teflon ghost

My birthday went by a few days ago.  I worked that day, so I had to pick my way through the icy parking lot to my truck.  A few metres short of reaching my vehicle, I slipped on a patch of ice and landed in a heap on the pavement.  After several hours in the hospital, I found out I have a separated shoulder and a chipped collar bone.  I have been coping with one arm in a sling – thank God it’s the left one! – but some things aren’t solved, like how to shave.  I look like the Uni-Bomber now with some straggly grey whiskers cropping up around the front part of my head.  If I stood up against a building, people would give me change, it’s that bad.  Anyway, it’s for two weeks and I’m sure the time will fly by.

I entered two more writing contests as my new year’s resolution is still front of mind.  I just submitted the first one.  It was a 53-word story that had to be about two of something, or a pair.  53 words is way too short, but it sure keeps you from rambling.  The prize in this contest is the publishers of this prime number magazine, “53”, send you a book and maybe a subscription to their magazine.  There’s no money, but it would still count as pay in my reckoning.

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A Cold Diversion

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Yves fell across a log.  Philippe hesitated, then stomped on his brother’s leg, breaking it.  “Adieu, mon frere!”   Now, time to escape!

——————————————————

It’s a violent little story, but I wanted something with some action.  The next contest starts tomorrow, and round one is a 2500 word story that I have eight days to write and submit.  After each round, the top five writers move on to the next round, while the remaining entrants are eliminated.  There are four rounds, and each round the stories and time limits get shorter.  In the final round, the assignment is to write a 1250 word story in 24 hours.  The final round is in June.  Doing this will be a pleasant diversion for a clumsy dumbass with a bad shoulder.  I hope to make it through to at least the second round, but you just never know.  When it’s written and submitted I will likely post it on here as a part of my blog’s motto to bring you bargain bin literature, like the adventures of those whacky, fun-loving French Revolutionaries.  By the way, I think Philippe gets away.  He will slow down his trackers quite a bit as they deal with Yves and his broken leg.  Yves’ troubles are just getting started as he gets dragged back to Paris to be guillotined, while his treacherous brother escapes to Spain where he lives a long life.  I made these people up, so their fates are whatever I imagine them to be.  Mwahaha!

Happy New Year, blog people!  It’s time to make a resolution or two, if you’re so inclined.  Every year I try to resolve to do something, but I rarely do it right on  January 1st.  Quite often I don’t land on the winning idea until February or so.  Anyway, over my Christmas holidays I finished a course I had to do for work, so I am (probably temporarily) unencumbered with outside obligations.  And the chess club has been shut down which frees up one more night a week, and my favourite hockey teams are being decimated by illness which frees up more nights.  So this leads me to the big resolution for this year: write more, and maybe in a biblical-level miracle, get paid for it.  Assignment #1 will be to submit a tiny little story to the Press 53 people who require a 53 word story about a “pair of something” and a 53 word biography in case I win.  I’ll let you know how that turns out.  My goal of being paid would be fulfilled, in my mind, if I win a dollar or a magazine subscription or really anything, so I’m not setting the bar too high.

Our youngest little bundle of joy has returned home to live with us for a few months while she finishes her schooling and then leaps from the nest again to find enriching work.  She has brought along her 4 year old son who has given our house a burst of fun, enthusiasm, and non-stop questions, often asked at decibel levels that are sure to share our joy with the neighbours or set off nearby car alarms.  Big upside, besides the elevated levels of joy: she cooked a vegetable dish tonight that did not make me wish to pull out my tongue and scrape off my taste buds in self preservation.  It was good, and I will be watching and taking notes next time she makes it.  Yesterday I made Greek food and nothing turned out quite as I was hoping.  I think a good cook should be able to visualize the meal in terms of taste, texture and display, and then replicate that vision over by the stove somewhere.  Sometimes I pull it off, but not usually.

I got a cheque in the mail while I was off during Christmas, so I treated myself to some new golf clubs.  I bought a set of irons that included eight clubs – six irons and two wedges.  So I put on my checkered pants and lame hat with a dingle ball on it (no I didn’t!) and headed for the driving range to try them out.  My first order of business was to hit ten or so balls with each club to get a good fix on how far they go, so the next time I know I’m 100 yards away, I won’t select a club that goes 50 or 150.  I ordered up a bucket of 130, which I think would be the number of strokes in a typical round at this point.  I hit the ball in every conceivable direction including a couple that went straight, but my crowning achievement was letting go of my driver and having it helicopter about 60 yards to my left.  I had to run out past other golfers and retrieve my club, babbling “sorry, sorry, don’t shoot, sorry…”  And today I am so stiff I can hardly function.  Even my goddamn thumb is stiff!  I don’t believe there is a case to collect worker’s compensation for self-inflicted muscle tightness, so I reluctantly toddled off to work and tried to minimize how much complaining I did.  As for the clubs: I will keep trying, for I know I’m too cheap to let all that money I spent go to waste.

 
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I got the results of the writing contest from the NYC Midnight people, and I didn’t move on.  I was prepared for scathing comments and disappointment, but it wasn’t what happened.  Only the top 10 in each group go on to the next round, and I was Honourable Mention #3, so essentially 13th out of 50.  I can live with that.  Three judges give their feedback, both positive and negative.  All three judges liked one sentence in the story – if you read it, it’s where I say “It’s just me grandma, no more renters to scare.”  They all said that told a lot of backstory.  They all also said they needed some closure on whether her ghost moves on or continues to skulk around in the old house.  To that I say: who has time in 250 words?  Besides, it’s written in first person, and my character sure as hell doesn’t know!

Christmas is nearly here again, so we spent the afternoon trudging around the mall, losing each other, standing in lines.  It snowed last night so it looks like a Hallmark card outside, but the reality is it also rained, so the pretty snow is actually a four inch high pile of slush.  I’m already done with winter and it hasn’t officially started yet.  God, I’m such a baby about the cold!  I want afternoon temperatures to be at least 15 C every day, accompanied by a glimpse of sun at the bare minimum.  Slush and 3 C can kiss my ass.  I heard the average temperature on earth’s surface is 15 C, so it’s not like I’m asking for special treatment.  Where I live the average temperature for the year is just below 10 C, so it tends to be a little more chilly (and damp) than the global mean.  I guess I could always find a hotter place to move, but I don’t really want to.

Tonight, the latest flavour of Covid, Omicron, has postponed all the hockey games I was hoping to watch.  My Canucks have won six in a row, so I was looking forward to them playing.  The evolution of Covid seems to be that it’s finding ways to become more transmissible yet less lethal.  Omicron does only about 10% of the damage to the lungs that previous variants did, so less people are dying and fewer are even getting sick.  Maybe it will evolve into a seasonal cold that will stay with us from here on?  Who wasn’t hoping for more illnesses to enjoy?

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Merry Christmas!  Enjoy the season as much as possible.  Soon we begin the slow march back toward warmth and light.

I entered the NYC Midnight Microfiction contest again this year.  I skipped last year, but did surprisingly well the year before.  My assignment this time was in the genre of ghost story, using the activity of speaking into a microphone, and including the word save.  I wrote a story and got it submitted in time, but I don’t think it was very good, and the others who read it agreed.  Ghost stories aren’t really my thing, and this one-day writing assignment could not have fallen on a worse day.  My daughter and her husband have been staying with us for a couple weeks, as his mother was terminally ill.  She, of course, died the morning I had to write about the undead, which I found suddenly inappropriate, although I never had him read the story and he never offered to.  Then the dryer died, although I did nothing to shield its feelings from my story, and its ghost has not been a problem yet, it was a distraction as well.  So there are my alibis, excuses, complaints for another year.  I’ll find out what the judges think in a month or so.  Here it is, in all its mediocrity.

**************************

Moving On

I crossed the unkempt lawn and squeezed my way through the plywood-covered doorway, into the boarded up house.  I fumbled for a button on my voice recorder and whispered into the microphone, “In grandma’s house, very dark.”

My heart was pounding as I felt my way to the hallway and turned left toward the room she had died in.  “Hey grandma, just you and me, no more renters to scare.”  I opened the bathroom door.  In the deep gloom I could see the room was destroyed, and it reeked of mold.

Suddenly, there was an icy breath on my neck and I panicked and jumped, hitting my back awkwardly on the wall.  The grey outline of an old woman stood before me, “They’re coming to take this away,” she said.   Her voice was soft, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing her or the words were simply appearing in my mind.

It took a few seconds to compose myself before I stammered breathlessly “You weren’t afraid to die, why didn’t you move on?”

“This is my home.”

My knees trembled from the adrenaline. “Yes, but it’s over.  It’s time for you to accept that you’re dead. Even the house can’t be saved.  Go find family, be at peace.”

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*************************

There is a certain feeling of this being a nearly-true story, as I have considered going into my grandparents’ boarded up old house and having this conversation with my grandma’s ghost, who evidently is still hanging around.  One of the criticisms I got on my story is that it’s too personal.  Might be true.

Back in the summer we went to Kamloops to hang out with the kids for a weekend.  On the way up we stopped in Merritt for lunch with our daughter and her son.  The waitress brought the cute little three and a half year old a Darth Vader pencil case to play with, which I of course stole from him and squirreled away in the Death Star, aka my car.  Don’t worry, he had other toys to keep him amused and didn’t miss it.  He doesn’t read or write yet, so the joys of using Galactic Empire office supplies was going to waste on him for now.

I am doing another course for work now.  It is a course on water works (yawwwn…) that I have to answer questions and mail them back to Sacramento, California.  The fine people at California State University will never guess that the little pencil marks on the sheet are from Darth’s pencil!  Mwahaha!

Fall kind of sucks sometimes.  It is dark, it has been raining for days on end, and everyone is busy busy busy.  Oh, and I cooked chicken thighs tonight using a cajun spice I purchased at the dollar store, and it just tasted like salt.  Not really fall-related, but still it’s a cautionary tale for anyone buying bargain spices.

Until next time, stay safe, warm and dry.  Time is whizzing by, so in no time it will be spring again and we can go outside and enjoy the world.

Well that’s just about it for another summer.  It was long and hot, and now that we’ve moved to a townhouse and don’t have a yard, it was mostly an indoor summer.  Sure, I still work outside, but after I came home at night I was lucky to go out again.  At its peak it was 42 C or so, around 108 F, and it was too hot to do anything.  Then things got combustible and fires sprung up around the province, burning the town of Lytton down at its climax.  Today I am wearing long pants for the first time in at least two months, so clearly it is cooling off.  Another weird thing about this summer was how little socializing we did.  Mostly that was about Covid, but it was also to do with our new-found lack of entertaining space.

I watched a documentary the other day called The Social Dilemma, which showed how social media sites like Facebook keep feeding you stories and videos that are similar to ones you already watched.  Sounds innocent, but the premise of the show was that if you are consuming misinformation, you will get videos that reinforce those points of view.  After a while, a certain amount of the people will have been so bombarded with conspiracies and dangerous ideas that their world view will have been sucked down a vortex of bullshit from which they will never escape.  I see evidence of this every time I read a news article about politics – the comments reveal that people can’t even have civil conversations any more.  The comment threads devolve into name calling and worse.  Of course, nowadays the first order of business when beginning a political discussion is to call your opponents idiots.  In the debate between conservatives and liberals, one side tends to spell better than the other, but both are inflexibly rooted to their position.

The conspiracies are nearly all from a  conservative point of view.  Democrats in the US are “libtards” and satanic pedophiles, while in Canada Trudumb and the Liberals are trying to make Canada a communist dictatorship.  Vaccines are poison and a plot to enrich scheming pharmaceutical companies, and billionaire wimps like Bill Gates in his preppy little sweater vest.  Covid is a scare tactic to keep people locked away and controlled.  Wearing a mask is a sign you are a docile idiot who can be led around.  On and on it goes.  I must be of a sensitive nature, because the bickering bums me out.  I want to follow the news and read comments, but I might as well go open a sewer manhole and watch turds go by.  And if you can operate a keyboard, even a little, (and, sadly, most people can) your opinion is probably as valid as any “expert.”

Fall will be here soon, and after the September 20 election I can go back to distracting myself with beer and hockey, interspersed with golf, eating and petting the cat.  What Cletus and his chickens think about the state of freedom of speech or immigration can just fade away like the brownness of the lawn.  As for the election: I don’t really care who wins, as long as they do a good job.

In regards to masks and offensive stuff like that, remember: To be a decent member of society, sometimes you have to put the needs of society above your own.  It’s a big ask for some people who were raised to think compromising is giving in.
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The Olympic Games just recently ended, and I was looking at the medal standings when an idea struck me.  The USA wound up with 113 medals, about 4.7 times as many as Canada’s 24, but they have about 9 times as many people, which means a population of say a million people would produce about twice as many medals for Canada.  Of course, reality is never quite that simple – the USA could have sent thousands of athletes instead of the 613 they sent to Tokyo, and they might have won a lot more medals.  Same could definitely be said for China.  But I decided to take a look at the games as a whole, and to compare how many people there are in a country versus how many medals that country won.  The smaller the number, the more bang for the buck that country is getting.  And the best ratio of population to athletic success for Tokyo 2020?  San Marino!, which is now officially the smallest nation to ever medal at the Olympics.

Tiny San Marino has only 33,900 people, but it won three medals.  That’s one medal for every 11,300 people – far and away the best ratio in the world this year.  Second place goes to Bermuda, population 62,000, winning one medal, but this appears an asterisk-worthy fluke, as only one medal could have gone either way.  Same with a few others near the top like Grenada, but San Marino won three, too many to merely be discounted as a fluke.  Not bad for the country that ranks 218th in world population.  Most of the top performers are island nations and Europeans.  Here are the top countries in people per medal won:

1. San Marino                      11,300 (3 medals)
2. Bermuda                          62,000 (1)
3. Grenada                           110,00 (1)
4. Bahamas                         195,000 (2)
5. New Zealand                  240,000 (20)
6. Jamaica                           333,000 (9)

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7. Slovenia                          420,000 (5)
8. Fiji                                    450,000 (2)
9. Netherlands                   475,000 (36)
10. Hungary                         480,000 (20)

Canada wound up 29th in the world with one medal per 1.57 million people.  New Zealand won 4 medals less than us with about 1/8 the population.  The worst performer per population was Pakistan, the world’s fifth largest country, whose team, picked from 220.9 million people, failed to win any medals for a score of infinity.  It should be noted they probably have more pressing issues to address back home than tossing shot puts around in shorts, but like life itself, this list is not meant to be fair.  China put on a great show and wound up second in the medal total with 88, but that works out to one medal per 16.35 million people.  Again, they had to limit how many athletes they sent and for sure they left many deserving souls off the team, but in terms of numbers this looks quite bad.

San Marino is in an interesting place.  If I find myself with time on my hands in Italy, I may pay it a visit.  It claims to be the oldest existing nation, founded in 301 AD, and is the world’s oldest constitutional republic.  It is also one of the world’s richest countries per capita, and one that can clearly afford the luxury of a well trained trap shooting team.  Trap shooting accounted for two of their medals in Tokyo.

It’s been a long time since I’ve pulled my shit together and wrote anything.  A casual observer might imagine that I’ve been too busy, just can’t find the time, etc.  But they would be wrong.  I have had more idle time than anyone should ever have, and yet I look at social media, pet the cat, stare into the fridge, look out the window, anything but be busy.  We sold our house, so the next few months will be about packing up to move and also doing a course at BCIT which they tell me will take 1 – 1.5 hours every day.  Then I will be too busy to write anything, now I’m just being a lazy lump.

Not long ago I went for a massage with my 15 year old grandson.  It’s the third year in a row that this was his birthday present, so it’s becoming a tradition.  When we went into the locker room to change into our robes, I noticed the kid now has hairier legs than I do.  Mind you, it isn’t hard to have hairier legs than me, you almost just have to be a mammal.  I hear about negative body images, and it’s usually in relation to girls and the pressure they feel to live up to the beauty ideals of society, but let me tell you, I have some of that too.  I am hairless to the point of being almost alien.  I have even been accused of waxing myself.  I used to have a couple lonesome hairs on my chest but my abdominal wall popped out of my belly button one day, and the corrective measures taken to repair it involved mowing down my few sparse blades of grass.  The week after the massage I started physiotherapy, which of course meant I had to take off my shirt every visit and sit there embarrassed, looking like one of those bald Egyptian cats.  When I was younger my self defense was to call myself “highly evolved,” since in evolutionary terms, mankind is getting taller and less hairy all the time.  Maybe I could start a hair club for men-type business that caters to us people who look like they were treading water in a vat of Neet hair remover?  I could plant little hair plugs all over them, run an ad on TV showing hot girls going crazy for some newly hairy guys, and get rich.  It’s about time the beauty industry started picking on men.

I see people on the news almost every day who refuse to wear a mask when they are asked to.  I really don’t understand their objections, as wearing a mask is a very small inconvenience (I forget I have mine on), and has been shown to slow the spread of diseases, evidenced by the fact that this year the flu has been all but eradicated.  One study I saw said it brought the R number down 30%.  The R is the expected number of people you will infect if you get COVID.  When it’s over 1, the disease is spreading and below 1 it’s dying out.  30% doesn’t sound like much but if it would be 1.4 without it, it would be 0.98 with it – a huge difference.  In five generations of infecting people, 1.4 would be about 8 sick people, 0.98 would be 0.8.  Anyway, news stories about anti-mask people almost always end with the non mask wearer losing his mind in anger and assaulting someone.  Pretty convincing argument technique!  I hear people say they are reluctant to get the vaccine too.  I looked at the Canadian data so far, and there have been fewer than 200 serious reactions to the shot in around 1.8 million doses.  That’s one in every 9,000 or so – a success rate of 99.989%  If you are someone who knows they will react, I get it, other wise it seems pretty safe so far.  I will be getting my shot as soon as it is offered to me, and I hope most people do as well.  I’m sick of staying home and not seeing anyone, but not so sick of it that I will defy medical advice and go out before it’s safe.

Hang in there and stay well.  Let’s have ourselves a good summer.

I am officially bored of sitting in the house. Today is my dad’s birthday, and in any other year we would be getting together as a family for a dinner to celebrate.  I miss him and my uncle, which is my fault mostly as they only live about a half hour away.  There are other people I miss too, who I never see.  Me being a poor socializer is a sad reality, and this is a terrible time to be that way.

Today is a typical mid-winter BC coast day: rainy, windy and grey.  I have no where to go and I am sort of restlessly looking for food to eat and something to do.  Fact is, I got books for Christmas I could read, and there is always house work to do, but when you start doing nothing it gathers momentum.

Happy new year!  I see a lot of people are happy to see 2020 leave.  There were many reasons not to like it – the pandemic, street protests galore, rampant examples of public foolishness about masks and phantom election thefts.  I have seen where some people have said it was the “worst year ever,” but, while it might have been the worst in a while, it would need to have gone a long way to be worse than almost any year during the world wars or the black plague.  2021 should be a year of hope, and a year that brightens with time as the vaccinations start to rid us of the risk of COVID-19 and set us free again.  This hope and the lightening and warming of the world in spring may run in parallel, sort of the opposite trajectory of last year.  Maybe the family birthdays this summer will be back to normal?  I sure hope so.

I have a little bone to pick with the site that my blog appears on, Bloglovin.  I have written a few blogs that have not shown up there, and I see by the analytics that no one has read them.  That might be what they deserve, who knows?, but I wish they would at least post them.  I wrote Bloglovin twice and got no reply.  I think it may have been a problem with the ‘theme’ – the actual lay out of the site – which was out of date and not supported by their programming language.  That’s why the site looks different than before.  I kind of liked the old lay out better, but if this works, then it’s improved by default.  In a way, this post is a trial run to see if this gets out to the people who follow it.  We shall see…
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Happy 2021 to everyone!  Better times are on the way, and the first beer’s on me when things get back to normal.  Cheers.

Well the Christmas holidays are here again.  I am pretty excited to have ten days off for the price of using three holiday days.  I plan to rest, drink moderately, and spend a lot of time looking out the window, as non-essential travel is banned for our own good.  Most of our traditions are out the window this year, but it was reassuring to see that I have accidentally continued one tradition we seem to have: small household disasters.

It started several years ago when we lived in our townhouse in Cloverdale.  That year around December 22 our hot water tank died, so we had to scrape together several hundred dollars we didn’t have laying around for a new one.  It could have been worse, as sometimes hot water tanks don’t just quit working but die in the hot water tank equivalent of a supernova, where they split open and flood the house.  Ours just died peacefully in its sleep, but its timing made it Christmas disaster number one.

After we moved into our old house in Abbotsford we started having trouble with the water service line.  Honestly, we had a lot of trouble with a lot of things, but only a couple of them got busy and wrecked Christmas.  We had already dug up parts of the water line and made repairs to the old copper line, but it was Xmas day that it went with a flourish.  A big wet spot had showed itself on the lawn – surely another leak had started in the line – and this time our daughters ran for shovels and dug it up.  There they were in lovely dresses and makeup, digging up the muddy ground.  We didn’t finish the repair that day, we had presents to open and a dinner to ravage, but that time I replaced the whole 40 feet of old copper from the road to the house when the weather warmed up.

The next catastrophe occurred a year or two later, and it began with a phone call I got at work around the 20th from our daughter Lizz.  She told me water was coming out of the ceiling and running down the light fixture in her bedroom.  It turned out that about 60 years of kitchen sludge had completely plugged a drain pipe which had came apart above her ceiling.  For this adventure I had to remove about 20 feet of ceiling from the basement and cut out all the old drain pipe.  The pipe was clogged like a fat man’s artery.  There was a tiny little hole through which all of our dishwater had been seeping out, but it finally got too much.  Christmas afternoon as guests were arriving for dinner, they were greeted by my two legs poking out from under the sink, trying to patch together a working drain.

The next year my half-ass plumbing skills came back to bite me.  The drain I laid the year before wasn’t sloped properly, and the new pipe was already full of fatty surprises.  Of course it chose December 24th to totally stop draining.  Luckily Dorothy worked with a guy who was a plumber and who happened to live near by, so with one call I had expert help.  All day Christmas he helped me install a whole new drain and, most importantly, slope it so there weren’t any low spots where the crap could build up.  My helper even refused to be paid for his help!  It was awful, but there certainly was a silver lining.

Another year or so later we decided to renovate the basement.  (Of course, by “we” I mean Dorothy.)  It didn’t start out as a holiday-tainting event, but it wound up that way.  We scheduled in people to frame, drywall, do electrical and paint.  Everything was going along well, then a flu came around and everyone got sick and cancelled days.  The job got further and further behind.  My Christmas that year was spent pulling down old drywall, feeling sick but having to carry on.  I picked at my turkey dinner with drywall dust all over me and bits of plaster in my hair.

Fast forward to this year’s disaster.  On the 21st I was drying some dishes when I came to a canister we had stored rice in.  As I dried it, it started to slip.  It had a heavy glass lid that fit snugly on top with a wire hinge.  I fumbled the top for a second, then it fell.  I stuck my foot out to break its fall and hopefully stop it from shattering, but the actual result of what I did could best be described as me giving it a robust drop kick into the front of our glass stove which smashed into about fifty million little glass cubes.  The lid suffered no damage at all.  You might me surprised at how much glass there is on the front of a glass stove.  We swept up about five pounds of the carnage into a box for safe disposal.  Then we picked out more glass, swept some more, vacuumed, swept again, moved things and repeated.  Luckily the oven still works and the heavy inner glass door seems to insulate really well, so anyone with a poorly developed sense of danger who might touch the door with the oven on, probably wouldn’t get burned.  I say luckily because that is where the turkey is going to get cooked in a day or two.
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We are hoping that’s the only disaster in store for us this year, but we missed a few years, so maybe we’re due for two?  I am also hoping for a couple other things.  One is, of the last three posts I written, only one of them got published on Bloglovin’, so I’m hoping this bucks the trend and gets put where people can see it.  And most importantly, I hope anyone still reading this has a great Christmas, free of messes and chaos, and that everyone stays healthy and keeps enough sanity to get back to enjoying life when the opportunity comes.

Well I must say I was initially pretty relieved to see the Big Cheezie, Donald Trump, lose the election last week. I found his pouting and unsportsmanlike behaviour a refreshing change from his gloating and lying. But then he started challenging the election process itself, saying his ‘victory’ was stolen from him, claiming massive voter fraud. In itself, this would be par for the course. The thing that was bothering me was the sycophantic horde of uneducated zombies who agreed with him, usually to the point of screaming and yelling at reporters or threatening election officials with violence. “This is what the 2nd Amendment is for,” is a message left for one official, referring to the right to bear arms being linked to having the ability to kill tyrants who become a menace to the republic. What ever happened to being gracious in defeat, and maybe even hoping the new guy does a good job, since you’re going to be stuck with whatever he does? We’ve gone beyond that now. (Americans more than us, although I hear some of this bullshit up here too) The bullies and poorly educated masses who can’t distinguish between truth and conspiracy fantasy have been brought out of the basement, into the light, and given some encouragement in terms of numbers and political representation.

I wonder how long it will be before some beer-bellied huckleberry in a muscle shirt assassinates a public figure? He will believe himself a hero, protecting his vision of America against the “deep state” and the “socialist whackos” who want to give him free medical coverage. Sure, he will get taken down and maybe even executed, but there will be other people from the trailer park tattooing his name on their arms, too. This is Trump’s legacy, aided greatly by the internet and its open sewer, social media. The suspicious, technologically lacking people who relied on jobs now done cheaply in China, have been fed nonsense that makes them feel like victims of secret elite groups. Who will get that genie back in the bottle? How do you explain to them that those manufacturing jobs left their country because greedy, rich American companies moved their operations to Asia, where labour is dirt cheap and doesn’t get a benefit plan or pension? They believe those jobs were stolen, like Trump’s election. I think if the political sides were more clear, geographically, like the north/south division of slavery in 1860, they might even launch a civil war.

Maybe America should start teaching critical thinking again. Soon! And maybe a few greedy, rich companies could bring some jobs back home. Sure it would hurt their bottom lines, and their products would cost more, but think of the social benefits of having that armed, paranoid dude working at the running shoe factory instead of reading about QAnon, polishing his assault rifle.

Anyway, I hope my little rant is stuff that never happens. I hope this is the high water mark of craziness from down south, and soon we see it receding and becoming another mania from another time. Joe Biden talks about healing, but he is dealing with people – Trump got over 70 million votes! – who feel threatened and angry. Is it too late to spike the water supply with magic mushrooms and let everyone have a big laugh?

When Trump becomes a vulnerable citizen again and has to answer for his obstruction of justice and tax evasion, I hope it will expose him as the new Wizard of Oz – a sad little man behind the big scary machine. And hopefully he will lose his lustre as the world’s top bully and braggart.