Pride Post 2019: A Half-Century After Stonewall

The annual Pride parade in NYC has become a Big Deal, but in this era of Pride commercialization, it has to be noted that the Stonewall Uprising a half-century ago was a response to government-sanctioned violence against LGBTQ persons, largely persons of color. The riot, as it was termed, was led by transwomen of color responding to police harassment and assault (despite the whitewashed depiction in a recent movie).

Fifty years later, Pride is often seen as a white male celebration, though alternative marches have arisen to counter the sanitized narrative pushed by government agencies and corporations. The point of Pride is visibility, a display of solidarity in the face of peril. A gathering such as took place in Manhattan today could not have occurred a half-century ago... the Powers That Be simply would not have allowed it. The problem is that the struggle isn't over- violence against transwomen of color is rampant and Republican congresscreeps still oppose anti-discrimination protections for LGBTQ people. The Bad Old Days could always return in these days of weaponized bigotry and fanatic populism.

Dr Martin Luther King, Jr said: The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. That arc needs to be bent toward justice. The Stonewall patrons who refused to accept abuse at the hands of individuals who were supposed 'to protect and serve' strained to bend that arc, and any bit of complacency can cause that arc to bend in another direction. Here's wishing my LGBTQ readers a happy Pride day, albeit a cautious one. The struggle isn't over, and the forces of regression never stop.

Schrödinger's Blackness

The effectiveness of a Democratic candidate can be determined by the intensity of Conservative attacks against them. Therefore, Kamala Harris' effectiveness after the second Democratic debate has spawned a bullshit campaign questioning her identity as a black woman. The coordinated troll campaign reached its nadir when Uday retweeted a notorious right-wing whacko and fraudster:

The 'inorganic' nature of this campaign was apparent from the start because so many of the social media posts were repeated verbatim. The anti-Harris campaign was amplified by the outré ADOS (American Descendants Of Slaves) 'movement', which seems to be a group of trolls trying to drive African-Americans away from the Democratic Party, and more troubling, trying to drive wedges between the various sub-populations of the African Diaspora. ADOS is a blend of Trumpism and gatekeeping... it's a more under-the-radar version of Candace Owens' grift-y Blexit. I'm a white dude, but I look askance at the ADOS contingent because, while Amadou Diallo's family never lived under Jim Crow, his 'blackness' was not questioned by the police officers who slew him. Some of them are even claiming that Kamala Harris' father was a white Jamaican descendant of slave owners. While the particular history of one enslaved Diaspora group differs from the history of other groups, their descendants tend to share the same experience of discrimination- racial profiling, redlining, and harsher police treatment.

Reading about this troll campaign, the phrase 'Schrödinger's Blackness' popped unbidden into my mind... to Conservatives, the 'blackness' of a Democrat of African descent is uncertain until a determination is made of the particular needs of a campaign, by which I mean smear campaign. Right now, while ratfuckers are trying to undermine Kamala Harris' support among African-American voters by claiming she's not a genuine 'black American' (sic), those very same ratfuckers will accuse her of being an 'angry black lady' when it suits their needs. These arbiters of blackness, many of them black Russians, are not acting in good faith. Meanwhile, decency prevails in other quarters. It's good to know that the pushback has been well-coordinated... Kamala Harris knows her lived experience, and can define her own approach to her African Diaspora heritage. If she wants to use this classic as her campaign theme song, she can do as she damn well pleases.

ADDENDUM: I googled the phrase 'Schrödinger's Blackness' and only came up with one other instance of its use, for a concept which differs from my use of the term, but that I suspect will also be used as a weapon against Kamala Harris.

Eldritch Night of Music, Year of Eldritch Music

Uncharacteristically, I had to do quite a bit of driving for work tonight... I put nearly thirty miles on the odometer because I had to check multiple worksites. While driving from site to site, I caught the local commercial radio station's fantastic 10 at 10 (Ten Great Songs from One Great Year) feature- tonight's year was 1974, and the music featured had a decidedly outré, even eldritch bent, just the sort of music one wants to hear while driving on lonely roads at night.

How about Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells to put you in an absolutely not-creeped-out mood?

A little later on, Blue Öyster Cult's album version of Astronomy was featured. Good thing that light never warms, it's been hot and muggy all day... but only eldritch for the last hour or so.

Spanish Lessons

Poking around the intert00bz today, I read a couple of pieces on how right-wingers are in a tizzy about three of last night's Democratic debate candidates speaking Spanish, or a facsimile thereof, during the debate. The US has a Spanish-speaking population of 41 million, so an ability to communicate to these potential voters could be crucial to winning elections, which is probably the major reason why right-wingers are so upset (SPOILER: It's really about the bigotry).

The use of Spanish by Beto O'Rourke didn't please everyone, but the guy DID grow up in a city named El Paso in a state named Tejas... besides, the Irish have long had a tradition of supporting their Spanish-speaking brethren. The Irish and Mexicans share a love of beer, fútbol, accordions, and veneration of the Virgin. Really, who could possibly distinguish between the Irish and the Mexicans?

Dumbass Brian Kilmeade asked, "Do Spanish people like people to speak Spanish with them?" In my experience, most people do appreciate any effort made to communicate with them in their primary language... but my Spanish is pretty good. A few weeks back, when I first met my young Chilean friend, I said something to her in Spanish and she joked, "You just want to practice your Spanish on me!" I answered, "Practicar es importante, pero hablaré cualquiera lengua que prefiere." That was enough to convince her that my Spanish was, if not fluent, proficient, and we typically bounce back-and-forth between the two languages. Since I usually work with her and my Argentine-American friend, we have a lot of conversations about dialect and specialized vocabularies. On one afternoon, I got a lession about Lunfardo, the tango-influenced, largely Italian-derived slang of Buenos Aires. Since my Spanish education, like most Spanish-language instruction en los Estados Unidos, comprises a sort of 'greatest hits of the Spanish speaking world', I was able to introduce one of my favorite short stories, Gregorio López y Fuentes' poignant and hilarious Una Carta a Dios to my South American friends. I imagine that my Argentine friend and I will have our Chilean friend reading El Sur before the summer is over. Of course, about half of our conversations are in English- my Argentine friend came to the US to study art history, and married a Yanqui. My Chilean friend was brought to the US by her mother, who doesn't plan on settling here long-term, so she can pursue a STEM education that would be harder to obtain in Chile... she's National Honor Society, so she's doing her mother proud.

I don't think for one moment that the Fox commentariat's pondering whether or not Spanish-speaking US citizens like to hear presidential campaigners hablan español... it's the sort of rank concern-trollery which is even less sincere than an attempt hablar la lengua.

Make Politics Boring Again!

I didn’t watch tonight’s Democratic debate- I don’t have a TV and I didn’t have the gumption to seek it out online. The stage is crowded at this point, and I prefer Elizabeth Warren as a candidate. I really didn’t need to hear from Tulsi Gabbard or the non-Beto white guys on stage tonight, and I had to go grocery shopping and do a load of laundry anyway. I will catch up on the highlights tomorrow.

There’s one critic who had a review of the debate, a man who is an amalgam of all of the bad kids in ‘Willy Wonka’. His review was one word:

BORING!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) June 27, 2019

Too many big words for his pea brain... Me? I want a return to boring politics. I want a return to the boring days when I didn’t check the PotUS’ Twitter feed to see if he nuked Iran, or Iowa. I want a return to boring technocrats running various Departments, of stable policies run by staid bureaucrats. There’s a value to boring routine- roller coasters are fun, but you wouldn’t want to commute to work on one, especially not one with non-working harnesses and faulty brakes.

Unlike Donald, I want boring, it sure beats horrific.

Annoyance Day

There’s a local primary election today, and my workplace is a polling site. I had to arrive at 5AM to open up the building for the poll workers. For some reason, they have been super annoying today. At one point, they asked me for an extension cord for an optical scanner, and I told them that I didn’t have one, so they would have to move the machine. One of them had the nerve to tell me, “You’re unprepared.” I told her, “I’m not with the Board of Elections, this has nothing to do with me.”

A half hour later, another one asked me if I had a roll of duct tape, and I told him no. He said, “You’re unprepared.” Hearing this a second time, I shot him a dagger-glance and hissed, “My job was to open the doors, turn off the alarms, and turn on the lights. My job is pretty much done. YOU are the one who’s unprepared.” He scooted away pretty quickly, which was good, because I was tempted to add, “I’m still here to make sure you don’t steal anything from the gift shop.”

At another point, one of them couldn’t get a backup scanner (Plan B) to turn on. She asked me if the outlet was good, and I pointed out that the power strip on light was lit. I suggested that she call the Board to see if they could determine the problem. It’s after ten AM, and nothing has been resolved.

A couple of them asked me for the company WiFi password and I told them that the guest WiFi comes online after 9AM.

Even the voters are annoying today. Our retail staff is in Manhattan for a trade show, so nobody is here to work the shop. I put stanchions up to block access. One ninny walked in from the rain and placed her umbrella on the floor on the verboten side of the stanchions. Again, I gritted my teeth and barked, “Don’t put your wet umbrella by our merchandise.” What kind of asshole thinks that’s acceptable?

I’m here until 2PM, when my sarcastic colleague takes over. I’m usually patient, but today has been a string of annoyances- I’m going to warn him about what to expect. Then, I’m going to grab a couple of well-earned beers.

Really Big Easter Eggs

I’m not a really big movie-goer, but I knew that I would end up seeing Godzilla, King of the Monsters on the big screen. I am a big fan of both the serious original 1954 Gojira and the gloriously goofy 1970s Godzilla monster bashes. More significantly, I know one of the motion-capture actors who played monsters in the movie, and I like to support my people. The new Godzilla movie navigates a middle course between the two styles of kaiju movies- there are scenes of human suffering as cities have to be evacuated from ‘the Titan menace’ and there are strangely beautiful monster fights, with prehistoric menaces flinging brightly colored radiation beams at each other.

The movie definitely demands suspension of disbelief... after all, it does feature a moth larger than a jumbo jet as a main character. Put your skeptical adult brain in neutral, embrace your inner eight year old, and bask in that nostalgia, because there are tons of Easter eggs- callbacks to other kaiju movies. Zang Ziyi’s Dr Chen shows pictures of her mother and her twin sister conducting research on Infant Island, calling to mind the pixies from the classic Mothra movies. The three-headed monster is known as ’Monster Zero’ before Dr Chen identifies it as King Ghidorah by perusing old legends. An oxygen destroying missile, reminiscent of the device used to kill Godzilla in the 1954 movie, is deployed against Godzilla and Ghidorah, with unexpected results, revealing the true nature (and true danger) of Ghidorah. Even Ken Watanabe’s (as Dr Serizawa) viral ‘let them fight’ line is referenced by another character.

The plot is a mishmash of Gaia hypothesis (an ‘eco-terrorist’ villain describes the Titans as the ‘immune system meant to bring ecological balance to a world undergoing a mass extinction), military thriller (terrorists vs international monster monitoring organization), and family drama... but you’re really here for the monster battles. There are topical scenes of child separation in refugee crises, and a nod toward the need for finding a balance between humanity and nature... but you’re really here for the monster battles.

The movie does convey a sense of wonder- such scenes as the emergence of Mothra from her cocoon were gorgeous. There are moments of pathos as well- particularly when Dr Serizawa approaches a stricken Godzilla and intones ‘goodbye, old friend’ in Japanese. Watching the movie, I became an eight year-old again, which was a nice way to spend two and a half hours, in a world where real monsters dwell.

ICE Threat Chilling

Today, I was reminded of how the political has the potential to become personal in a matter of moments. This morning, the cleaning contractor, a gentleman from Peru, came in and remarked that his neighborhood was in turmoil due to rumors of Trump's proposed mass deportation push. Trump indicated that he would postpone the mass raids, but people in my friend's neighborhood are laborers who don't have much time to keep up with the news... and they have no reason to believe that the White House Occupant is telling the truth. Suffice it to say, people were scared, and in this era of cruelty, that was probably the reason for the proposal in the first place. The people who wash dishes in restaurants and mop bathroom floors in office buildings were terrorized: Mission Accomplished!

This afternoon, I returned to work, albeit at a different site. Typically, the first two people I see are both South American women. One is a gift shop clerk about my own age from Buenos Aires. She's a sophisticated lady of European descent, who would look at home in Madrid, or Milan, visiting museums or working in a boutique. She was appalled when I told her about my conversation of the morning, and we had a dolorous conversation about the cruelty and capriciousness on display- she asked my why there weren't mass demonstrations on the streets, and I didn't have a good answer for her. We Americans tend to be more passive than Europeans when it comes to making our displeasure known en masse. Her husband is a US citizen, and her daughters are fine, upstanding young Americans who are just now approaching the age at which they will become politically involved... and involved they will be.

The other South American woman, a cleaning contractor who works for the same company as my Peruvian friend, is a Chilean teenager who has only been in the 'States for three years- she's a perfect example of what José Vasconcelos termed 'la raza cósmica', a walnut-complected girl with a sweet, expressive face. Her mother emigrated to the US specifically so that she could receive an education, and she has plans to study nursing, and then pathology, so she could become a medical examiner. She seemed to be unaware of the planned ICE raids, and I wasn't about to bring the topic up because she already has to deal with her remaining NY State Regents Exams. She's a hardworking girl, and she quickly became an indispensable help to the staff of the site, even going out of her way to help organize supplies for school groups. She is exactly the sort of person you would want to move to your city or town, a National Honor Society member who is working hard and pulling good grades in school.

It bothers me that good people, good friends of mine, feel like they have targets on their backs. These people contribute to our society, their potential should not be scorned. It bothers me even more to have to work out ways in which I could protect them if things take a turn for the worse. A gauntlet has been thrown down, and I have to figure out the best way I have to pick the damn thing up.

POSTSCRIPT: The ACLU has a good primer on what to do if the raids go through.

Definitions, Pondering Definitions

Today was a glorious day, the sort of early summer day in the scenic Hudson River Valley that is exceeded only by the sort of late summer days we get here. I work in spectacularly beautiful surroundings with lovely people... as I often say, my life is okay. Still, there's an existential horror occurring in this land that I have loved, something which intrudes even on days such as today... this week was particularly disquieting because it involved the mainstream media splitting semantic hairs over the definition of 'concentration camps'- I imagine Merriam-Webster is getting a ton of web traffic these days.

As is typical of the post-November 2018 mediascape, the 'controversy' was ignited by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the favorite bête noire of right-wingers and the idiotic media flacks who 'bothsides' issues to a fare-thee-well. The hair-splitting also plays into the hands of Holocaust deniers, who often dispute the fact that the Nazis intentionally killed Jews in an industrialized fashion.

The real problem here isn't the definition of 'concentration camps', it's the definition of 'Americans'... who are we? What have become?

Madman Theory Gone Wrong?

The only time I ever posted about 'the Madman Theory' was when I wrote a review of the 'Ellery Queen' novel (actually written by my beloved Jack Vance) The Madman Theory. The 'Madman Theory' was attributed to Richard Nixon by H. R. Haldeman:


I call it the Madman Theory, Bob. I want the North Vietnamese to believe I've reached the point where I might do anything to stop the war. We'll just slip the word to them that, "for God's sake, you know Nixon is obsessed about communism. We can't restrain him when he's angry—and he has his hand on the nuclear button" and Ho Chi Minh himself will be in Paris in two days begging for peace.


The basic gist is that an opponent would be reluctant to provoke a madman... Trump's decision to retaliate against Iran for shooting down a drone was immediately followed by a reversal, supposedly ten minutes before the planes were to have been sent to strike Iran. Trump claimed that his change of policy was motivated by compassion and a sense of proportionality, but cynical persons aver that his boss called him to tell him to back off. While Trump said the military was 'cocked and loaded', it seems that the Republican congresscreeps were cockblocked. Whether or not Trump is bluffing or actually had a change of heart regarding an actual attack on Iran, all I can really say is that I am thankful that my brother Vin retired from the Army in April.

The problem with the Madman Theory is that it doesn't work if the person using it is actually a madman.

The Opposite of Philanthropy

I am a believer in science, an adherent to the proposal that humanity can better itself with knowledge, with peer-reviewed research, and policy rooted in fact. My wish is for a society rooted in progressive policies, informed by science and scholarship... the sort of society which could, for example, eradicate measles. Even now, I believe that I once lived in such a society.

It was enraging to read that a wealthy billionaire couple has donated an ungodly sum of money to an organization which spreads anti-vaccination propaganda. These people are engaged in action deleterious to human welfare... they are squandering their riches on disinformation which is immiserating children, putting innocent individuals at risk. Whatever their motivation, they are making things worse for humanity.

I am all for Elizabeth Warren's proposed wealth tax- it's only fitting that the ultra-wealthy should be forced to pay to offset some of the damage they are inflicting on our nation.

Day Three of the Birthday Bender

Birthdays should be celebrated on the Hanukkah model, they should be multi-day affairs. Luckily, I have a bunch of friends who were born in mid-June, and unluckily, my work schedule is heavily weighted towards weekends, which luckily means that I have three days off each week. Yeah, I’ve had some booze, but I think that made sense.

Tonight, I met with a coworker whose birthday was last Saturday and a former contractor we have become close with whose birthday is today- his husband rounded out the group. We hit the Maya Riviera restaurant in the village of Briarcliff Manor, about seventeen miles north of the City of Y_____. It’s a nice, old school Mexican restaurant, but not particularly ‘Mayan’ (they don’t serve the typical Yucatán dish cochinita pibil, which is pork stewed with blood orange juice and black peppercorns in a banana leaf and served with pickled onions). I ordered chicken mole poblano, which is sauced with an elaborate melange of chocolate, nuts, and spices. It’s a culinary tour de force, the kind of dish that involves a lot of grinding and mixing- I’ve only made it once, for a special occasion, years ago.

It was one of those slow dinners, very talky, pretty boozy... just the kind of dinner between old friends celebrating getting older. The birthdays continue until next week, but the bender ends tonight- this guy’s work schedule is heavily weighted towards weekends, after all, and with maturity comes responsibility.

These Are the Armies of the Right

Tonight, there will be a big Trump rally/campaign kickoff in Orlando. The various septs (or sects, if you’d prefer, though I like the callback to ‘septic’) of MAGAland are assembling. Among the more outre members of the group are the QAnon Cultists and the Pinochet-loving Proud Boys. Both groups are arrayed in their typical uniforms for this event, lending (to my nerdly eye) an air of ‘cosplay-of-the-damned’ (curseplay) to the proceedings.

I’m reminded of the outlandish gangs from the 1979 movie The Warriors, from which I’ve taken the post title- each in their fanciful dress code. I can’t dig it, though, I can’t dig it at all.

Half Century Club

It's another year around the sun for me. Personally, I'm doing okay, but I can't help but feel that somehow, the world has gone radically wrong in the course of my lifetime. I was born during the apogee of the Space Age, but Flat Earthers not only remain among us, but seem to have a larger cultural presence that they would have a few decades ago. The problems of racism and misogyny haven't been solved, and again there seems to be a backlash against the gains made by women, people of color, and LGBTQ people. It's tough to pinpoint exactly when things started going wrong, but I lay much of the blame on Reagan, who cheerfully pushed the lie that government was the major problem in people's lives, and that unions were greedy institutions preventing Joe Schmo from becoming a millionaire. The demographic shifts that our country is experiencing are something I am comfortable with- I spent a lot of time in the Bronx as a kid, and when I lived in New Rochelle, NY, there was already a vibrant community of Mexican immigrants whose culture and language I came to love. While I was fully aware of our nation's questionable foreign policy in places like Latin America and the Middle East, being the sort of kid who started reading the newspaper in kindergarten (my mom loves to tell the story of the time I didn't want to go to a friend's birthday party at an amusement park because I had read about a ferris wheel accident in Durban, South Africa), the current cruelty is something I never would have predicted. Years ago, I still thought that the nation I grew up in was fundamentally good... I sure hope it is, and that the current shitshow is a temporary phase.

I wish I could say that the half-century I've spent on the planet was marked by progress, but I don't see it. Again, personally I am doing okay, I am surrounded by friends and a loving family, and I even work in a gorgeous place. I might be looking a little craggy lately, largely as a result of keeping horrendous hours, but generally speaking, life is good... I mean this is me at work:

It's a funny week, a lot of my friends and one of my uncles were born around this time of year- today marks the start of three days of celebrating birthdays. Sure, the promise of the era of my birth has been squandered on five decades of missed opportunities, wasted potential, but I'm doing okay, and the people around me are doing okay, and I am still optimistic enough to believe that we will be working to make things better. Things had better get better.

Happy Fathers' Day 2019

First of all, here's wishing a happy Fathers' Day to all of my readers. Last year, I wrote a post about masculinity, and the worrisome backlash against the advances that women have made in society. To a large extent, it's an online phenomenon, but it periodically manifests itself in the real world, with deadly consequences- most mass shooters have a history of violence against women. Once again, it seems like our society is failing its boys and young men. I was fortunate to grow up in an environment in which the older kids had a protective attitude towards the younger kids... the boy who lived across the street from my grammar school was three years ahead of me in school, and when he was in high school, he would still stop by to make sure that we were all doing well. I won't say that bullying didn't occur, but it was typically nipped in the bud by other kids.

I chose my 'nym years ago as a send-up of tough-guy masculinity... paradoxically, I think it's ridiculous while being able to draw upon it on those rare occasions when it's handy (sometimes, coming across as someone who'd be perfectly happy to rip someone's head off is a useful skill, especially when backed up with the ability to rip someone's head off). Part of me believes that much of the current crisis of masculinity is due to the synergistic effect of poor job prospects, lack of physical activity combined with a toxic gamer culture, pop-cultural depictions of largely-unattainable physiques, and an echo chamber of disaffected misogynists who want to blame women for the woes of young men rather than blaming the effects of the metastatic stage of current capitalism. Thankfully, my brothers, my male cousins, and my friends are involved with their children, and the next generation of my social circle is made up of well-adjusted kids with impressive accomplishments. It's imperative that we, as a society, break this cycle of radicalization.

Men just have to do better, and part of it is making sure that masculinity isn't seen as a straitjacket which limits boys' and men's emotional expressions and life experiences, masculinity shouldn't be monolithic. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The problem with toxic masculinity is the toxicity, not the masculinity... and we need poison control badly.

The Internet's Augean Stables

Ah, 8Chan, how does one describe it? It's a festering heap of child pornography, Gamergate misogyny, racism, anti-semitism, conspiracy mongering, and exchanges between mass shooters, wannabe mass shooters, and fans of mass shooters... you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. 8Chan is the Augean Stables of the internet, the shittiest of shitposting shitholes... it is also the subject of a recent search warrant:

lmaooooooo 8chan just got search warranted pic.twitter.com/Rhi6g2OWKo

— shoshanot at cannes, pls stop asking 🛸 (@swodinsky) June 14, 2019

It will be interesting to see how the Chan Klan handles the prospect of being outed after having assumed anonymity on the imageboard... how many anime-Nazis are sweating over the prospect of their employer finding out that they are egging on potential mass shooters? What is 8Chan's biggest 'celebrity', the anonymous hoaxer(s) known as "Q" going to do if anonymity is compromised? Ben Collins of NBC speculated about this as well...

Reading over this post, I realize that I need to step away from the internet for a bit- it's a beautiful summer night, with an almost full moon... that beats a shitstorm anytime.

Excising Expertise

The latest atrocity in the current maladministration is Trump's executive order directing governmental agencies to cut their advisory committees by a third. At a time when scientific expertise is needed now, more than ever, this clown is showing scientists the door. The idea that this is a money saving measure is ridiculous in light of the growing deficit. The idea that this is a measure meant to curb conflicts of interest is even more ludicrous, especially in an administration that puts a former aerospace executive in the position of Defense Secretary. The very idea that Republicans were waging a war on science has become axiomatic. Trump is ramping up this war, he's basically nuking science from orbit, it's the only way to be sure that his corporate cronies can complete their Global War on Terra.

Gulf of Oman Incident?

I don't trust the Trump maladministration, and I especially don't trust neocon loon John Bolton and theocon loon Mike Pompeo, thus I am more than a little skeptical about the recent attacks on oil tankers in the Gulf of Oman, which Pompeo insists were perpetrated by the Iranian armed forces. While I find the Shiite fundamentalist regime of Iran repulsive (though I think the Saudis are worse, despite our purported alliance with them), I've been suspicious of Republican claims of Iranian malfeasance ever since George W. Bush lumped them in with Iraq and North Korea as part of the 'Axis of Evil'. In light of Trump facing increased scrutiny for his failures and felonies, I am concerned that he might pull a 'wag the dog' maneuver if he thinks it'll save his badly bronzed hide (I've never bought that 'Donald the Dove, Hillary the Hawk' narrative). I can see Pompeo and Bolton egging him on towards this end, I just hope that Congress would act to stop any sort of foreign policy blunder.

I really don't want to sound paranoid, but it's not like trumped-up naval incidents in the gulfs of the world are that far-fetched.

Men Wouldn’t Face This Scrutiny

I watched most of yesterday’s women’s World Cup match between the United States and Thailand while playing bar trivia last night. It was a 13-0 rout, in case you missed it. Tonight, one of the stories on the network news concerns whether or not the continual scoring and subsequent celebrations were evidence of poor sportsmanship. I doubt that a men’s team would face the same criticism- they would have been portrayed as exuberant rather than bullying, their displays of bravado being portrayed as admirable.

The US is a large, wealthy country, and one that places more of a premium on women’s athletics than most other nations (though the Michigan State horror shows how far we need to progress). It’s no wonder that the women’s national team would be a dominant force in the World Cup. Coming opponents will be wealthier countries than Thailand, countries with stronger soccer traditions- the outcomes of the games might be uncertain. Let the women’s team have their moment of exuberance, they play a lot better than their male counterparts.

Another Young Immigrant Dies In Trump Administration Custody

Via Tengrain, we have the tale of another young immigrant dying in custody of the Trump maladministration... the French oak sapling given to Trump by Emmanuel Macron as a token of goodwill between France and the United States has died. It had been placed in quarantine after already having been symbolically planted on the White House grounds... whisked away to an uncertain fate like a Guatemalan toddler. It’s axiomatic that everything that Trump touches dies, whether corporation, child, or tree. Part of me suspects that Trump didn’t want anything shadier than he in the vicinity of the White House. At this rate, we’ll be lucky if the Republic is left standing when he leaves office.

Unarmed Man Enters Battle of Wits

I had a long, arduous (but fun) weekend on the job, so I spent most of this rainy day sleeping. I missed John Dean’s testimony in Congress, which was knocked out of the local headlines by a Manhattan helicopter crash. I DID manage to catch up a bit this evening, and was struck by this exchange:

what a joke pic.twitter.com/Oqn80Djgyi

— jordan (@JordanUhl) June 10, 2019

What we have here is a failure to communicate a drunken bro-hole trying to outclass a man who has been a public servant and a truth-teller for longer than he’s been alive. It’s amazing to see callow nepotism hires believe that they can best individuals who have weathered the greatest political scandals of our time. Looks like Gaetz chose the wrong day to quit drinking.

A Semi-Formal Night

In a marked contrast from last night, tonight is the night of a major fundraisers’ event. I’m sitting around in jacket-and-tie as the swells are having a lovely al fresco dinner. Needless to say, the head of our organization is here, along with two Vice Presidents. My day really begins when the caterers need to clean up and get out, when my role as keyholder comes into play.

Then it’s change into shorts and T-shirt and run around making sure that the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed... making sure the caterers know where the dumpsters are, then locking up the service entrance. Thankfully, the weather is perfect, so I won’t be running around in a quagmire in my best shoes.

It’s been a weekend of contrasts, a night with young Bronx working class heroes and an evening with well-heeled (some exceedingly so) philanthropists. It’s the blend of job experiences that makes the position interesting... well, that and being with all the critters once both poor and rich humans leave.

A Rustic Night

Tonight is a weird night on the job- one of our sites is hosting a campout for the counselors of another educational non-profit. I just arrived, and the recent college grads are out having dinner. I had worked an afternoon shift at another site before relieving my coworker who had been here.

The ‘kids’ are all vetted- they wouldn’t be working with high school students if they hadn’t been. My coworker told me that there were about twenty of them, so it should be a lively night. They will be setting up a campfire in a designated firepit when they get back.

My job is to act as keyholder, to make sure that our guests can get where they need to get and to use my local knowledge if there’s an emergency (which I don’t expect). I anticipate that it will be a fun night, but a busy one... and it’ll also be a busy night for the mosquitoes.

UPDATE: It’s dawn now, and the guests are still sleeping. When they came back from dinner, they built a campfire and made s’mores, making sure that I got one. One of the old-timers, who was here on the overnight last year, told a funny story about cooling off in our one air-conditioned building (for the record, last night was a lovely 60 degrees) and hearing a bang-and-clatter overhead... he didn’t want to stay inside, and he didn’t want to leave the building to face whatever made the noise. He was in the classic horror movie dilemma. I joked that I’d be the guy to go outside and investigate, to my doom!!! That’s why I’m the night guy. Even though I only live a few miles from this crew, I came across as some sort of eccentric Druid type.

The highlight (literally) of the night was when these young adults, who are mainly from the Bronx, looked up and saw the (truth be told not-many) stars of the northern suburban sky. One young man, making out the constellation, joyfully exclaimed, “The Big Dipper!” It was just the sort of moment that camping is made for.

There's a Moon in the Sky, It's Called the Moon, and It Is Part of Mars

The stupid never ceases, with the current cri du cul being Vulgarmort's stupid tweet about the Moon:

For all of the money we are spending, NASA should NOT be talking about going to the Moon - We did that 50 years ago. They should be focused on the much bigger things we are doing, including Mars (of which the Moon is a part), Defense and Science!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) June 7, 2019

Weird, we never learned that in astronomy class! The most charitable interpretation of this tweet would be that a Moon mission would be part of a broader Mars mission, but besides the incoherence of the tweet, such an interpretation would assume that going to the Moon is, in fact, a place where NASA would be going. At any rate, the whole thing is mind-bogglingly stupid.

The post title is taken from a song from the B-52's first album. Poking around the t00bz, I found a great live version of the song from 1985
, and as an added bonus, Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz of Talking Heads (who are also the Tom Tom Club) are playing bass and drums respectively.

Maybe if someone told Trump he could ride in a gold meteorite, we could get his ass out of the White House.

Complications of Brain Salad Surgery?

It's another bummer in a year of bummers... famed Louisiana musician Dr John, nee Malcolm John Rebennack, has died. The news reports that he died of a heart attack, but I suspect that he succumbed to complications of brain salad surgery.

Dr John was one of the pillars of the New Orleans music scene, working as a session musician with artists across the color-divide since the 1950s (he played with Professor Longhair as a teenager).

I am a fan of the various musical traditions of Louisiana, a point I belabor on Mardi Gras, and I have posted Dr John's version of the standard Iko Iko, a song I posted a 'dissection' of a few years back.

My favorite song by Dr John is the otherworldly, creepy even, I Walk on Guilded Splinters, the tour-de-force of his psychedelic voodoo-inspired album Gris-Gris. Just try to listen to this song without feeling a sligh tingle up your spine.

Malcolm John Rebennack was a one-of-a-kind performer, a flamboyant character from a flamboyant city who took the mélange of cultures from that storied burgh, tripped out, and unleashed the resulting idiosyncratic style on an unsuspecting listening public... maybe he was the one performing brain salad surgery on the rest of us.

Sweetums, 2019 US Tour

My older brother, Sweetums, is coming on a whirlwind US tour because it's a college reunion year. He flies into JFK airport, and we are planning on having dinner with several family members before I drive him down to the Princeton, New Jersey area so he can meet up with some old college buddies and they can road-trip to the reunion. What, you thought he went to Princeton? Hey, now, Sweetums is elite, he's not an elitist. While the prospect of driving on the New Jersey Turnpike isn't exactly a pleasant one, I can't think of anyone I'd rather be stuck in traffic with than il fratello maggiore mio. It'll be nice that he's combining a family reunion with his college reunion.

Floofy, yet Dangerous

I haven't written a Ginger post in a while, so I figured I'd post a comical picture of my divalicious co-worker acting like a floofy, goofy girl. Here's my beloved kitteh exposing her soft white underbelly:

A dog person would interpret this as a desire for a belly rub, but cats are more ambiguous than dogs and that soft, fluffy expanse of fur is surrounded by four sets of switchblades. In this particular case, it's probably a sign of Ginger's trust, but I know her well enough so that I stick to the safe spots when I pet her.

The Ants in France Live Mainly on the Plants

I had a conversation with one of our site visitors yesterday about flowers... I mentioned that she had missed the blooming of the lilacs by a couple of weeks, and she wistfully mused, "I wish the flowers could last all year long." I noted that I loved the sense of succession, the changing of the various botanical sensations. I love the daffodils and crocuses in late March and throughout April, as well as the wild redbud blossoms. They give way to the cherry blossoms, wisteria, and lilac. Now, it's the locust blossoms and the showy peony flowers:

Is that color not outrageous? Of course, with peonies, you get the ants, which are attracted to the nectaries the buds feature much like the trumpet vine does. The vampire hell ants are long extinct, and the current ants tend to prefer heavenly food sources.

The Breakfast Club

I typically work a graveyard shift on Saturday and Sunday, and the last big task of the day is making sure that the place is open for business. I run around unlocking the parking lot gates and await the arrival of the day shift. The cleaning contractors typically arrive around 8AM, and the first of my co-workers arrives around 8:30.

Last week, the Colombia-born cleaning lady brought be a roll from a Colombian bakery, a slightly sweet roll with a slightly coarse crumb... the perfect accompaniment to a cup of the country's famous coffee. She then joked that her male counterpart, who was born and raised in Peru, would bring in some Peruvian bread. I jokingly asked her, "O, quiere decir una papa?", which translates to "Oh, do you mean a potato?" This had her doubled over in laughter, but there's a grain tuber of truth in this, as there is in every successful joke.

This morning, I was the recipient of not one, but two, light and airy rolls from a Peruvian bakery, accompanied by a Peruvian tamal, which differed from Mexican tamales by being wrapped in a banana leaf instead of a leaf from a cornstalk:

This tamal reminded me a lot of the pasteles that my Puerto Rican friends make for Christmas, with maize substituted for the traditional Caribbean blend of yuca and plantain:

It even had the fleeting briny bite of a small green olive placed in the dough to give a hint of seasoning.

The bar has been raised for Sunday breakfast. I figure that, since I have to work overnight, I am at a disadvantage unless I cook something myself. I have an electric burner in the house, purchased when my sister-in-law cooked a nabemono for Christmas dinner one year... now I have to figure out what I can make for what is shaping up to be a Sunday breakfast club.

This Being June 1st

June first is my sister's birthday, and when we were young, it signaled the beginning of that awkward period when my sister and I, Irish twins, were the same age... it was a time when we were impossible to be around, and all of the family pretty much resigned themselves to us being jerks. Once my birthday rolled around, this particular phase would pass, never to be spoken of until the next year.

We've both mellowed considerably since those days of being periodic pains-in-the-ass, and the family doesn't have to deal with this unpleasantness anymore. We both share the family penchant for nerdery, but she's snarkier than I could ever hope to be, so I guess I benefited more from this mellowing. At any rate, I'll be conveying my best wishes to her when things get quiet on the job, and I'll even keep a civil tongue when I'm doing so.

Happy birthday, super-sarcastic sis!