The color...

Okay, I just thought this was funny because it is so obviously not a yellow cab:

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Hard times

It’s been my observation that chiropractors are the most venal of healthcare professionals—they always have something to sell you, from supplements to pillows—to add on to their adjustment services.

However, I’ve noticed that the dentist who took over the practice from the man I saw for thirty years after he retired seems to have kicked up the heat on “extras” that start adding up.

And—this is a first—when I was in the new ophthalmologist’s office a couple of weeks ago, they had these posters all over the place:

(I did not take them up on it.) 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Community

 I sometimes walk through the Charter Oak cluster as a way to bump out my step count. The townhouses were built in 1969, which makes it deeply established in the People’s Republic, and I often find things in their individual gardens that fill me with joy. Like the front yard with purple flowers beloved by bees. There are others that go big time (townhouse edition) for Halloween. We’ll see them later this month.

But what’s sparking my gratitude today is the tree house that the community built in one of the two central green areas:

They had the rope swing for years, but they added the platform last year, and it just invites you to climb up the ladder and survey the world. It kind of makes me think of the forecastle of a pirate ship, but I expect that it can become whatever the kids on it want it to be.

What sparks my joy, however, is the dedication plaque:

Not (as my cluster’s tot lot is signed) for residents and guests; for all children.

That’s community. Gotta be grateful for that.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

It's easy

The People’s Republic was founded as a planned community, with a focus on “community” and a respect for its natural surroundings. However, we are in the 21^st Century, and the Fairfax County Board of Supervisors never met an upscale development plan it didn’t love, so the natural surroundings are retreating under the onslaught of “luxury” townhouses at a rate of knots.

What once was a community swimming pool across the street from a friend of mine is currently being converted to 28 cookie-cutter townhouses jammed together, with no yards and tight turn ratios to get your two SUVs into the garages. Here’s one of the road signs touting it:

I noticed last Sunday that someone had defaced it—just the black spray paint. But a couple of days ago someone (else?) had added a message:

So, of course “All You Need Is Love” has been caroming around my head ever since. So, of course, I’m sharing it with you today. We do know that love is, in fact, not all you need. But it's a good start.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Written on the wall

Last week I went to a new medical provider and so entered the building’s elevator for the first time.

Let me just say: wut?

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Circle of...

Went out the other morning and saw distinct signs that there’d been a probably life/death struggle literally at my back door.

I know that’s how Nature works, but I am glad I didn’t witness it.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Still available

Even though Costco moved on from Halloween yard décor right quick to Christmas, I noticed that they added to the former (now moved from close to the entrance (now Christmas-land) to over by the chiller cases) with a motion-activated monster.

My question—my eternal question for these things, whatever the holiday—is: where do people store this stuff? 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: A duty and a privilege

Early voting for this year’s midterm elections started in Virginia on the 18^th. That in itself is a source of gratitude for me because up until about 20 years ago, the Old Dominion was absolutely dug in on the hill of Vote Only on Election Day. If you wanted an absentee ballot, or to vote early, you had to hawk up a valid reason why you could not show up on Election Day and wait a few hours in a line extending into the neighborhood like the Baptist God intended.

But ever since I moved back from The Valley They Call Silicon (where I used to walk half a block to the fire station and didn’t have to show ID; they just marked my name off a paper register), I’ve been so grateful that we’ve moved into the late 20^th Century.

Having flexibility in how and when you cast your ballot literally means more people can exercise their constitutional right to vote. Many citizens work at places that don’t give you time off to vote; fulfilling your civic obligation can literally cost you money if you have to take time off from work. Even at places that do, the two hours might not be enough when your precinct has heavy turnout and the line is long.

(Interestingly, when I worked at an association in D.C. that did allow two hours on Election Day, one year the head of HR sent round an email advising employees—we had a greater concentration of Ph.D. scientists than some mid-sized universities—that the organization knew that polls in Maryland, D.C. and Virginia opened at 0700 and stayed open until 1900, so they would view it as taking the piss (I paraphrase) if people availed themselves of the time off as stated in the manual. That went over well.)

This year voting is especially fraught. Republicans all up and down the line are frantically trying to restrict who votes. State legislatures are gerrymandering districts to skew right. Where that doesn’t go far enough, they’re closing polling stations in Democratic districts and removing ballot drop boxes to make it more difficult for people there to vote. Many states (mostly South of the Mason-Dixon Line) have made it illegal to provide food or water for people waiting in line to vote in hopes that will discourage the elderly and infirm from showing up.

The Kleptocrat has demanded that states turn over voting rolls (so far every one has been quashed in the courts) and that the USPS dick with ballots sent out and returned by mail. (So far it seems like that also has been stymied by the courts.) He’s proclaimed that he’s going to send federal troops and ICE to (Democratic) polling stations on Election Day to “police” them. Meaning: intimidate and even abduct anyone who doesn’t look white enough.

There are even reports that he’s going to declare martial law in an attempt to cancel the elections altogether. This, of course, would be met with a tsunami of law suits and provoke a constitutional crisis. (For one thing, the 119^th Congress expires on 3 January 2027 and without duly-elected Representatives, there’s no House. Now, some might say that such a thing would be an improvement, or at least that no one would notice any difference in productivity, but this would still be a crisis.)

For the record, the United States of America has held elections through every crisis in our history, including two world wars and a civil war when armed enemy territory began at the Potomac River, a couple of miles from the US Capitol. Having a corrupt dementia-rotted sitting president, a spineless Congress and an ideology-driven SCOTUS is indeed disastrous, but that’s no reason to cancel elections.

In fact, elections are the start of the solution to this dumpster fire. Which every Republican understands; that’s why they’re so desperate to restrict and repress voting.

Anyway—I voted last week. As I cast my ballot (not a whole lot of choice, really; the Democratic incumbents for Senator and Representative essentially have a sinecure in my district, which is better than saying the same for Republicans, but I’d still prefer that they have a lean and hungry look), I thought about the millions of people around the world who would marvel at such a thing. Walked up, handed over my ID (which I understand from Republicans I have to do when I buy groceries?), got my ballot and registered my opinion on candidates and state and county measures.

That, dear reader, is a miracle that generations of our forebears have wrought with their blood and treasure. That it is under threat from the highest office holders in the land is despicable. But I’m grateful for the privilege.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

The road rushing under my wheels

Considering the state of fossil fuels this past week, courtesy of the War to Entertain the Narcissistic Kleptocrat that’s been over-in-two-weeks since it started in February (and now predicted by his sphincter to be ending “after the elections”), I’ve been thinking about a song from my college years.

There was a video on the socials of a trucker not filling the tank of his semi with diesel, but stopping the flow when the total hit $1000. “That’s a first for me,” he commented.

(I topped up the tank of my Saab at Costco yesterday. For the first time not-in-California, regular was $4.10/gallon. I paid $42 for half a tank.)

So here’s Jackson Browne singing the newly apt “Running on Empty”.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Roadside commerce

On one of my walks last week, I noticed this setup between a townhouse cluster and the local private golf course.

(Interestingly, this course is owned by developers who’ve been trying for about a decade to fill all the space with townhouses. Same thing’s happening with the public course on the other side of the People’s Republic. Watching the furor on both sides of the fight has been interesting.)

So I walked over to see what it was. It was American Free Enterprise at work.

This is located on the second hole of the course, so I don’t know how many golfers will feel the need of extra balls that early in a round. I also know nothing about the economics of golf, so I have no earthly notion whether $2 per ball is an attractive price.

I did find it interesting that there’s a quasi-honor system: up to you whether you pay, but if you do, once your money’s in the slot, it’s secure.

Unless someone wants to take the whole thing.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu