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. 

Women's Work

 Okay. 

So maybe it's the patriarchy. 

In spite of our best efforts, it seems as though white males make up the majority of leadership spots on our landscape. For example, we don't tend to flinch when we make a list of "the richest men in the world." We just assume that women lag so far behind that it's not worth including them in this accounting. Contrastingly it is unfortunate to note that the only two members of the convicted felon's current cabinet to be tossed out of that clown car were women. Idiots like Pistol Pete Hegseth and Robert "guess what the F stands for" Kennedy Jr. continue to hold down office space in the Kremlin West. 

This ruling party to which I have no interest in an invitation from continues to carry on in its boys' club way, denigrating and destroying anything that does not fit in their cartoon version of a masculine world. 

What about Hillary's emails? What about Kamala's laugh? There are still far too many knuckle-draggers willing to insist that we would not be better off currently if either of those women had won election. 

Or if that's too big a setting for you, let's take the confrontation between coaches Geno Auriemma and Dawn Staley in the aftermath of Staley's South Carolina women's team win in the NCAA semifinals. Coach Geno used the opportunity to fly off the handle criticizing the officiating and then had an angry interaction with Coach Staley before stalking off the court without shaking hands with the winning team. 

The one coached by a woman. 

Since then, Coach Geno has been apologetic about his part of the ugliness, but the question remains: would he have gone screaming after an opposing male coach? 

Given the current global uptick in wars and "military operations," I noticed that in spite of there being thirty countries with women as heads of state, not one of those countries is currently involved in armed conflict outside of their own borders. If you're looking for examples of that, you would have to search bac.k a few decades to Margaret Thatcher and her little escapade in the Falklands. 

Meanwhile, in spite of that seemingly "large" number of women in charge of the globe, they only comprise eight percent of all head of state or government positions worldwide. Contrast that to the stunning number of women named in the Epstein Files. 

As victims. 

Sleep tight, America. 

Risk Management

 From Al Gore's Internet: Threatening children, such as using empty threats or fear-based ultimatums, in an ineffective parenting style that damages trust, breeds resistance and causes anxiety.

For the sake of those of you who may feel that you have stumbled on some of my wife's work regarding family dynamics, I will say that I am working in a more metaphorical vein. In this particular model, the "parent" will be played by the convicted felon and nominal "president" of the United States. We will be the children.

Have you felt anxious over the past ten months? Ten years? Do you experienced trust issues with the current regime? How about the breeding of resistance? 

If you answered "yes" to any of these then you may be an American citizen. 

Unfortunately in this version of family discord, the "co-equal" branches of our parenting scheme seems to be broken. "Wait 'til your father gets home," is a pretty solid non-starter here since the problem is that even when daddy is on the golf course or sitting on the toilet late at night, the threats keep coming. More promises of punishments alternating with assurances of some sort of intangible reward that benefits only those in positions of power. Meanwhile, our economy continues to circle the drain while daddy's friends get rich on speculation that the threat of nuclear was is just a threat. 

Nothing more. 

While we sit alone in our metaphorical bedrooms, wishing that daddy would die, imagining a savior will ride in and save us all from the terror in which we currently live. Someone who will stand up to daddy and make him stop being so awful. "Don't you worry about it honey," with a reassuring pat on the head, "That bad man won't be able to hurt us anymore." Right after they write a strongly worded social media post with the caveat that unless daddy's friends move out first that there's not much to be done, but if we could just send a little more money to the committee to keep mommy safe we'll see what we can do. 

Not a very healthy dynamic. 

Another two weeks? 

Out

 I understand why we won't have Eric Swalwell to kick around anymore. Won't be running for governor of California. Won't be warming a chair in the United States House of Representatives. And most of all, according to one of the women who accused former Representative Swalwell of sexual abuse and harassment, "For me, justice won't be until he can't ever harm a woman ever again, and he has faced the consequences for the women that he has harmed."

Meanwhile, just a few doors down in Congress, Buildings and Grounds are busy scraping the name of the door of the offices of Ernest Anthony "Tony" Gonzales, former Representative from Texas. "Tony" also chose to resign after he admitted to an affair with a former aide who later committed suicide. 

By resigning before they were expelled, both men will be allowed to keep their pension benefits. 

And, if you were to listen to South Carolina's Representative Nancy Mace, you might expect to hear about more potential expulsions and/or resignations in the coming months. "Congress is not above the law. It never was," she said. "Two down, more to go."

All of this housecleaning takes place in the shadow of what used to be The People's House. That huddled Orange Mass over there continues to slither behind something every time the lights come on. There are loads of evidence tying this convicted felon to abuse of his office, federal funds, and harassment and sexual abuse that would make Messrs. Swalwell and Gonzales blush. Just a reminder that this felon was convicted of falsifying business records in connection with a case involving paying an adult film star to keep quiet about the affair he was having with her while his third wife was locked away in The Tower, caring for his infant son. And in spite of all the efforts to obscure the release of the files pertaining to the sex trafficking empire of Jeffery Epstein, one of the bits that managed to squeeze out into public view was credible evidence that the Orange Mass raped a thirteen year old girl. 

Former Representatives Swalwell and Gonzales don't have access to the machinery available to the Orange Mass to distract the public, but this is the sort of thing that should fall under the category, "No one is above the law." 

Representative Mace, a rape survivor herself, has stated she wants to see "anyone who raped underage girls in handcuffs and behind bars," including calling for the prosecution of Prince Andrew. She believes that Mister Epstein was murdered. Out of the other corner of her mouth, however, she finds the Orange Mass to be a "wonderful leader," perhaps because he has endorsed her campaign for governor of South Carolina. 

Confused? 

You probably shouldn't be. 

Full Stop

 I have one video game that I play, aside from the somewhat tedious and OCD repetitions of computer solitaire. It is called "Civilization." There are a lot of newer versions of this game, but I tend to favor the one that I started playing a couple decades ago. It was a reaction to kicking free from the first-person shooters that we had discouraged my son from playing. The very high-minded concept of this set of code is that starting thousands of years BC you are charged with guiding one of several tribes through centuries of development, hoping to survive drought and disease and other warring tribes to eventually create a modern world in which these former barbarians to inhabit. You could win the game through diplomatic means, or by beating those other civilizations to outer space. Or through do mination, crushing those other poor unfortunate peoples' lives under my cyber-despotic bootheel. 

Which raises the question, "So, if you don't want your son roaming around the universe with a ray gun, zapping aliens, why is okay for you to destroy other civilizations with a moderately superior military technology?" Well, I have spent a good deal of time rationalizing my motives, but I can say that my high-minded response centers around the notion that this is Civilization after all. Kill or be killed, isn't that the way?

The Orange Worst has been ramping up his rhetoric as his marbles continue to disappear. On the morning of his threatened destruction of the infrastructure of Iran, he let this one fly: "a whole civilization will die tonight." Not eliminating the war machinery or retaking the Strait of Hormuz by force. "A civilization will die tonight." Speculation has run rampant over the past few days as the countdown to meet the convicted felon's demands. The war crimes for which this idiot is already culpable continues to grow. This is the guy who somehow has his tiny hands on the buttons not just for Diet Coke on Demand, but the second largest nuclear arsenal in the world. Billions of dollars and thousands of lives have already been thrown into the flames in attempts to, what do we keep saying, distract from the horrors that this infantile tyrant who couldn't run a casino in Atlantic City or keep his trousers zipped.

Why hasn't anyone run into the Oval Office, or onto the golf course, thrown this enfeebled failure to the ground, handcuffed him and taken him someplace where he cannot harm another human being? 

We used to have a Congress. We used to have a sense of morality. 

I hate to say it, but we let this happen. And even if tomorrow shows up and the literal Cradle of Civilization is still standing, we should have done something different. The fate of the planet should not be left up to a Narcissistic doddering old fool with delusions of grandeur. 

"Oh, he didn't really mean it." Or, "What he really meant was..."

It should stop. 

Now. 

Hey, the stock market went up. 

Or in two weeks. 

Whatever.