Everything

 In my tales of the workplace, I have spent perhaps an inordinate amount of time discussing my experience as a purveyor of sliced "roast beef" sandwiches clad in brown polyester. Not the kind of attention my career as an elementary school has garnered, but you might imagine that I spent a decade there. 

Not even. 

But I do carry a scar from that tour of duty. 

The scars I carry from working on the loading dock of Target are all internal. A few days back I felt that emotional tissue tingle just a bit when I read the headline: "Target shifts away from being an 'everything store.'" Quelle surprise! As a grown up, my wife and I have a habit of making a date out of our trips to what we had believed was "an everything store."

Not anymore. 

Quelle damage.

Where might I have gotten this impression? 

Perhaps from those nights I spent in my youth in the back room of my local Target, unloading forty foot trailers. We took merchandise off the trucks and organized them according to the department that each item belonged. Housewares. Toys. Hardware. Automotive. Electronics. And so forth. Sometimes we would run across a something that defied categorization. This gave us on the crew a moment of consideration before one of us would say, "Notions." We had a pallet for "Notions." And if we filled it up, we would get a pallet jack and drag it off into the cavernous warehouse to be set aside for whenever we run out of "Notions." Then it would be the job of someone else with a red vest, which would distinguish them from the urchins in the back room unloading the trucks, to deliver those items to the shelves in that mystical realm located somewhere in the store. 

Somewhere. 

I knew where Garden was. I knew where Electronics was located. 

Notions? That was the place where Everything was unloaded. Did you need a desk organizer? Look for it in Notions. What about those felt pads that you stick on the bottom of your chair legs to keep them from scuffing the floor? That's a Notion. 

And that's why you go to Target. Because Target is not just an Everything Store. It's a Notion Store. 

And that's Everything to me. 

Back Nine

 "Sir, are you sure?"

"Yes, I want the nine."

"Well, okay. But that's not exactly what I was asking about."

"Ah, thank you. The big nine." 

"I was talking more about playing golf, you know, after the thing."

"What thing?"

"With Iran."

"Oh that thing. Stand back now. I've got quite a back swing."

“If I didn’t terminate Obama’s horrendous Iran Nuclear Deal, Iran would have had a Nuclear Weapon three years ago. That was the most dangerous transaction we have ever entered into, and had it been allowed to stand, the World would be an entirely different place right now. You can blame Barack Hussein Obama, and Sleepy Joe Biden.”

"Well, sir, if I may: Some of our servicemen are dead."

"What do you think that is, about forty yards?"

"I'm wondering if seeing the President out on the golf course the day after he sends our military into harm's way..."

"Whose military?"

"Sorry sir. Sorry. Your military."

“The Radical Left Democrats, a Party that has completely lost its way, are complaining bitterly about the very necessary and important attack, by the United States and Israel, on Iran. What most people understand is that they are only complaining BECAUSE I DID IT and, if I didn’t do it, they would be screaming — Why didn’t ‘TRUMP’ attack Iran, he should do it, IMMEDIATELY? Do you think the breeze is from the north?"

"I think it's coming from the Middle East."

"How's that?"

"Nothing."

"Look son, some people are going to have to give up their lives. That's just the way it is."

"Yes sir."

“Sleepy Joe Biden spent all of his time, and our Country’s money, GIVING everything to P.T. Barnum (Zelenskyy!) of Ukraine - Hundreds of Billions of Dollars worth - And, while he gave so much of the super high end away (FREE!), he didn’t bother to replace it. Fortunately, I rebuilt the military in my first term, and continue to do so. The United States is stocked, and ready to WIN, BIG!!!”

"Of course, sir."

"And did you see the drapes I picked out?"

"Drapes?"

"For the ballroom." 

"No."

"No?"

"No sir."

"Alright then. Forty yards t the cup. I should be able to knock this in and still get back to the club in time to watch Real Housewives."

"Yes."

"What's that?"

"Yes sir." 

Optics Ad Infinitum

 When a convicted felon announces from a perch safely hidden within the cavernous Xanadu of his own golf club that, “Sadly, there will likely be more before it ends. That’s the way it is. Likely to be more. But we’ll do everything possible where that won’t be the case,” we have passed the point of no return. 

He can only say this ice cold drivel if someone out there is listening. And believing. 

When an adjudicated rapist can tell anyone who wants to listen that he has been "completely exonerated" of charges connected to the sex trafficking ring that his good friend Jeffrey Epstein ran for decades, he is speaking to the faithful. 

That's not faith in anything in heaven's creation. It comes from someplace much darker. 

The Orange Worst is counting on there being still another place he can take his rabble where they can't hear the voice of reason. The voice of diplomacy. The voice of peace. There can be no regrets in his army of lemmings. Forward into the abyss. 

What are the alternatives? I spent the weekend contacting my elected representatives. I continue to talk to anyone who will listen, including you dear reader, of the existential threat being poised by this one man. There is no right left in this administration. It contains only rage and fear. That is the fuel that keeps him awake and alive. Let that noxious gas out of the balloon that he inhabits and you would be left with nothing. No apologies. No regrets. 

He will stand in front of a group of people looking for relief from the strain of living their lives here in the country he nominally controls, and he can give them only more fear and rage. Blame for everyone and everything that he has brought on. All by himself. 

A man who dodged serving his country and promoted himself as "the peace president" is sending Americans into war with the assurance that there will be more because, "that's the way it is." 

I implore you not to accept this. It is not the way it is outside of his deranged myopathy. The world is waiting for this to end. 

Sooner. 

Not later. 

What's Going On?

 Coming out of the tunnel that was my union's negotiations with our school district, relieved to not having to walk a picket line in order to receive a raise that will essentially keep up with the cost of living over the next two years, I find the sound of gears out of alignment keeping me awake. 

What is causing that irritating noise? The sound of the Pentagon, the newly minted "Department of War" scurrying about trying to figure out how to spend the additional five hundred billion dollars that the head of the Trump Crime Family has demanded for its upcoming budget. This goes on top of a trillion dollars already earmarked for the purchase of guns and bombs. 

Make no mistake: These guns and bombs are no longer being used in our "defense." These purchases are for weapons of war, which is precisely why some one hundred million dollars was spent on websites and documentation for the name change. 

That and to satisfy the blood lust of a group of people who wouldn't know actual war if it landed on their heads and started to wiggle. This is a cabal of individuals clustered together to support the ego and lies of one person. They are tasked with creating enough noise to drown out all the other distractions from uncovering the convicted felon for exactly what he is: A charlatan sociopath with delusions of grandeur. 

And we get stuck paying the bill. 

I contacted both my senators and my congressperson to let them know that I consider it the highest priority for them to stop this illegal war and to remove this snake-oil salesman from office. I would encourage you all to do the same. I still cling to the belief that there are more than enough sane Americans left to turn this ship around before it becomes an uninhabitable hellscape, regardless of the pittance offered up by the powers that be to keep us on our knees. 

I want free elections. I want peace. I want to let freedom ring. 

The Price Of Peace

 My wife insists that all responsible journalists should stop using the tag "said" when printing quotes from the Orange Worst. Instead, use a universal replace with the word, "lied." 

Like all that talk about peace. The Boared/Bored of Peace requires all permanent members contribute one billion dollars in cash in the first year of their enrollment. Argentina, Armenia, Azerbaijan,Bahrain, Bulgaria, El Salvador, Hungary, Indonesia, Israel, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kosovo, Mongolia, Morocco, Pakistan, Paraguay, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, United States, and Uzbekistan have all poinied up that big wad of cash to be part of what is supposed to be promoting global stability, restore governance, and secure peace in conflict-affected areas. Like Gaza, a place the convicted felon and adjudicated rapist once hoped to turn into "The Riviera of the Middle East." Fellow real estate developer and son-in-law Jared Kushner sits at the top of the organizational chart for this Bored, so the chances are good that there will be a championship golf course installed, aided by the countless numbers of shell craters created by the three years of nearly incessant bombing of the area. 

You may notice that there are a number of countries missing from that list, partly because they can't afford the membership fee because they are currently under attack from other invading nations. Like Ukraine. And Greenland. And Veneauela. And Iran. Those last two are "our bad," since the peace that those countries might be enjoying was disrupted by (checks notes) The Trumpstein Regime. 

The suggestion that the former game show host and owner of four bankrupt casinos will be up to the task of promoting any sort of stability seems like a stretch if not a bald faced lie. The nominal purpose of the most recent attacks directed by the Chairman of the Board of Peace was to re-obliterate the nuclear capabilities of Iran, but also managed to target key member's of that nation's leadership. Not for capture and return to the United States for trial like we did for Nicolas Maduro, but the not-so-subtle attempt of regime change via high explosives. Meanwhile, Board of Peace member Pakistan called for the U.S. attacks to stop and ”an immediate halt to escalation through urgent resumption of diplomacy to achieve a peaceful, negotiated resolution to the crisis.” Russia also took time out of their invasion of sovereign nation Ukraine to complain about the United States' invasion of a sovereign nation. 

There was no immediate response from the guy who pulled the trigger and/or the Chariman of the Bored. 

That's what a billion dollars will get you these days. 

Tent To The Ively

 At three in the morning on what was essentially the last day of negotiations before the Oakland Education Association went on strike, a tentative agreement was reached. The rank and file, myself included, breathed a sigh of relief. Yet another in a series of battles for the right to provide education to the public school students of Oakland was won. 

"Won." 

With all the asterisks that come with a beast we call "tentative." Signing on to be a part of this machine, showing up every day and providing services to the community that stretch far beyond my job description provides me the security that can be best described as "tentative." The Oakland Unified School District is not sending a car for me each and every morning to drive me to the work I do, and my salary is determined primarily as an operation of things for which I have no active impact on with the possible exception of simply showing up. Every single day. 

I will be receiving an eleven percent raise, over the course of two years. I won't probably see the whole thing since I have plans to retire before those two years are up. But it's a nice bit of news as I head off into the sunset. 

It tends to displace a bit of the trauma experienced by the announcement just a couple days before the "tentative" agreement that the district will be laying off four hundred twenty-one people in order to close the one hundred million dollar budget deficit they find themselves with. Noting that none of the positions eliminated were School Board officials. One hundred forty-four additional positions will have their hours cut. 

To save money.

To give me a raise.

This comes somewhere in the midst of an additional flurry to get as many folks in the district to retire early. I don't claim to be an expert at labor relations, but something about all of this leaves me feeling like I'm running to stand still. 

And maybe the best part of this whole transaction is that I will most likely avoid walking a picket line one more time before I actually do stand still. 

Tentatively. 

We're Watching

 Several people were involved in the invention of the microphone. Initially it was developed by Alexander Graham Bell to make his telephone more useful. That was back in 1876. A year or so later, Emile Berliner sold his patent to a more refined version of the device to Bell. Another year passed and David Edward Hughes continued to improve on these initial designs, and coined the term "microphone." Thomas Edison, who didn't allow science to move too far without putting his stamp on a carbon button transmitter that became the standard for telephony. That was back in 1886. One hundred forty-years ago. 

Video cameras began their existence as movie cameras beginning shortly after those microphone inventions. A funny science joke might be made here about how this was a case of sound traveling faster than light, but I won't bother you with that now. Instead I will let you know that those first moving picture cameras were created to capture events as they happened in "real time." The Lumiere brothers produced the first black and white document of this kind in 1895, and clocked in at forty-six seconds. It showed workers leaving the brothers' factory. It was about the length of your standard TikTok video. 

In 1895, a seventeen second film of a man playing a violin was released with sound. The first music video, brought to you by William K.L. Dickson. Practical video tape recorders were still some decades off, with the creation of the Quadruplex, created by Ampex back in 1956. 

Seventy years ago. Sound and vision.

These days, we don't need tape or film anymore. We carry around more computing power in our pockets than was used to land astronauts on the moon. Things are being recorded all the time by everyone. And left on the vast storehouse of Al Gore's Internet. 

I just thought Donald Trump should know this, since he seems to believe that nobody can remember all his lies. That's what all those lights and cameras and microphones are for, you microcephalic jerk.