Yeah, we know

As a matter of principle, whenever I see a Cybertruck, I must audibly murmur “asshole”, because the universe demands it.

And the one I saw in Herndon on Saturday was kind of double asshole, because it had a (heretofore unseen by me) variant of the ridiculous Tea Party license plate. You know—the one with the curled snake that mostly looks like the poop emoji. (Virginia will do anything to make a buck.)

But I did like the seasonal decoration, even though if he’d gone more than 35 MPH, that webbing would be gone.

I still invoked the universe’s mantra.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Calm before

It’s appropriate this year that Election Day is at the earlier end of the cycle (first Tuesday after the first Monday in November—the earliest an election could be held would be on 2 November), because we’re still in that liminal time when the living take notice of the dead (and possibly vice versa).

We just celebrated Halloween on Saturday, which is rooted in the Celtic holiday of Samhain—marking the bringing in of the harvest to sustain people through the shorter days and colder temperatures of winter. Samhain also honors those who have preceded us into death, keeping their memory alive through the generations.

Yesterday and today, Christians marked All Saints Day and All Souls Day, essentially carrying on the Celtic tradition. The wall between this world and the next is more frangible around now, and it’s a time for lighting protective and cleansing bonfires.

Our Latino neighbors (within this country and up and down the Americas) are also celebrating El Día de Muertos, honoring those who’ve passed and taking account of the living.

So it’s a truly appropriate time for considering how we want the next two years to go in our country, and voting accordingly. It is not hyperbolic to say this is a life-or-death decision; a choice between good and evil, light and darkness. Everything is riding on the outcome of tomorrow’s elections. No vote is inconsequential.

Today I’m grateful for the millions of Americans who have already cast their ballots, by mail, drop-off box or in-person. Also for the poll workers who show up throughout the voting season to make the whole thing work. And for those who manage the process of counting the votes and certifying their accuracy. (A decade ago I wouldn’t even have thought about them, but after the experience of 2020, I recognize them as true heroes of democracy.)

I’m also grateful for the (Republican-run) state of Alaska, whose lawyers just told the Kleptocrat’s DOJ to get stuffed with its lawsuit demanding that the vote not be certified unless the incumbent senator wins. (As of writing, the Alaska Supreme Court ruled in favor of the DOJ getting stuffed, and it's currently before the Nineth Circuit on appeal.)

There is a real threat that the Kleptocrat will try to invalidate or ignore any results that do not please him; we are truly in a dangerous time. So the ordinary people who do their civic duty are more important than ever.

I am holding my breath.

©2026 Bas Bleu

Ooooooer

Obviously, with general elections always set for the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, they’re going to come soon after Halloween. This year, given the grotesque and terrifying state of the Republican-controlled government, it seems particularly appropriate that voters are officially going to the polls three days after the ghouls and goblins have their night.

In honor of that, today I’m giving you Modest Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain”. Specifically the cut from Disney’s 1941 animated masterpiece, Fantasia. Disney mucked up the ending, but it's still a fantastic watch.

(Fun Fact: I lent a VHS tape of Fantasia to a, uh, younger colleague in North Carolina several decades ago. He came back all in awe: “Hey—it had the Scrubbing Bubbles music!”)

Stay safe and vote! 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

Spooks in the hood

Time for some pix of Halloween decorations.

I’ve noticed that every year this house really gets into it:

And a couple of entries from the same cluster:

Including this:

This year I noticed that residents of a nearby apartment complex are making a statement:

Another townhouse cluster got into the act:

And regulars from my own: 

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Split personality

So, the thing that caught my attention about this truck was the “Tub’s” on the side.

And by “caught my attention” I mean “ate the enamel off my teeth”. Someone paid money to have the possessive instead of the plural painted on their commercial vehicle and either didn’t notice or didn’t care. (Unless it's actually the LLC of Fashion Tub?)

But then I realized that the back of the truck—the one all spiffified with images and colors—got it right.

My teeth are in real danger.

 

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Everywhere a sign

This sign is posted along a stretch of the W&OD Trail in the People’s Republic.

What I find interesting is that it is, effectively, a bunch of words hat are without any actionable information.

The sign has been up for at least five days, and there’s no date stamp on it. So the implicit warning has no meaning, since we have no idea when the herbicide was applied. Also—I’m more disinclined to believe anything else these mokes put out because of this.

I suppose it’s a labor issue—it costs money to field people to retrieve signs like these, but still.

 

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Hydrangeas in the hood

Okay, the hydrangeas are preparing to hunker down for winter and take a much-deserved rest. And even now, they’re gorgeous. I don’t know if there’s anything that gives you all-season beauty value for effort like a hydrangea.

So my gratitude today is for all the ones on my walking routes. They always have something to give me whenever I see them.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Haunt my dreams

The Washington Post reported yesterday that back in February, SecDef Pete Hegseth took a hankering to a globe that was allegedly used by Dwight D. Eisenhower during World War II. Because there’s nothing Whiskey Pete loves more than the trappings of glory.

Well, maybe also borrowed military success. He’d probably like that, too.

(Kegsbreath apparently has a jones for WWII. It's a subject of jokes and memes within the Pentagon. I honestly don't know which side he roots for.)

Plus—booze. I don’t know whether he’s fulfilled his promise while undergoing Senate confirmation that, if appointed, he would stop drinking, but it’s really astonishing that a nominee for Cabinet office had to make the problem in the first place. And that he would be confirmed afterward.

Anyhow—this being the kleptocratic administration, Hegseth couldn’t wait for historians and curator-level movers to relocate the antique artifact, so Pentagon schlubs—I don’t know—picked it up to carry it wherever, and they dropped it. And it was damaged.

(Photos acquired by WaPo.)

Naturally the Pentagon is keeping shtum about the debacle and Hegseth isn’t responding to requests for comment. But, really, the metaphor for this entire administration and every Republican in office could not be more clear.

So my earworm for today is one of the all-time favorites of WWII, on both sides of the conflict, “Lili Marlene”. And here’s Marlene Dietrich singing it. (Dietrich had more courage and steelier cojones than every Republican in office.)

 

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Really wrong list

I do not know what mailing list I got on, or how, but in addition to the “help my dad” solicitation from Mattie (Paxton) Hayworth, a couple of times this year I’ve been sent the Ronald Reagan Ranch calendar for 2027.

Along with an invitation to make a donation to “help save the ranch”.

I’ve loathed Reagan and his brand of politics since he was governor of California. The day I voluntarily give money to any cause with even a whiff of Reagan about it is the day giant cracks appear in the earth’s surface and the sun does not appear in the sky.

So—no.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

What a load of

Welp, this arrived the other day:

Four pages of probably AI-generated drivel about what a great father Ken Paxton was. Ken Paxton, Republican Attorney General of Texas impeached on corruption charges that really never plumbed the depths of his crookedness. An AG who brokered a plea bargain deal with a (white, Republican Christian) facing charges of repeatedly raping a boy, which saw the accused serve 30 days in jail and returning to the practice of law. Divorced by his wife of decades on “biblical grounds”. World traveler with his mistress and owner of properties in the double digits in multiple states (including a “vacation lodge” in Oklahoma, which I frankly do not get because who vacations in Oklahoma?). Who stole another man’s $1000 Mont Blanc pen from a security bin and only returned it when the theft became public.

In short, an all-around holder of true Republican values, and therefore of course endorsed by the Kleptocrat.

But Mattie (Paxton) Hayworth assures me that Paxton showed her “what faith looks like when it’s actually lived out”, because he read the Bible every morning and prayed with her. (That image frankly gives me the jim-jams.) She says that when she “went looking for a husband” she “found a man just like him” and that really creeps me out. She points out that as AG Paxton sued the Biden administration more than 100 times and defended Texas’ anti-abortion laws up to SCOTUS. She doesn’t point out that his success put hundreds of Texas women at medical risk because medical providers are afraid to deal with life-threatening complications of pregnancy in the face of being sued and shut down.

And of course she asks for money, to help Paxton face those mean, radical Democrats who want to give Texans and everyone healthcare, a solid education, a good quality of life and a secure environment maintained by the rule of law. (I paraphrase—she left off the last part.)

Well, all I have to say is: boy, did you get the wrong mailing list, hon.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu