Faith

 Business as usual. Three more people were killed in a US strike on an alleged "drug boat" in the eastern Pacific. The more colorful description came from our Department of War: This operation was “a lethal kinetic strike on a vessel operated by Designated Terrorist Organizations, (T)hree male narco-terrorists were killed during this action.”

Congratulations to those of you who had 177 on your dead alleged narco-terrorist bingo card, a number that have been killed since this administration has started their policy of shooting first and looking for survivors later. 

Couple this with the prayer led by Pistol Pete Kegsbreath who brought his order together this past Wednesday: So the prayer is CSAR 25:17 and it reads, and pray with me please, “The path of the downed aviator is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of camaraderie and duty shepherds the lost through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to capture and destroy my brother, and you will know my call sign is Sandy 1 when I lay my vengeance upon thee. Amen.” 

If you're looking in your King James for this verse, you might look for Ezekiel 25:17: “And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.” You know, from the Old Testament. It probably sounds familiar to those of you who have seen Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction. Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, may have taken the time to memorize Sam's version: “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord, when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”

It would seem as though Pete has been cribbing not from the Bible so much as a fictional hitman from a thirty-two year old movie. 

It should further be noted that it was just a day before that when Jaime Doucet Vance said, "I think it’s very, very important for the pope to be careful when he talks about matters of theology.”

Perhaps he should stick to matters more suited to the Vatican, such as appropriating quotes from Quentin Tarantino movies. 

Sunsihne!

 So, once upon a time Jimmy Carter had solar panels installed on the White House. That was back in 1979, when the technology for solar energy was still in its early stages. “A generation from now, this solar heater can either be a curiosity, a museum piece, an example of a road not taken, or it can be a small part of one of the greatest and most exciting adventures ever undertaken by the American people.”

Sadly, it didn't take a generation for judgement to be called in. In spite of Jimmy's whish that “the power of the sun to enrich our lives as we move away from our crippling dependence on foreign oil,” the guy that came in behind him in succession had the panels torn down as part of "roof repairs." They were not replaced. The tax credits initiated by the Carter administration were removed at this same moment in history. Ronald Reagan's attorney general, Edwin Meese, felt that solar panels were not an image befitting of a super power. 

Those same solar panels sat in a warehouse in Maine, where they stayed even during the "Green" Clinton/Gore administration. In 2006, one panel made it down to the Carter Library in Atlanta, delivered there, fittingly, by two students in a vegetable oil-powered vehicle. Somewhere in the middle of all that mess, George HW Bush had a nine kilowatt, rooftop solar electric or photovoltaic system, as well as two solar thermal systems that heat water used on the premises.

In 2013, President Barack Obama had new solar panels installed, with the goal of generating six kilowatts. We might call this a "nice start." The one hundred thrity-two room White House is still far from being energy efficient. 

One might imagine that the current resident tore down an entire wing of the mansion to make the People's House more energy efficient. But that would be an imagining, since the proposed replacement for that structure has a great big roof with no plans for any sort of solar array. 

For a bit of history, gasoline during the crisis point of Jimmy Carter's presidency was one dollar per gallon. Adjusted for today's economy, that would be three dollars. Most of the planet would like to see three dollars a gallon again. 

Just like most of the planet would like to see renewable energy become the path to energy independence. I don't have any evidence of a war being started because of solar energy. 

Now there's a bright idea. 

Church

 "Your flag flyin' over the courthouse

Means certain things are set in stone.

Who we are, what we'll do and what we won't"

It was this moment that I looked over at my son, taking in Bruce Springsteen singing "The Long Walk Home" for us and a few thousand of our new closest friends, imparting the words of a father to a son. I had made peace with the fact that he might spend a little time peering at his phone, but not at this moment. He was staring directly down at the stage where that beacon of hope and dreams was giving us his all.

There were tears in his eyes. 

And I felt so lucky to be there with him. 

After the show, walking with his mother and I, he explained his phone distraction. "I was looking up the songs on Wikipedia. I wanted to remember them and what they were about." 

And I felt so lucky to be there with him. 

Like those moments when we walk under the trestle in Disneyland, stepping out onto Main Street, and looking over to see his smile. In these moments, I can see our bond. I used to worry about dragging my family out to see Bruce Springsteen each time he would come around on tour. 

I'm not worried anymore. All the magic that is carried in those songs, in those words, they have been passed along. They live on in his heart and his soul. 

In the row in front of us, a younger version of the father and son dynamic was taking place. Dad was up, singing and dancing, then sitting down briefly to cajole his son into the music of this night. I silently wished them the same success I have had. 

We have had. It's gonna be a long walk home, but at least I know we'll be going there together. 

Worst

 “I will not enter into debate. The things that I say are certainly not meant as attacks on anyone. The message of the Gospel is very clear: ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’” This is how the first U.S. born Pope chose to respond to the vitriolic attack by the convicted felon currently taking refuge in the ruins of the White House. 

In case you missed it, the convicted felon took to his social media to insist that “Pope Leo is WEAK on Crime, and terrible for Foreign Policy. I don’t want a Pope who thinks it’s OK for Iran to have a Nuclear Weapon.” This came from the same account that threatened to destroy an entire civilization a week ago, and had also included an image that depicted the aforementioned user in white and red robes with one hand resting on the forehead of a sick man while the other emanated light. 

So, first of all, posting horrendous things online is not a crime, per se, but one does wonder how it is that any respectable social media platform would allow that kind of ugliness. 

Unless the social media platform in question was being run by a thirty-four time convicted felon. Currently holding steady at twice impeached, adjudicated rapist owner of a social media platform named, as ironically as possible, Truth. 

What is Truth? Some would tell you that truth is that which corresponds to reality. Given the haphazard nature of the Orange Worst's views on the world including sharks, windmills and other living things, one could probably make a case that he wouldn't know truth if it walked up and handed him a subpoena. 

The Vice President, Jimmy Duggan Vance, is a practicing Catholic who already had the distinction of killing a Pope. He is currently trying to figure out how his eternal future will be affected by serving a boss who seems to care so little about other humans and peace on this plane. The sins of the Orange Worst are already written down, annotated and ready for release as soon as the Department of Justice starts following the law signed by (checks notes) the Orange Worst. 

Meanwhile, any actual judgement awaits for the Worst. 

Have your popcorn ready. 

When The Wheels Come Off

 Things will have to change a whole lot more and quickly for me to point to Viktor Orbán's defeat as a tide that is turning. Much in the same way that the number of special election wins for Democrats here in the United States does not suggest that we are out of the proverbial woods. 

That being said, let me take a moment to run a few laps around the loss of one of the convicted felon's authoritarian all-stars. Just before Sunday's election, the Orange Worst took a break from ignoring the war he started in Iran to post, “My Administration stands ready to use the full Economic Might of the United States to strengthen Hungary’s Economy, as we have done for our Great Allies in the past, if Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and the Hungarian People ever need it.” Just prior to dropping by Pakistan to foul up negotiation with the aforementioned Iran war, Jeffery Depstien Vance popped by Budapest to place an ill-fated thumb on the scale of international politics. 

For the record, Josh Duhamel Vance went 0 for 2 on his globetrotting mission, failing to re-elect his boss' fellow despot and not being able to get Iran to back down from their commitment to repel the Christian invaders. Maybe somebody should have mentioned John Deere Vance's track record with foreign leaders, like the Pope, one of whom died shortly after his visit and the new guy who declined any visit to the United States while the adjudicated rapist is still in charge. 

Meanwhile, back in Budapest, a record voter turnout helped bring an end to the sixteen year rule of former Prime Minister Orbán. European Union leaders as a group exhaled as this Putin Puppet was pushed aside for a renewed commitment to the EU and its member nations in hopes of turning around years of corruption and stagnation for the Hungarian people. Along with the defeat of Orbán, the reform party headed by new Prime Minsiter Péter Magyar, Tisza, is expected to gain a supermajority in the Hungarian parliament. 

Notable in this development: Orbán managed to do something that his American counterpart could never do. He conceded defeat.

This is what happens when you send Jiminy Doofus out to do a big boy's job. 

It's also what happens when people vote.

Vote as if your life depended on it. 

Because it does. 

Club

 I was being asked by the media to care about a golf tournament. 

With baseball just starting and the basketball season winding down, this has always been a tough spot for sports. The Stanley Cup is still months from being given away to the hockey team that manages not to succumb to the tedium of two months of playoffs. The Masters is the best chance we are told to see the pageantry of trophy celebrations on full display for spectators. 

Maybe we are supposed to care because Tiger Woods will not be playing in this year's tournament. Who will rise to that occasion and take Tiger's place? Who will get all hopped up on goofballs and drive his very expensive SUV into oncoming traffic before calling his "good friend" the "president" when authorities arrive to take him into custody? 

Then there's this other major challenge getting me to care about golf. There's this little matter of the more than one hundred million dollars American taxpayers are paying so that the aforementioned "president" could whack a ball and chase it on courses that (checks notes) the aforementioned "president" owns. Compound this financial burden with the seemingly unrelenting images of this convicted felon out on the greens while the country falls deeper and deeper into a dystopian caricature of itself thanks to his "leadership." I suppose we should be happy that he isn't actually playing a fiddle instead of whacking a ball and chasing it. 

So this Masters thing. It's been a big deal for a long time. Ninety two years, with only a two year break for that little inconvenience called World War II. The World Series, that's baseball, has a longer stretch than that, and Lord Stanley's Cup has been awarded more than one hundred times. But I guess we should give some appreciation to this pantheon of championships. Providing that we don't bother mentioning that it wasn't until 1990 that the golf club where the tournament has been held all those years allowed its first black member admission. Or that it took until 2012 for women to be allowed into the club. Of course that skews a little different when you consider that club rules stated that players would be assigned caddies by the club, all of whom were black. 

Ah, the storied tradition of The Masters. Aren't you glad you asked me to pay attention? 

I won't be watching. 

Again. 

A Break

 What I wanted was a break. 

What I got was food poisoning. 

For those of you who have been reading this blog from the beginning, the phrase "last piece of lasagna" might bring with it a faint air of nostalgia, or perhaps a little sympathetic nausea. It was not, to paraphrase Carl Denham, the lasagna that got me. 'Twas burrito that killed the beast. 

Carne asada will now be added to the list of phrases that will give me pause when considering my meal choices. 

Some four days after the Burrito Express came rushing out of me with all the urgency one might imagine a digestive system stuck on reverse could manage, solid food was something that my vacation was sadly missing. There was one day when I felt as if I had proceded to the normal lane, but my guts did not approve. They let me know that dry toast and Gatorade would be on the menu until everything was all settled down there, thank you very much. 

This meant that even day trips to some nearby bed and breakfast were off the table. So was my daily exercise regimen. As I spent those days sitting around my house waiting for the next gastric eruption, waiting for the scourge to fully depart, I felt the enforced low-key staycation weighing on my soul. Sure, I had made it out into the yard before the cursed burrito experience to trim up the trees, making way for Spring's renewal, but the reality of my situation was embedded in my diminished physicality. 

I watched a lot of TV. I tried not to bother my wife or my cat with my needs. I was only moderately successful with this, as my usual tireless approach to maintaining order took a miss and I spent a lot of time wondering just exactly how long it would take until I was "all better." 

There is no reset button. It takes time. Thankfully Spring Break allowed me this luxury. For this I have decided to be thankful. And as far as breaks go, I will be taking a break from Burrito Express.