Cashing In

 Last Wednesday, a third grade boy came up to me, waving a crumpled hundred dollar bill under my nose. My first inclination was to assume, as is often the case, that the kids had found the cache of play money scattered about the school. Upon closer inspection, I recognized that this was not cache money, but rather cash money. This eight year old had more money in his hand than I had seen in one place for quite some time. 

"Whose money is that?"

"It's mine!"

"We should probably put that someplace safe. Maybe in the office so that it won't get lost."

A nod.

"Where did it come from?

Long pause. "Jonathan."

Now it was my turn to pause, with a knowing look. "Where did Jonathan get it?"

The floodgates, as it so often happens with children, flew open. He went on to describe how Jonathan had given him a hundred dollars, and at least a couple other classmates their own crisp hundred dollar bill. They were stuffed in pockets and backpacks. Secretly. But the fifteen minute window in which these kids had sworn not to tell anyone else expired. The story began to unravel. 

Apparently, Jonathan had "found" nine hundred dollars under his grandmother's pillow. Jonathan has been looking for a way to connect with his fellow third graders, and he found it: give them money. 

Lots of money. 

To his credit, Jonathan was very generous. He kept none of the money for himself. He was hoping his new friends could, in his words, "buy themselves something they really wanted." The phone call our principal made to grandma was a delicate one. The hope was that Jonathan's altruism would not get lost in the wash. The sticky part was separating the parts that were right from the parts that were wrong. 

A few hours after this incident, the convicted felon and former game show host stood in front of a sparsely attended rally of his supporters and announced that he would be giving away cash money to every adult in America if they would just vote the way he wants them to. The money in question did not come from underneath his grandmother's pillow. 

Let's Make A Bad Deal

 Sometimes I like to toss around the sobriquet "former game show host" as if it were meant to be a put down for the convicted felon taking up space in the ruins of the White House. 

You may have noticed this trend. 

After this past Wednesday's speech at the Fuhrer Festival, I believe that it may be the most accurate depiction of a sloppy husk of a person who is currently grasping at straws in hope of staying out of prison. I am speaking most directly to the proposed five thousand dollar payout to every adult American if Republicans manage to retain control of Congress after November's midterm election. 

In case you missed it because you were watching the first NFL game of the new season, or perhaps reruns of South Park, or maybe you had an appointment that evening to have your corns shaved, the twice-impeached "president" was calling on anyone and everyone within the sound of his voice: “If the Republicans win, you win with us, and you get five thousand dollars.” 

Okay. For just a second let's skip the details like where that cash would come from, or if somehow the outcome was a dead heat, and walk right up to this thing and lick it. 

Go ahead. I'm sure it will be fine. No awful germs or tastes here. RFK Jr. it will be a nutritious start to your day. 

Oh. I see. You're skeptical. Why would you want to put your face anywhere near something that dropped from the slit below the Dear Leader's nose? I get that. As an alternative, I suggest we poke at it with a metaphorical stick: Does that five thousand dollars feel like it would pay for all the money we citizens have been shelling out for gas and groceries and electricity and so forth since the beginning of the Second Trumpreich? Your average household has spent an additional three thousand dollars since the adjudicated rapist took office for the second time, with little or no assurances that there would be any change in policy or spending over the next two years. 

Alright. Now we can do the scary math. This little "gift" from the account of the US government, currently estimated to be operating at a deficit of nearly two trillion dollars, will cost nearly one trillion dollars. Now, do you want to double down with the clowns currently running the show in order to push the country further into debt, or can you imagine that just maybe it's time to change the ringmaster? 

Or would you like to trade for the box in front of which Carol Merrill is now standing? 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and in this case it seems that for the former game show host stupid times call for even stupider measures. 

Don't Worry About The Government

 I have written here before about how I used to get spooked by newspaper accounts of cattle mutilations. These fears sprang not so much from concern over the cows, since even back then my carnivorous predilection was already well-known, but rather for what might happen when these aliens or devil worshipers or alien devil worshipers ran out of cattle to mutilate. 

Would I be next?

Much in the same way I worried about being harassed by Big Foot. The humanoid beast who wandered the woods of the Pacific Northwest, not the monster truck. I was somewhat frequently found in the woods, but not in the Pacific Northwest. Still. What would happen when Big Foot's wandering grounds expanded because of some ecological malfeasance  and I would end up face to face with an unhappy Sasquatch because of some corporation's pollution distribution problem?

What if? 

Happily, it never occurred to me to worry that these two fears might merge and become great tall alien devil worshiping cattle mutilators skulking around the forests just outside my door. 

But since we're already talking about the devil, what ever happened to that other favorite seventies terror, The Devil's Triangle. This one bothered me greatly not because of my proximity to the Atlantic Ocean, but then again, I was not particularly concerned with geography when it came to arbitrary fears. 

I used to read accounts of airplanes and pleasure cruises that simply disappeared in a region off the coast of Bermuda that became synonymous with disappearing pleasure cruises and airplanes. GPS did not become available for civilian use until the 1980s, so that meant that once you drifted into this triangular region with just your wits and a compass that became instantly useless, you were very much on your own. Left to be devoured by great tall alien devil worshiping cattle mutilators patrolling the area in unidentified floating objects. 

As late as 2023, a French sailboat went missing in that bit of Caribbean geometry. Then again, the number of pilots, passengers, sailors and potential castaways that have travelled through this potentially hazardous zone of terror might suggest that we didn't have anything to worry about.

But that's just what those great tall alien devil worshiping cattle mutilators patrolling the area in unidentified floating objects would like you to think. 

Misinformation Accomplished!

 " I’ll never forget two firemen. We thought it was coming down on top of us, and two firemen — big, strong guys — and I’m not the smallest guy in the world — they grabbed me under the arms, said, ‘Gotta get out of here.’ And they literally lifted me up. This is not easy to do. I’m big. They lifted me up and they started running with me. I said, ‘Fellas, I can run myself.’ But they were amazing, but they thought it was coming down; it didn’t come down. US Steel.”

These were part of the "prepared remarks" that the convicted felon who claims that he never met the woman he raped shared across the street from another demolished building: The White House. 

You may recall the roasting that George "The W Is Silent" Bush received after his performance art piece in which he hopped out of a plane that had just landed on an aircraft carrier. In his flight suit, he posed for photos and made the most out of his junior flight instructor badge before changing into a suit and tie. Once behind the podium on the USS Abraham Lincoln, he stood in front of a banner in May 1, 2003 to repeat the message, "Mission Accomplished." 

A couple things: Military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan continued until August 31. 2010. So the mission was far from "accomplished" as this dog and pony show played out. Also, the USS Abraham Lincoln was only thirty miles from shore. In San Diego. There was no reason that W couldn't have used a helicopter to make that hop. Except he needed those points to help him graduate junior flight instructor class. 

Oh. And that aircraft carrier. It may sound familiar too. Mostly because recently it sailors have been abandoning ship when they weren't complaining about the conditions on board during its nine month deployment. Twenty-three years later, it's headed back to San Diego. 

Meanwhile the feeble-wobble currently making bad decisions used the twenty-fifth anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks to make it all about himself, neatly dovetailing with the bizarre AI memes his social media count keeps pushing out. As a general flanked by Patton and MacArthur. Sitting in a meeting, regaling George Washington with his plans for a ballroom. 

What I am suggesting here is that the convicted felon and his predecessor in war crimes share a very active fantasy life. Since the last time the twice impeached "president" was involved in any sort of airborne "daring do" he was hiding in a catering truck he can continue to dream. 

For the crew of the USS Abraham Lincoln, I hope their tour of Fantasy Island is ended, and someone can take the former game show host's phone away, leaving him the option to spin his tales of stolen valor to anyone who will listen. Natalie? 

Spam

 Every day.

Every single day. 

My inbox is filled with email from all manner of things Democratic. The party, that is. 

They want me to back the cause and be aware, but most of all they want money. They need my contribution to keep up the fight. Times are hard. Times are dangerous. They think I should know. 

I do know. Isn't that what I have been whining about, off and on, for the past ten years right here on this very spot?

Okay. So we agree. Things have gone for worse to worser, and there is no hope in sight. Well, unless I chip in the prescribed fifteen to one hundred five dollars. Then everything will be alright. 

For the record, I have sent money to campaigns and causes. In the past. That is why I am currently receiving so very many emails asking that I send more. 

Except current realities preclude me from supporting James Talarico. And/or Abdul El-Sayed. Or any of the myriad candidates in any of the fixed number of states that would bring about a leveling of the playing field we call "politics in America." These realities are primarily economic, but I will attest to a certain degree of a difficulty with reality itself. 

All that money I spent trying to get Kamala Harris elected did not turn out the way I wanted. Nor, apparently, did it buy a spine for those Democrats currently ensconced in their difficult but considerably more comfortable situations than mine. You are asking me to pitch in to support the writing of yet another strongly worded letter to the clowns currently in charge? With the full and complete knowledge that they do not know how to read?

Some of these emails try to disguise themselves as "surveys." They claim to want to know my position on issues like the relative fitness of the Orange Worst to run our country. I will answer faithfully right up until the moment that they want me to click on that recommended contribution button. 

I understand that it costs money to print posters. It takes money to put up TV spots. It takes money to get those clever social media posts coming. It takes money to keep my local public television station on the air. 

They sent me a tote bag. 

Now I want my government back, thank you very much. 

For that, you will receive my vote. 

Schools Of Thought

 In Buddhism, they say "suffering exists." It is the core principle of the Four Noble Truths: Dukkha, which translates not just to acute pain, but to a fundamental sense of impermanence, incompleteness, and unease in life. 

According to the Bible, suffering exists because human disobedience brought sin, death and brokenness into a world that God originally made perfect.

I guess I'm feeling a little more Buddhist currently, since I have a little difficulty imagining that somehow we have all been so disobedient that we deserve the brokenness. Five year old boys being scooped up by masked goons and sent to detention camps does not seem to fit that model. 

As a measure of impermanence and unease, I think this feels more like the life in which we are currently living. If we continue to examine those Four Noble Truths, we understand that our suffering is caused by craving, desire, and attachment. Furthermore, ignorance of how the world truly works also keeps us tied to this cycle. This would go a long way to explaining how even though I have finally been able to land at a living wage and own my own house and even an electric car I don't feel "happy." A quick look to the left or right would remind me that what really ought to be happening on our planet is most definitely not happening on our planet, and all that desire and attachment is a driving force in what is keeping us from achieving peace or calm or happiness or any of those things advertised as being just over the rainbow. If we keep up that struggle. 

Letting go of all that could lead us to nirvana. The state of mind, not the band. 

I feel so diametrically opposed to the direction and goals of the country in which I live. The world as a whole seems to be so profoundly invested in powering on past the signposts that should be guiding us toward a better life breeze past like a picket fence. Here in the so-called United States we have been pushing that notion that he who dies with the most toys wins. Wealth and wisdom do not always go hand in hand. They tend instead to be more of an inversely related relationship. 

So, since it may be some time before we start getting practicing Buddhists elected into office, maybe we should take it as a sign that we have begun to vote for more Muslims. The Quran suggests that suffering is  a temporary test of faith, a means to spiritual purification, and a path to divine mercy rather than senseless punishment. And even if we want to keep voting for Christians, let's make sure they've actually read the Bible, and maybe even understood it. 

Now, A Word

 If you know anything about me, you know how important television is to me. 

Not the appliance, necessarily, but rather the opportunity to sit in front of a torrent of sound and vision that seemingly has not beginning and no apparent end. 

A lot has changed since I started staring at cathode ray tubes back in the early sixties. My earliest recollection is the funeral procession of John F. Kennedy on the TV in that basement of my parent's house and the reflections it made on the tile floor. I am certain that I did not comprehend the gravity or social implications of what was taking place, but image was burned into my brain at a year and change of age. 

I have friends and acquaintances who will announce their conscious choice to go for periods of their lives without television. I know that one of the biggest challenges for my burgeoning brain was being deprived of video input for those long summers my family spent living in the mountains. Each trip down to our suburban base camp allowed me a brief fix of just about anything that was on when our chores were done and before the car was loaded for our retreat back up those winding roads. 

I cannot remember a time when my parents set any kind of limit on the hours I spent staring at our television. To the contrary: We were that family that had a set on wheels that could be rolled into the kitchen to be plugged in so as to distract us from any and all healthy unemotional conversations that might take place. This was not a concern, since there was plenty of conversation about just about everything all the time at my house. 

A lot of it was about what we had seen on television. 

All of this history is an introduction to the news that came to me last week via a forwarded email, initially received by my wife. "Beginning November 2, 2026, the current version of SkipMode, using the Skip Button on your TiVo remote, will no longer be available." In less than two months, I will no longer be able to avoid commercials with a mere flick of my thumb. We have been reassured that Tivo users will still be able to manually fast forward in that inexact way that harkens back to those days of VHS recordings of NBC's Must See TV lineup. Once upon a time, in a previous century, it was my wife's cleverness that brought Tivo into our lives based in large part for the capacity to skip those annoying ads. 

Much in the same way that I felt personally attacked by paying for Prime Video to load up commercials in and around the content I have already paid to stream into my home, I am curious as to just exactly how this is a consumer-driven decision, and how much is it a simple hostage situation?

So, my wife and I will shift our consciousness to becoming more appreciative of the art of television advertising. If we truly have no choice but to embrace the disruption we will do just that. Soon we will be cataloging favorite commercial breaks between shows that are merely getting in the way of our ads. Home Shopping Network and Infomercials will fill up our hard drives. 

And eventually they will have to carry us away to a quiet home in the mountains. Without a TV.