!) are put at a disadvantage in G.O.P. primaries where Trump-supported candidates receive some of the spoils of the “Stop The Steal” grift.

Is this a crime or just clever salesmanship by the Trump team?

If it is the latter, we may have to get used to saying “Senator” Herschel Walker and “Senator” Mehmet Oz.

Update: Donald Trump has now initiated two frivolous lawsuits against CNN and Hillary Clinton and the supposed self-made billionaire is urging followers to donate money to support the litigation.  Question: if these lawsuits are so important to Mr. Trump, why is he not using his own money to fund these cases? One can say a lot of negative things about the ex-Prez, but the guy certainly knows how to squeeze money out of suckers.

One of the richest guys in the world, Elon Musk, who made his billions the old-fashioned way (inventing revolutionary products), took a well-deserved shot at President Joe Biden this week. It seems that the Administration’s undies are ruffled over the fact that woman professional basketball star Britney Griner has been convicted of bringing marijuana into Russia, which is a felony offense in that country. She’s been sentenced to 9 year in jail. Joe’s people are working hard to secure her release via a prisoner swap or diplomatic giveaway.

There’s only one problem with that, as Elon Musk pointed out: hundreds of thousands of people are in U.S. jails and prisons for doing the same thing (marijuana possession) in our country, and Joe Biden isn’t lifting a finger to gain their release. What is so special about Britney Griner that would justify trading an imprisoned Russian spy for her release?

Answer: she’s Black and she’s a celebrity athlete.

Well, it’s the early afternoon now, usually the time when Charlie and I pour ourselves an adult beverage and play some cards together.

There’s only one problem, though: she keeps kicking my ass!

We got the news yesterday that our son Jeff and wife Carol have taken the plunge, buying a 2011 Monaco Vesta motorhome.

Jeff and Carol intend to full-time RV once they finish up working the current calendar year. They sold their home in Murrieta, California several months ago and have been boondocking ever since in a 25-year-old RV that they purchased for around $17,000. That rig was admittedly a temporary housing solution, and they told us that they already have a buyer for it.

I had given them a lot of advice about RV life and the wisdom that I’d picked up from not only doing it for 8 years but also from full-time RV folks that we know. Living in a motorhome 24/7/365 is a lot different than going RV camping for several days or a week. I think that they listened, and they also learned a bit over the past few months. I think they paid about $100,000 for their new motorhome.

(Ironically, we paid almost the same price for our Monaco Windsor in 2015 when it was 10 years old and had 59,000 miles on the engine. Jeff and Carol’s rig is 10 years old and has 59,000 miles on it.)

Their new RV looks great, has all of the basic amenities, has oodles of storage, and is powered buy a turbo diesel, which will allow them to tow a car with ease. The rig is 32’ long and has one large living room slide on the driver side. The nose is aerodynamically shaped resulting in an alleged 10.5 miles per gallon of diesel fuel. Promises, promises… I hope that turns out to be true.

It will be that “tiny house” that Carol has always wanted. I’m guessing that our 40’ rig with four slides has around 450 s.f. of living space, so their 32’ rig with one slide probably has 300 s.f. It also has two A.C. units, a generator, a Queen bed, a convertible sofa, two TV’s, and nice appliances. It should be plenty big enough for the two of them (and their dog) to comfortably enjoy their adventures on the road in America.

We are currently staying in Brookings, Oregon in the At River’s Edge RV Resort. We haven’t stayed here before and have been pleasantly surprised by the nice folks in the office and the general layout of the property. The Chetco River flows by the park and, beginning on Wednesday, we will be in Site 131, which is right up against the riverbank. For one month, we will get to chill out with our dogs looking out over the river into the forested woods, the ocean fog coming in, and enjoying the cool, clean air of the mountains. Deer wander around the RV park in the early morning hours. It’s a nice place.

There are full-time as well as short-term RVers staying here. We are paying a premium rate for one of their nicest, river-view spaces. The spaces where the full-timers stay don’t have the views but they only cost something like $760/month plus electric. That’s just the kind of place that Jeff and Carol will be looking for, I think.

Of course, one they hit the road they can boondock for free and perhaps stay at a decent RV park once a week to dump, refill the water tank, take a nice, long shower, wash clothes, and so forth. The rig that they’ve purchased should be perfectly adequate for camping just about anywhere they might want to go, even the small State, Federal, and local parks that we can’t get into because of the size of our rig.

We are looking forward to seeing Jeff and Carol and their new purchase when we stay in Oceanside, California for a month beginning September 5^th.

In the meanwhile, we have a little bit of worry to deal with here, as the McKinley Fire, which is burning in the Siskiyou National Forest near the Calif/Oregon border is heading this way. I can’t imagine that we will be in any danger here, but we could end up breathing smoke if that fire enters Oregon and burns north toward Grants Pass.

We’ve been coming up to Oregon for many years now and almost every year we’ve had to travel through areas that were experiencing forest fires. Last year, when we returned home to Nevada, we had to drive maybe 400 mile through heavy, white smoke courtesy of the fires in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Charlie and I both had breathing troubles afterward that turned into bronchitis.

That sucked.

Another thing that sucks is Charlie’s left foot, which is still swollen and painful. It’s been two weeks since she sprained it and she has been stuck in the rig, reading books and icing the foot. She’s getting stir crazy but has kept a pretty good attitude about her plight.

Hopefully, this will be the week when she can limber up that foot. On this coming weekend, down at the Brookings Harbor, there will be an Art Fair/Street Fair, followed by the Pirates’ Fair on the following weekend. We went last year and had fun.

Speaking of fun, we’ve met (as have the dogs) two gorgeous 2-year-old French Bulldogs here in the RV park. They get along great with our dogs and their owner “Lucette” is a nice gal, too. We may be hooking up with her once we get to our new site on Wednesday. Lucette is a full-timer who lives in a 5^th wheel trailer.

She’s also got a third Frenchie on order that may be arriving here during our stay. Those three dogs are probably worth more than her used 5^th wheel trailer!

What kind of an idiot keeps three dogs in an RV?

Update: Jeff and Carol told us a few weeks later that they’ve decided not to buy the newer RV and will, instead, finish out the remainder of the year in the current rig. They are hoping to maybe find a nicer RV and a lower price when the economy dips.