Gentle Reminders

When I was 21 I picked up a 35mm camera, bought some Kodachrome, and began taking photographs. I had met a family with seven kids, three of whom were triplets. Here they are—Cindy, Kathy, and Kristy. Or is this Kathy, Kristy, and Cindy? Or?

I really began my photographic career with the Andersons.

I wrote this:

“Congratulations, Kathy! How did this happen? When did you stop being the little girl I used to see Sunday afternoons in Cincinnati?”

A couple of days ago, Kathy, either bottom, middle, or top, retired from her position as an occupational therapist, a job she held for forty-three years. She posted this photo on Facebook at the party her staff gave her to honor her.

Kathy responded to my text, “Time is so interesting, isn't it? As a young therapist, I can remember thinking of retirement as being so far off in the future and now, here it is!”

But this isn’t about Kathy, photography, or retirement. Carl Sandburg’s “Fog” is a metaphorical equivalent of the surreptitious way that time passes us by.

“The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.”

Cat feet enter quietly. Unobserved, the silent haunches remain for a moment, then move on before we’re even aware of the cat. Kathy never thought about retirement; now she’s gardening, playing with her dog. Sunrise, Sunset. My past fills volumes of memories. My future will perhaps be no thicker than a comic book, at best a thin paperback. I never saw the cat.

Dylan Thomas wrote a poem to his dying father, “Do not go gentle into that good night.” One of the lines reads, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

If I’m dying I don’t know it, unless in that very broad sense that from the moment we’re born we’re all dying. At age 77 I’m out of diapers. Pimples are so over. I’m of age to vote, to drink, and gain free admission to the Oakland Zoo. People on BART offer me their seats. The cat, still moving on its little cat feet, has left me behind.

We rage, rage in different ways. I rage when I swim a mile twice a week, when I take five mile hikes, when I wash the car, cut the grass, prune trees, pick strawberries, sweep the sidewalk, walk to the grocery, take the 66 steps out of BART in SF (not the escalator), carry my cans to the street, vacuum the floors, eschew TV, video games, arguments, complaints, regrets, self-pity. I’m working on new songs, learning new chord voicings on the guitar.

The reminders won’t go away. They beckon when I try to get up off the floor, put my socks on, bend to tie my shoes, when I stand on one foot trying not to lose my balance, or walk on rocky paths, or strain to understand conversations in crowded restaurants. I have no interest in the 63 rap stars who’ve passed , Snoop Dogg, twerking, the Kardashians, Trump supporters or flat-earthers. I can’t throw a baseball very far, play racquetball anymore, shoot baskets. More people call me “sir” now; I’m never asked to show an i.d. to qualify for senior discounts.

I’ve taken liberties with the definitions of “rage.” My raging isn’t centered on anger. It’s focused on taking the energy and violence of rage and turning it into something else. I’m raging against the dying light by lighting up the present, by celebrating the sun breaking through the morning fog, by admiring the flowers of the mimosa tree in the backyard,

by enjoying the sweetness in ripened strawberries in the garden, by the golden boot that Susanto held up commemorating his soccer win, by listening to Hazel read, by the first bite of a fresh doughnut, by the countless unpredictable pieces of life that show up unannounced each day. Writing this little essay is a gentle reminder to me that the cat, having moved on, has left so much behind.

The Roundup

Every August herds of goats descend on Tilden Park and eat everything organic. They’re cheaper than landscapers, and what they devour is turned into fertilizer. They move from one corral to another, surrounded by electrified fences, devouring all vegetation either on the ground or above their heads when they stand on their hind legs. The hillsides are denuded in a couple of weeks, and the goats are then herded into trailers and driven to their next meal, another park, another hillside. On a Friday morning walk Ted and I were privileged to watch the roundup of the last of the herd, courtesy of two men with sticks, one sheepdog, and a labrador.

Sheepdog waits for the last of the herd to finish dessert.

Don’t mind me. I’m just out for a walk, caught in a goat stampede.

Both the dog and the silhouetted man in the back are guiding the goats to a field to the left where a makeshift pen has been constructed. Unseen is the labrador, standing in the road preventing the goats from continuing down the street.

Behind the goats the two men have erected a temporary electrical fence. A truck will drive up, and goats will be herded down the pen, through the chute, and into a waiting trailer.

This herd is one of about six that spent late July and early August enjoying what winter rains brought.

"Take a load off, Fanni."

She did. Two nights ago Fani Willis, the DA of Fulton County, Georgia, indicted Donald J Trump and eighteen co-conspirators, listing 41 total felony counts; Trump himself was charged with 13 felony counts. In addition to the communal racketeering charge, the charges include “solicitation of violation of oath by public officer,” “conspiracy to commit impersonating a public officer,” “conspiracy to commit forgery in the first degree,” “conspiracy to commit false statements and writings,” and “conspiracy to commit filing false documents.”

Fani and Donny, a match made in Georgia.

Trump is now facing 91 criminal charges, some in federal courts, some in state courts. Andy Borowicz, whose humorous memes arrive daily, posted this morning, suggesting that Melania was disappointed, thinking that Donald wouldn’t have time to show up in divorce court. His niece, Mary Trump, acknowledges that Trump’s new criminal enterprise is an extension of one he began years ago, only that now he’s brought people other than his own family into it.

More amazing than the 91 criminal counts that he’s facing is that Republicans still believe in him. He leads all other candidates by as many as forty percent. Only if the all the other candidates call him out will it be possible to save the Republican Party. As it stands right now the entire leadership of the party has chained themselves to the Titanic’s railings, and this only after it hit the iceberg.

The following was taken from an interview Geoff Duncan, the Lt. Governor of Georgia, gave to NPR this morning.

“Georgia's former Lieutenant Governor Geoff Duncan is calling on fellow Republicans to seize the Georgia indictment of former President Donald Trump as a "pivot point" for the GOP, as the party seeks to re-take the White House in 2024.

On NPR's Morning Edition Wednesday, Duncan urged "U.S. senators, conservative governors, state legislators – everybody that has a voice and a platform – should speak up as a Republican, and tell Donald Trump to get out of this race because it's not good for the party. But more importantly, it's not good for this country."

Nearly two-thirds of Republicans, 63%, now say they want Trump to run for president again in 2024 and 74% would support him if he were the Republican nominee, according to an recent (August 2023) poll conducted by The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research.

Analysis

Why the Trump indictments have not moved the needle with Republicans

This is Trump's fourth indictment since leaving office, but it's the first in a legal jurisdiction where cameras are permitted to show the proceedings.

When asked if televising a Trump trial in Georgia would benefit the country, Duncan told Morning Edition host Leila Fadel, "I think the more Americans can see and specifically Republicans... [the] crazy series of events that played out, the more they can see it in three dimension, I think the quicker we're going to start to heal as a party and move past Donald Trump. I just, I think history is going to prove that Donald Trump was one of the biggest mistakes this country's ever made."

Duncan was called to testify before the Fulton County grand jury, and hours prior to that appearance, Trump took to his social media platform, Truth Social, warning Duncan not to testify and calling the former Lt. Gov. a "loser" and a "nasty disaster." Asked if he saw this as an instance of witness tampering or intimidation, Duncan responded, "It certainly didn't deter me from answering the questions of the grand jury, getting there on time and fulfilling my civic duties in front of the grand jury."

Trump and the other 18 defendants have until August 25th to voluntarily surrender to authorities in Fulton County, Ga.

The following excerpts are from an exchange between former Georgia Lt. Governor Geoff Duncan and NPR's Leila Fadel, which has been edited for clarity.

What is it about this case that makes it maybe more significant?

What we watched play out right after the 2020 election cycle here in Georgia was just the series of what felt like, at the time, very coordinated events... to just hoodwink Republicans [with the impression] that everybody was corrupt in Georgia around the election system. And it was wrong. And it's taken us two and a half years to get to this point, unfortunately.

Why does he continue to have such popularity even as he racks up felony charges?

Donald Trump has confused Republicans across the country to think that the louder and more angry you are, the more conservative you are...I'm a Republican because I believe in the conservative principles of smaller government and public safety and national security. I believe in states rights. Those are the core tenets why a majority of Republicans got into the Republican Party. But Donald Trump's confused us. And this is a painful healing process for us.

This is our opportunity. If we, as Republicans, don't use this moment of insanity inside our party as a pivot point, then shame on us.

Do you want this case in Georgia, and the arraignment, to be televised?

Yeah, I do. I think the more Americans can see, and specifically Republicans, the more Republicans can see of the erratic, just a crazy series of events that played out – the more they can see it in three dimension – I think the quicker we're going to start to heal as a party and move past Donald Trump.

I just think history is going to prove that Donald Trump was one of the biggest mistakes this country's ever made.

Take a load off, Fani
Take a load for free
Take a load off, Fani
And (And, and)
You put the load right on me (You put the load right on me)

Where it belongs. On all of us. Get rid of this clown. Close down the shitshow.

Tour de Force

The Federalist Society

According to Wikipedia, “The Federalist Society for Law and Public Policy Studies (FedSoc) is an American conservative and libertarian legal organization that advocates for a textualist and originalist interpretation of the U.S. Constitution.” It is today one of the most influential legal organizations in the United States.

Two of the law professors from the Federalist Society, William Baude and Michael Paulsen, quoted from the 14th Amendment of the Constitution, which reads,

“No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, or elector of President and Vice-President, or hold any office, civil or military, under the United States, or under any State, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of Congress, or as an officer of the United States, or as a member of any State legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any State, to support the Constitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof. But Congress may by a vote of two-thirds of each House, remove such disability,”

The professors responded with the following:

“The bottom line is that Donald Trump both ‘engaged in’ ‘insurrection or rebellion’ and gave ‘aid or comfort’ to others engaging in such conduct, within the original meaning of those terms as employed in Section 3 of the 14th Amendment.”

“Section 3’s disqualification rule may and must be followed — applied, honored, obeyed, enforced, carried out — by anyone whose job it is to figure out whether someone is legally qualified to office,” the authors wrote.

The man they’re discussing just wrote this:

This is the state the country is in right now. Taking Trump’s posting literally, we can only lament that he is one of the “violent criminals…roaming the streets while going untried, free, & treated with kid gloves.” Stay tuned, folks. The history is there for the writing.

"Thanks for the Tip, Everybody!" (1)

Those words still echo. We (I) failed to tip the drivers who took us from our motel to LAX to catch a flight. I should have tipped them.

Although they deserved a tip, many hands are out for tips that aren’t deserved. At Talavera, a local Mexican restaurant (fabulous burritos), after you tap your card a window shows up with possible tip amounts. At the bottom is the word “Other.” If you tap other (I haven’t) I expect that I’ll have a choice to add an amount of my choosing, or, perhaps a window will come up with this option: NO TIP. Instead of voluntarily allowing the diner to choose how much to tip, or whether to tip at all, the guest has to actively choose to select in a two-step process, NO TIP.

I’m accustomed to tipping for service rendered. Selecting a tip amount before the service is rendered defeats the purpose. Making it difficult not to tip makes it even harder. If I like the service and the burrito I will tip. Don’t ask me for that reward before I even sit down.

And who do we tip? Counter workers? I give the lady at Noah’s $1 when I pick up a dozen bagels. That’s an exception. I’m uncomfortable tipping when no real service is rendered. Incidentally, data reveals that people who order at kiosks tip higher than those who order at counters, probably because people order more at kiosks and the bill is higher. Some restaurants add a mandatory service charge of 18-20%, then add a space for “additional tip” on the bill. I leave that blank. The mandatory service charge formerly was applied to parties of six or more. Now two or more may find that a service charge has been included.

Although tipping is customary for services provided, there are exceptions: doctors, lawyers, teachers, plumbers, electricians, and other professionals whose salaries are independent of gratuities, In general, salaried workers.

i give Jenny a generous tip. My hair doesn’t require a “stylist”, but she’s meticulous with the clippers and the scissors. Tipping higher than 20% shows an appreciation for someone who goes the extra mile. I couldn’t have left enough of a tip for the poor maid who went to Jadyne’s and my hotel room in Madrid, as we both became violently sick during the night. We tried to leave a tip the next morning. We were turned down.

When Jadyne and I were engaged I worked room service at the Hyatt House in Burlingame, a hotel comprised of five or six outbuildings. Taking meals to a guest in one of those buildings was a chore. I carried four meals once, and the guest didn’t tip. I brought his blll to the front desk, wrote on it, “Add 15% tip”, then signed his name, an action that could have resulted in my being fired. I wasn’t. I brought James Brown a slice of pie. $20.

Giving Thanks

From the Washington Examiner today: " Former President Donald Trump fired off a series of Truth Social posts on Thursday ahead of his commute to Washington, D.C., for his third arraignment this year, saying, "I am being arrested for you.”

I gave thanks to Trump. (Can someone else be arrested for a crime you’ve committed?)  If he was arrested for me, then I must have committed a crime that escaped the authorities’ attention.  I went back to my past and came up with a few:

1) Sixty-eight years ago I kept returning the same empty soft drink bottles to a pony keg on Montgomery Road.  They would give me  $.03 for each bottle, then carry them outside to the back of the pony keg.  I would climb over a fence, take the same bottles, then return them again and collect the money.  I was saving up to buy a WeeGee squirt gun, but I was caught. Not arrested, and I did give the money back.

2)  A year later I held up the Pleasant Ridge PO with a Mattel burp gun, the kind that took roll caps.  There were two doors at either end of the post office.  I ran in one, fired at the clerks behind the counter and ran out the other.  I was never arrested for that, either.

3)  I snuck out of my house one night with my cousin, went to the Gayety Theater, and saw a burlesque show when I was twelve or thirteen.  “How old are you?” the ticket seller asked.  “Eighteen,” I replied in early-teen falsetto voice.  I lied, yes, but escaped arrest.

4)  I filled a mailbox on Grand Vista Avenue with leaves, then threw in a match, fanning the flames with the little door that’s still common to those mailboxes.  Got away with that one, too. a federal offense.

5) At sixteen I unscrewed some Christmas lightbulbs on the hedge in front of GIBSON CARDS off Section road, so that by unplugging the G, I, and B,  I could leave the S intact.  Unscrewing the top bulbs in the O turned it into a U.  I left the C.  Unscrewing the bulbs at the top of the R turned it into a K.  I unplugged the D and the S, so for one Christmas Gibson Cards' message was SUCK,  not Gibson Cards.  The next year a new spiffy cyclone fence made it impossible.  I’m confessing this today, thinking that the statute of limitations might have passed in more than sixty years.  Trespassing?  

I’m sure there are more, but it’s gratifying to know that someone else is taking the fall for these.  Knowing that Trump’s arrest prevents me from heading to the slammer, although in this spirit of confessing, I once went to the slammer on purpose.  As a freshman at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Washington, I climbed over the outer wall of the Washington State Penitentiary and stole the hand-painted sign that read, “Inmate Curio Shop.  Open Daily.”  Got away with that one, too.  I wish I still had it.

Currently living anonymously in the Witness Protection Program at 330 Rugby Avenue, Kensington, CA 94708.

Schadenfreude (Part II)

A year and a half ago I posted an entry on my blog on Schadenfreude:

I’m revisiting it today. I wrote this: “When I heard that Trump had Covid I celebrated. I hoped that he would die. I don’t hate Trump. His image, his presence, his gestalt, though physically distant from me, has occupied so much of the space behind my eyes in the last five or six years, replacing all that I might have thought about, enjoyed, appreciated, and loved.

The choice was mine. With a more disciplined mind I could have sent him on his way, but I didn’t. I could have skipped over the political news when he appeared (Someone created an app that replaced his image with that of a cat. It was funny. For a while.). I could have avoided political conversations. Would I actually derive pleasure from his demise? His death would be like passing a kidney stone that was descending over a six year period—excruciating pain followed by blessed relief. Not happiness, just relief. sweet indulgent relief.”

What’s new today focuses on my relationship with my ex daughter-in-law, Rachel. Over the past several years I never wished her any harm, nor would I ever experience any joy for any ills she might encounter. Still, disappointment, frustration, and a host of other bad feelings thrived in the hospitable environment in my mind. Jadyne and I remember my saying, “I’m over my bad feelings about Rachel. I’m free of them.” I wasn’t.

We had to pick up Jennifer’s keys at her house last Sunday, and Rachel had been living there while the Geens had been traveling in Mexico. It was convenient for us to pick them up on our way home from a movie, but Jennifer asked if we could delay an hour, an inconvenience to us. We knew that Rachel didn’t want to see us, but to avoid a five second key pickup, I found it intolerable. I lost my temper.

I felt bad at night, recognizing that I still harbored bad feelings about her, regardless of my earlier claims that I had gotten over them. Sunday morning I sent her this text:

And last, from my earlier post on Schadenfreude:

“Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back--in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.”

I learned from this. It’s not enough to say that something no longer bothers me. By actively joining in its expulsion from the mind chains are released. I’m not patting myself on the back for having written this. I’m simply joyful that I put into action something that I understood intellectually to be true. Without the action, the text, nothing would have changed.

This had nothing to do with Rachel. It had everything to do with me.

Legacy

“I’d like to know that my life had an impact,” my brother Bill remarked as I was driving home from Petaluma. He meant that in a global sense, I suspect, as much of his life has focused on raising awareness to make earthlings energy conscious and green, that they heed his warnings that natural resources are jeopardized by human behavior, such as climate warming, pollution, indifference, and carelessness.

Bill was never a father, meaning that any legacy issues are off the table when it comes to passing down his genes or influencing biological children. He loves being a grandfather — to one of Janet’s son’s kids. He has made an impact on Steven, a stepson.

Is my work, my photography, a legacy? Julie Bowles, a bride thirty-one years ago, posted a wedding photograph on Facebook that I took in 1992. Here it is:

Not bad.

I looked at it with a critical eye. The lighting was good, the posing acceptable, (I’d move the legs of the smaller flower girl so that she wasn’t facing quite so forward, but I do like the tip of her head). I’m looking at it as a professional would. For Julie the meaning behind that image is much greater than the legs of the flower girl.

So maybe, even if this image, or the thousands of images like it that I took for other people, won’t be in the Library of Congress, they mean something to them. That’s a legacy.

The images I’ve taken that mean more to me capture what it is to be human, that reveal complex emotions. These are a legacy, too. This is one that touches everyone.

Andrew meets his son at SFO. Living in Kathmandu when Susanto was born, Andrew could only witness the birth of his first child through SKYPE thousands of miles away. After flying from Nepal to San Francisco and wandering around the arrival gates looking for a familiar face, he finally caught up with me, Jadyne, Jennifer, and his first born child, Susanto.

January 1, 1988. The last time we saw Teeny. I have no awareness that a snapshot might become something more that. Nine days after I took this image my sister-in-law was killed in an avalanche, not found until Labor Day.

I hope my legacy goes beyond pixels and celluloid. I’d like to believe that whatever qualities I have as a son, a husband, a father, a friend, a brother, will be appreciated by those I leave behind. Wordsworth, in Lyrical Ballads, wrote, “The best portion of a good man's life: his little, nameless unremembered acts of kindness and love.” Better those than the time I stuck gum in Anthony Francis Wentersdorf’s hair, or called Walter Galitzki “Panface” because he could put his forehead, nose and chin on a wall at the same time, or that I set a mailbox on fire on Grand Vista Avenue one night. I remember those little acts of unkindness and spite, and although they’re a distant part of my past, I can’t excise them from my memory, hoping that others can, especially Tony Wentersdorf, Walter Galitzki, and the UPS.

Shakespeare suggested that it might be a time to worry.

I prefer that it was the other way around. Let’s bury that evil.

There are people beyond my family that I have touched. I’m hoping that my passing will leave them with good thoughts. I’ve received texts and emails from former students who have expressed as much. They are gratifying. I’ve kept a few. I doubt that any of us fully understands the impact that our presence on this earth has had, whether it’s global (as my brother Bill hopes), through family and friends, or brought about by the unremembered acts of kindness and love.

When acts of kindness do all the heavy lifting.

Stuff I don't do anymore (Or do without guilt)

Two weeks ago I celebrated my seventy-seventh birthday. That there isn’t much time left is not an earth-shattering revelation, but expunging those activities that don’t contribute to making the days left more fruitful isn’t a revelation, but it is helpful. So in no particular order, here they are.

  1. No more arguments. You say 2+2 is five. You’re absolutely right. Have a nice day. The earth is flat? You bet. Enjoy the weather. You think the 2nd Amendment is a good thing? Good for you!

  2. Sitting on the floor. Even when I was younger I didn’t choose to do that. Now, it’s not only uncomfortable, but getting up is even less fun. When we toured Japan we found that many of our rooms didn’t have chairs. What’s up with that? With a hip replacement, eating from a tray on the floor isn’t even possible. I had to kneel. Give me a chair and a table. Not embarrassed at all.

  3. Seeing evening performances of any kind. Let’s go back to #3. You can’t see a play in your jammies. And if you get up at 4 am you’ll fall asleep before intermission. I miss a lot of stuff, but I don’t like missing sleep.

  4. Watching TV shows, streaming movies, or just sitting in the same room as my TV set. Yeah, I watch CNN and MSNBC. And that’s about it. Sopranos? Game of Thrones? Pass.

  5. Riding my bike. I’ve given up all my biking paraphernalia. I enjoyed riding in the Berkeley hills for a number of years, even after I was hit by a car. I’ve been lucky. I’ve spent enough time in the hospital. Nice people. Helpful. That’s a better place for them than for me.

  6. Choosing the Wine at Dinner. You choose it. You hold the glass by the stem, sniff the aroma, swirl the oaky and fruity deep red colored liquid, taste, approve or send back. No problem.

  7. Dressing Fashionably (not to be confused with being clean).. My friend Henry once suggested that Goodwill wouldn’t be interested in the garments that hang in my closet. As a matter of fact, I’m not either. Jeans or convertibles, some clean t-shirts, fleeces appropriate for the weather. That’s pretty much everything I need. And a David Buchholz Photography comb rounds it out. I do like being clean. No dirt under my fingernails.

  8. Caring What Others Think (About me). I do care what others think, unless, of course, they think the earth is flat or that Trump isn’t dogshit. Go back to #1. I don’t want to argue with them about anything, but being able to listen is a plus. But what they think about me isn’t important. I think I’m okay. I’ve accepted myself, made peace with who I am, recognized some faults, am not trying to change, except perhaps to lose a couple more pounds. That kind of change is good.

  9. Turning out the lights while the sun is breaking through my bedroom window. I have blackout blinds. They take care of that annoying sunlight. Besides, getting up at 4 am isn’t an imposition, but a wonderful time of day. Make that night. Why? Because nobody else is up then. Love that time.

  10. Dismissing First World Problems before they become real. I shouldn’t have to remind myself to be grateful for my health, my wife, my family, the innumerable goodness that makes up my life, but sometimes I do.

what the fuck is wrong with Marjorie Taylor Greene

trash is as trash does

Yesterday, on the floor of the United States House of Representatives—the so-called “greatest deliberative body in the world”, as we were taught in school—Marjorie Taylor Greene, in front of the House, in front of Live TV cameras, in front of the world, displayed poster-sized enlargements of nude photos of the president’s son, Hunter Biden.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez replied in her closing comments to the Chairman, "Today also marked a new low when pornographic images were paraded in this hearing room. Chairman Comer, last October you told Time magazine that you were not interested in the sordid details of Hunter Biden's life. You were quoted as saying, 'That's counter to a credible investigation,' and I agree.’ Sadly, that is a reflection of how low some individuals here have been willing to go in their efforts to attack the president and his family, and frankly, I don't care who you are in this country. No one deserves that. It is abuse. It is abusive."

This is the current state of the Republican Party, a once sort-of-principled body of politicians which has transformed itself into a personality cult, beholden to no principles, no plans, and no ideals, all to embrace the political anti-Christ, a twice-impeached, lying, narcissistic, manipulative, cowardly, self-serving immoral gasbag, a man completely devoid of character. In Joseph Heller’s 1961 novel, Catch 22, he described a man he’d never met when he wrote,

Trump is currently the leader of the Republican party. He enjoys widespread support from both the cultists and the power-hungry members of the not-august-anymore political cadre that parades in their masks and KKK clown suits in the “greatest deliberative body in the world.”

Kevin McCarthy, the first spineless member of the homo sapiens, is currently navigating between Scylla and Charybdis. After getting dressed down by Saint Trump for heretically suggesting that his lord and master may not be the best candidate for the job (who knew?), McCarthy will now sign on to expunge from the record the two well-deserved impeachments that the Republicans were too timid, too afraid, and too cowardly to accept. Had any of them expressed a modicum of decency, Trump would have become invisible. They didn’t. So Trump, like the famed sea monster, is very much alive, beckoning Kevin to sign on to expunge the impeachments, a meaningless gesture, really, but one that tightens the leash on Kevin. In 2021 Kevin blamed Trump for January 6th, until he didn’t, kissing his ring soon after, horrified that he had acted honorably, if only for a brief speech, a long long time ago. It’s a difficult passage, and McCarthy’s nautical skills are questionable. Charybdis, the whirlpool that will sink the Republican party, awaits.

And how is the gasbag doing? Unimaginable legal baggage. In the case of the California Killer, prosecutors discussed their cases with each other. “Who’s first?” they asked. We know that Bragg has a trial date in December, that Judge Aileen Cannon set the document theft case for May, that the Georgia prosecutor, Fani Willis, has aimed for August, and “deranged, Trump hating” Jack Smith may have delivered his indictment today, even before I can finish typing this screed. Meanwhile MTG shows Hunter Biden’s dick pics to the world.

Three or four days ago Trump was sent a “target letter” which usually precedes an expected indictment. I posted this on Facebook.

My favorite word.

According to Merriam-Webster: “Schadenfreude is a combination of the German nouns Schaden, meaning "damage" or "harm," and Freude, meaning "joy." So it makes sense that schadenfreude means joy over some harm or misfortune suffered by another.”

For more than seven years Trump has plundered this country. I unabashedly take great pleasure as he begins a long and painful descent, perhaps confirming the questionable theory that justice doesn’t take sides.

The Fourth

John and Kim live in a Sacramento neighborhood that was airlifted straight out of the Midwest and plunked down two or three miles from downtown Sac. The huge trees that line the streets hang over American flags, barbecue grills, flower beds, and handsome manicured lawns. Everyone seems to know everyone. They’re all on the same page of the same book.

Kim organized a parade some years ago for the Fourth. Streets are closed and divided in half, providing a chariot-type race down one side, then back. Only it’s not really a race, unless you’re Kennedy, who wants to win even a non-competitive event. Little girls on scooters, big kids on bikes, parents holding hands of toddlers or pushing carriages vie in rush hour traffic to make the loop, then do it again…and again. Coffee is provided. Marie’s doughnuts quickly disappear. This year Jadyne counted the $192 dollars in donations, adding $8 of her own to round up the contributions, which will go for the parade next year. Below are some of the celebrants.

Ready to roll.

The countdown at the starting line.

Not everyone had the holiday spirit.

Kennedy and friend.

Between the parade and the hundreds of dollars of fireworks, John and Kim’s house and pool was a revolving door of friends, kids, burgers, and hot dogs. Hazel arrived early afternoon, missing the parade, but not the pool.

Ships

ONE

Thoughts and Prayers Dep’t

An overcrowded fishing trawler, carrying a reported 750 people, capsized off the coast of Greece last week, killing at least 82 people and leaving hundreds more missing.

There were more than 100 children on board. According to survivors the vessel’s crew members maltreated the Pakistanis who were below deck when they came up in search of fresh water or when they tried to escape. Greece’s caretaker prime minister, Ioannis Sarmas declared three days of national mourning following the disaster saying "with our thoughts on all the victims of the ruthless smugglers who exploit human unhappiness”.

More. “We can assume that many of these children will have lost their lives, as reports of survivors are so far limited. Our deepest sympathies are with the children’s families, and all those affected by this horrendous event,” Unicef said in a statement.

It made the news here in America. For a day or so. After all, they were just migrants.

TWO

Dozens feared drowned after migrant boat sinks off Spain’s Canary Islands

That headline was from yesterday. Authorities have recovered two bodies, including a young girl, but the true number of those who were on board is not known. A day earlier Spanish maritime services rescued 227 other migrants from four boats. This story didn’t really make the news, at least not on Page 1. I had to search to find it. Not important, though. They were just migrants.

THREE

'Praying for miracle'

Alas, no miracle was in the works.

OceanGate's Titan submersible went missing along with the five people inside on June 18 and the subsequent rescue attempts spanned over four days. The operation, which ended in the revelation that the vessel had imploded, will likely have run up a massive bill A number of airplanes, boats, and submersibles were used in the attempts to find out what had happened to the five who went to see the Titanic wreck. These were contributed by a number of countries including the US, Canada, and  France.

The five who died were not migrants. Each of them paid $250,000 to spend an hour or two to visit the wreckage of the Titanic. Oceangate’s website advertised the adventure as “a chance to step outside of everyday life and discover something truly extraordinary”. They did just that, but they did it as billionaires.

A NY Times reporter, noting that the contrast between the two disasters had fueled heated discussions, added that “status and race no doubt play a role in how the world responds to such disasters, but there are other factors as well.” The plight of the Thai soccer players was one-of-a-kind, while few people knew of the migrants until they died. He adds, “And in study after study, people show more compassion for the individual victim who can be seen in vivid detail than for a seemingly faceless mass of people.” A small dead child washed up on a beach, making his death impossible to ignore. The deaths of faceless migrants are forgotten quickly, as these events are not one-of-a-kind. They happen frequently. What should not be ignored, however, is the indifference by countries attempting half-hearted rescues vs. the millions of dollars spent to save five very well-to-do wannabe explorers.

Snippets

ONE

Jadyne and I just returned from a trip to Colorado to see Jay’s brother and sister-in-law. We were passing time in Glenwood Springs at the Amtrak station while Greg was undergoing an eye exam. The Zephyr, Amtrak’s San Francisco-Chicago train, was due any minute, and we waited for its arrival. A man was waiting in a wheelchair by the tracks with a small dog on his lap, an oxygen bottle on his back, a caregiver by his side. I asked him where he was going, why he was there. He replied, “I live in Carbondale. I have family on the train, and I came down to see them.”

I moved away and waited for the train.

A Zephyr is a “light breeze.” Considering how late the California Zephyr often is, the breeze must have died down somewhere along the line.

As it rolled into Glenwood Springs the doors opened, passengers embarked, and fifteen members of my friend’s family jumped off, ran to his wheelchair, and hugged him. They handed a porter a phone for this.

Ten minutes later the whistle blew, the family climbed back on the train, and the man was left in his wheelchair, his caregiver by his side. his dog on his lap.

TWO

Earlier that day I was waiting for Jadyne at the Glenwood Springs Post Office. I walked over to pet Blanco, a Great Pyrenees dog, and began chatting with her owner. “Are you local?” he asked. “No, we’re visiting family here,” I replied. I paused, then said, “I’m sure you know them. Everybody does. They’re Greg and Sean Jeung.” He responded, “I worked with Teeny. I knew her so well. Such a loss.” At that moment his friend Teri walked up.” She bought Teeny’s house,” he said.

I sent her photos of the house from the early eighties. She texted, “ I LOVE MY HOUSE, and will show it off when it is further along. I had the floors leveled and had wide plank select grade walnut installed downstairs twenty years ago. I put a shower in the downstairs bathroom and tiled everything in white, with white bead board above tile wainscoting on the walls. That was all 20 years ago. It feels good to be working on it again.

It was nice to have met you both, and I look forward to seeing old pictures!!” She sent me the following text, adding that it was from one of Teeny’s friends, who wrote it two days after Teeny was killed.

The friend had photographed a poem that Teeny had on her refrigerator.

I sent her the photos. She emailed. Thank you so much for the pictures. Seeing them has helped me understand why her personality has always outshined her death. What a beautiful lady!  I feel she lives on in this house, and I will certainly continue to welcome her here as I always have. We would have been great friends!  Thank you again! I am ever indebted. What an unusual chance encounter!!

Facebook

A facebook “friend” posted this a couple of days ago:

“Today is one of the saddest days of my life. My eldest granddaughter is graduating from 8th grade. Not only was I not invited to attend the graduation by my estranged daughter (who I had to disengage from in June 2022 upon medical advice due to her toxicity & chronic abuse of me), but the event was kept secret from me by my other children & even my own mother. There is so much more I wanted to say today but I am just too heartbroken to do so. I have done nothing to my granddaughter or even my daughter to warrant such cruelty. This dysfunctional situation is called Grandparent Alienation and involves among other things, lying, brainwashing (of the child), gaslighting, refusal of contact between the child & grandparent, and enabling of the situation by others. At a later time I will speak about this in depth. I am too distraught to do so now. It is considered by experts in the field to be "a severe form of child abuse & elder abuse." I have been allowed to see my granddaughter one time in four years. Congratulations T on your graduation. I love and miss you so very much and am so proud of you. Love, Nonni”

I don’t really know “Nonni.” She is a Facebook “friend”, someone whose path I crossed perhaps forty or more years ago. I taught her brother. Her father offered to stake me when I first began my photography business.

You could sum up our relationship in one cartoon

My emphasis centers on the distance my ”friend” and I have in real life. It’s limited to social media.

Go back to her post. She reveals a sadness in her life that begs for understanding and sympathy. And indeed, she received that in the comments that followed her post. At the same time, she exposed her sadness, her vulnerability to all 181 of her “friends”, many of whom, I suspect, have as distant relationship with her as I do. It’s awkward and uncomfortable knowing this. Second, accepting that she has an undesirable family situation, what changes are likely to happen after posting this in a public forum? Her daughter could see this. Her granddaughter could, too. It’s troubling. Nothing good can come of this.

If we were to read her post and ask the question, what did the daughter do to create this abusive relationship? Did the daughter do anything? We’ve only heard from the poster, not the daughter. And then we ask ourselves, why should we be in this position at all? It’s none of our business. Should this go beyond her family, her therapist, her counselors? She could have limited the post to those who need to know, who might be able to provide real help. She didn’t.

A elderly neighbor discovered the death of a friend’s daughter through Facebook so soon after the death that the deceased family hadn’t had the chance to contact caring friends themselves, essentially preempting the family’s right to make the connection. It’s inconsiderate, presumptuous, and disrespectful to pass on such information without consulting the family, who most likely would object. Strenuously. I’ve posted RIPs when I’ve been alerted to someone’s passing, but only when that person is known to all. Last week it was Tina Turner.

I use Facebook. What I do has changed through the years. I’ve always enjoyed the positive responses I’ve gotten from posting photographs. I Like showing my best images. They are meant to be seen, and Facebook provides that opportunity. I like the “likes.” I share meaningful experiences and thoughts. We just returned from a trip to Turkey. For several days I posted images from the trip.

In the past I expressed opinions, from Trump (mostly) to second amendment lovers. I stopped doing that years ago. I wasn’t about to change anyone’s mind. I enjoy reading posts from some of my friends. Some are amusing, informative, reflective, and occasionally quite powerful, not all of which come from my friends.

Here’s one that made me laugh yesterday. I’ve always appreciated irreverence.

Loved that one.

I’ve seen posts by people who’ve shared quotes I was unfamiliar with. A Korean author on NPR last week reported how surprised she was in returning to Seoul and discovering that on every corner there was a skin care shop or beauty shop or shop that catered to those whose purpose is to look good. Appalling. I saw this today from Dame Judi Dench.

Some deal with history, the events that might have occurred yesterday or two hundred years ago. I like that. They often point to another article.

Some of my Facebook “friends” are really friends. There are a handful that in referencing the cartoon, would be at my funeral. Keeping in touch with them, if only through Facebook, is important to me. And keeping in touch with them doesn’t prevent me from in-person relationships.

The dangers of Facebook have been studied, although questions remain. It’s undeniable that the more one interacts with social media the more likely that person will avoid interpersonal interaction. Real people. Someone who is susceptible to symptoms of anxiety and depression may find those symptoms increasing. People who have cut it off for periods of a month or so often find that its place in their lives is diminished.

Younger brains continue to grow. Though they might find some rewards in social media interaction, what is lost is what books they might have been reading, what conversations with friends they’re not having, what skills they might have attained, what music they might have made. And that’s not only true for them. It’s depressing to see adults with children, checking their phones, whether it’s social media or something else, in effect disregarding the immediate connection for the electronic one.

I’m not posting photos at this time. I’m not looking for props. I’m not looking at Facebook much at this time. I’m surviving.

Istanbul Airport

We missed our connection from Istanbul to Frankfurt so we stayed another night. We were told that we were on the 8:30 am direct flight to SF the next morning. We weren’t. We were booked on the 1:15 flight. We hung out at the airport the next day for seven hours waiting to check in. The airport is almost a half mile from one end to the other. I walked it several times, looking at my fellow passengers and shopkeepers, some of whom appear here in my blog. No one is smiling.

The Lie(s)

Jordan Klepper’s followers love his one-on-one interviews at Trump rallies, exposing the hypocrisies, lies, and disinformation that embed their thinking. It’s both sad and amusing to watch, notes the arrogant liberal, who, of course, is fully possessed of facts and unshakeable truths. And it’s the truth part that we didn’t really understand. We thought, or at least I did, that when presented with truths, MAGA would accept the error of their ways and all would be well. How wrong we were. Truth is “Truth Social,” what they want to hear, want to believe, and to hell with that old school definition of truth from Merriam-Webster.

Truth: the body of real things, events, and facts : actuality

: the state of being the case : fact

often capitalized : a transcendent fundamental or spiritual reality

: a judgment, proposition, or idea that is true or accepted as tru

: the property (as of a statement) of being in accord with fact or reality

Jordan Klepper Recalls His Favorite MAGA Comment And It's A Doozy

The Donald Trump supporter was “being completely honest in that moment," said "The Daily Show" correspondent.

Jordan Klepper has endured his fair share of wild moments with Donald Trump supporters during his MAGA field reports for “The Daily Show.”

But one comment stands out, the correspondent recalled in previously unseen footage filmed last week during his stint guest-hosting the Comedy Central program.

Klepper remembered talking to a woman during Trump’s first impeachment for trying to extort Ukraine. The then-president was blocking witnesses, including former national security adviser John Bolton, from testifying.The woman insisted to Klepper that Trump was “innocent,” and said that if he had done anything wrong he’d be trying to hide it.

Klepper asked if blocking testimony would be an admission of guilt. The woman agreed it would. Klepper told her Trump was blocking testimony.

“And she takes this very long beat, she thinks about it, and she says, ‘I don’t care,’” he said.

The woman was “being completely honest in that moment,” he added.

When people’s politics become tied up with their identity it’s almost impossible to change their minds, Klepper noted.

“They don’t give a shit about the new piece of information,” he said.

bing.com/news

The Currency de Jour is The Lie

Donald J Trump, at 2:39 this morning wrote on Truth Social. In effect, he wanted FOX to continue in court “The Big Lie.” He wrote in all caps,

“IF FOX WOULD FINALLY ADMIT THAT THERE WAS LARGE SCALE CHEATING & IRREGULARITIES IN THE 2020 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION, WHICH WOULD BE A GOOD THING FOR THEM, & FOR AMERICA, THE CASE AGAINST THEM, WHICH SHOULD NOT HAVE EXISTED AT ALL, WOULD BE GREATLY WEAKENED. BACK UP THOSE PATRIOTS AT FOX INSTEAD OF THROWING THEM UNDER THE BUS – & THEY ARE RIGHT! THERE IS SOOO MUCH PROOF, LIKE MASS BALLOT STUFFING CAUGHT ON GOVERNMENT CAMERAS, FBI COLLUDING WITH TWITTER & FACEBOOK, STATE LEGISLATURES NOT USED, etc.”

Apparently, it didn’t work. Fox agreed to pay Dominion Voting Machines $787,000,000, confirming by paying out the largest settlement in defamation history that all that they had said, all that Trump had said, was a lie. As is everything that Donald Trump does, says and misspells.

AI

My friend Stephen Dixon posted on FB a link to images taken by two brothers, Jordi and Arnau Puig. Here’s a link to their website, but for brevity’s sake I’ve copied a couple below.

Creative, indeed.

I wrote to Stephen:

You posted the sequence of images that was brilliantly composed by genius photographers using swinging lights, time exposures, mirrors with water, etc. Impressive, but I hate it. My interest and fundamental appreciation of photography is is the ways that truth is revealed through the camera. Look at these.

Lora Webb Nichols Photography Archive

He wrote, “Oh, I like classic photography. At one point in my life I dabbled a bit in it, and was fascinated. I have numerous books that are collections of photographs on one subject or another. But I appreciate creative artistry in almost all its forms. Think how painters and portraitists sniffed at photography as not being ‘a real art’ when cameras were first invented. For quite a long time, actually. Or the film vs digital divide. I am not one given to orthodoxy. I am too fascinated by creativity and invention.”

I wrote, “I didn't say that very well. I belong to several FB photo groups. In "world class landscapes" there are too many composites, too much Photoshop, too much AI, all aimed to make something that was beautiful in and of itself otherworldly spectacular. It's boring, and what I'm seeing is that too much of the computer generated imagery is pushing more traditional imagery aside. (I tried to find the cartoon where Lucy pushing a TV overruns Linus who is reading a book. No luck). I appreciate the creativity. I have no interest in learning how to do those things. For me the joy is in the process of unearthing or discovering. I went to SF last week to see Ansel Adams' 100 photographs. He never set out to "make a photograph." He found them.”

You sent

I'm going to put one up now from Tanzania.

Yesterday at 4:35 PM

Sun 4:35 PM

Stephen

I understand your commitment to purity. But we have to be careful to not be too orthodox. Young men should not have been discouraged from playing Rock and Roll on the electric guitar because of the purity and complexity of Classical music.

Stephen

You know I love your work. I have commented on it often enough. Not every one, because then the praise becomes mundane. But everything you have selected to post is special. And I can’t imagine the work and the artistry it takes to freeze a bird in mid flight.

Yesterday at 5:14 PM

Sun 5:14 PM

You sent

Thank you for the kind words. My attitude, grounded in tradition, is simply a preference. Jadyne has often remarked, “You’re always looking.” And yes, I am. The pleasure of finding is what it’s all about for me. One of my son’s friends was married last Saturday. I was not the “official photographer”, but I had a little travel camera. I’m going to attach a jpeg after this post that I took of the bride at the reception, holding a glass of champagne. A candid, that’s all.

You sent

You sent

We can continue this at the Cincinnati Country Club. I'm looking forward to seeing you.





Stephen

Oh my! That’s like a painting by one of the French geniuses. They are going to love that. They are going to be inundated with regular wedding photos. When they get back from their honeymoon, you all should show it to the groom only. If he puts that on canvas, or something like that, and gives it to her on their first anniversary, she will feel like a bride all over again.

You sent

Again, thank you...I'm always looking...

Today at 5:09 AM

5:09 AM

You sent

Sony World Photography Award 2023: Winner refuses award after revealing AI creation — BBC News

Today at 6:27 AM

6:27 AM

Stephen

I couldn’t open that without downloading some new app. WTF? My iPad must be many generations out of date.

You sent

In short. The guy took first place in the Sony World Photography Contest with an image that he created entirely from artificial intelligence. He refused the award, confessing that he just wanted to “test the waters” and bring up the discussion about the intrusiveness of “new photography” in pushing aside what has been traditional. The judges couldn’t tell the difference.

Stephen

Well that’s troubling. Autotune for photographers. Time for the tech heads to come up with a way to spot the tweaked ones. Why can’t contests insist on a negative? But, oh yeah, many, if not most, are probably shooting digitally now, aren’t they?

You sent

Yes, we all shoot RAW files. I don’t know if they can be modified. If not, that would be one possible answer.

Stephen

If there was a way to identify and cull for anything but cropping, that would be fair, wouldn’t it?

You sent

There are changes in contrast, color balance, lightening and darkening that have been a part of photography since the camera was created. The original negative of Adams’ “Moonlight, Hernandez, New Mexico” went through many changes before the final print was created. The genius was in the visualization, that what he saw with his own eyes could be transformed into what he saw in his mind’s eye. We’re not out to simply record what we see, but how what we see can be turned into something that we can visualize. Besides, every camera and every sensor, every film camera, every film, all reduce a three-dimensional world into two, arresting motion along the way. From the get-go we’re translating, modifying, changing. I accept some changes, reject others. When you have a totally AI created image passing as a photograph you’re in treacherous water. Am going to the gym. Would love to continue.

Write to Stephen Dixon