The name of the game

Well, alrighty then—Cadet Bonespurs proposed Tuesday that the United States take “a long-term ownership position” of Gaza by sending US troops to clear out all the Palestinian residents of the region (sending them to as-yet to-be-named countries permanently) and following them with US companies (mostly ones with his name on them or in which he has a financial stake) to develop all that beautiful beachfront property.

I have thoughts.

That he did this by way of welcoming Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu is just cherce. I mean—don’t get me wrong, Bibi would love nothing better than to hand off the ethnic cleansing of Gaza to someone else; it saves him money and maybe gets about 2.2% of the world’s opprobrium off his back. But I’m not really sure how happy he’d be to have an outpost of the United States in his backyard, looking over his shoulder and making strong suggestions on how he should run his little satrapy.

The notion that Gaza’s neighbors Egypt and Jordan should take on 2.1 million displaced Palestinians because the Kleptocrat is waving his willie is also interesting. There are literally generations of Palestinians who’ve never been allowed out of the Jordanian refugee camps to which they fled in 1948 because they’re considered alien and troublesome. Both Jordan and Egypt have been quite clear over the decades that they do not welcome Palestinians. At all. I do not know how much money we’d have to throw at them to get them to appear to change their minds about this, but I don’t think we have enough.

In fact, I’d be interested in Bonespurs’ brain burps on where he expects to find the “good, fresh, beautiful piece of land” for the displaced millions. Rwanda, perhaps? Madagascar, maybe? Possibly he’ll annex all of Cuba and move them there. As for finding the “some people to put up the money to build it and make it nice and make it habitable and enjoyable”…yeah, okay: I can see Peter Thiel, Eric Prince and some others sniffing out some very profitable contracts coming down the pike. After they’ve finished building out and managing the concentration camp in Guantánamo Bay (you know that’s going to be a for-profit prison, right?).

Dunno yet how the apocalypse-loving evangelicals are reacting to this. On the one hand, Bonespurs is talking about turning the conflict that’s meant to usher in the End Times into luxury resorts and high-end time shares (neither of which they can afford, unless they're "pastors" of megachurches). That’s not Written in the Book, I don’t think. On the other, Mini Moses Johnson and his co-religionists have had some kind of chip implanted in the space where normal people would have a cerebellum, which prevents them from saying anything critical about their God-sent messiah. So it’s a paradox.

Evidently all the talk on the campaign trail about keeping US troops out of foreign wars was just so much bullshit. Go figure. 

And all you American supporters of Palestine, who didn’t think Kamala Harris would do enough to help your brothers and sisters, so you voted R, or third party or not at all: welcome to find out. I hope you’re happy with your choice.

The rest of you: don't let this shite distract you from the 24x7 fuckery going on in federal agencies by the World's Richest Ketamine Freak and his muskrats. He's playing kid in a ketamine shop with our data from Treasury, and is moving on to "fix" the aviation system. Nothing scary about that, eh?

Well, anyhow—it’s Friday, so in honor of all that new beachfront development, let’s have something truly classy for the first president to use the bully pulpit to hawk his cheap-ass schlock merch. Has to be Frankie and Annette singing “Beach Blanket Bingo”.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

 

Economic update

During my sortie to IKEA on Tuesday, I noticed a couple of things.

The breakfast in their cafeteria that used to be $.99 15 years ago (and may have gone up to $1.99 five years ago, which was probably the last time I was there) is now $2.49.

But their bacon is really amazing, so it’s absolutely worth it.

And the 100-pack of tea lights, which used to be $2.49, is now $4.99. Even so, that's only $.05 per light, so they’re still the best bargain in candles around.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Retail therapy

I went to IKEA yesterday:

Yes, that was my entire purchase: $75 worth of candles. I like dinner by candlelight.

May be time to install smoke detectors, tho.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

When pigs fly

Okay, I know this video is shot through the screen, so it may not be immediately clear to you what you’re seeing.

But what you’re seeing is a wren, eating bacon.

 

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: walking the walk

You may be aware that the environs of the District They Call Columbia had some Weather last month. Big drop of snow and then sub-freezing temperatures for more than 10 days. Weather forecast was so bad that the incoming leader of the free world moved the inauguration ceremony into the Capitol.

(Haha—no. The Kleptocrat was afraid of high winds blowing up his hair helmet. And, also, he knew that the attendance numbers would be even lower than in 2017. He was basically hiding.)

Anyway, the result for me was that, in addition to my car being literally frozen so I couldn’t even jump the battery, my walking was curtailed due to snow and ice on sidewalks and the W&OD. About Wednesday of last week, I could finally walk about half my usual distance by sticking to the bike lane in the street, but couldn’t go off-street safely until Saturday, after it rained all day Friday.

Man—did it ever feel so good to get out the past two days. Weather’s still bizarre: it was 44F on Saturday when I went out and 23F yesterday. But clear and windless, so excellent walking weather. Both days I had more energy throughout the day, and a better mood. Yay, endorphins! 

And that’s my gratitude for today: being able to rack up the steps.

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Mis versos del alma

Great. The Kleptocrat has announced plans to build a “migrant operations center” at Guantánamo Bay, “to provide additional detention space for high-priority criminal aliens unlawfully present in the United States, and to address attendant immigration enforcement needs identified by the Department of Defense and the Department of Homeland Security.”

I have thoughts.

He's building a concentration camp to hold up to 30,000 people his goons identify as “criminal aliens”, in the most hidden and inaccessible place the US controls. The current facility at Gitmo maxes out at 800, and there are currently about 100 prisoners—uh, “detainees”, whatever—there. Imagine what it will take to expand that to 30,000. Either he’s thinking of letting the construction contract to his buddies, or he’s expecting to use slave labor to get the job done. ¿Por qué no los dos?

This choice is not accidental. Guantánamo is the 21^st Century analogue of Poland, which was where the Nazis located their six Todeslager—the killing centers of Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibor, Treblinka and Auschwitz-Birkenau. Oh, yeah—they built “concentration camps” in Germany and occupied western countries, but for the real work of genocide, they put the facilities far from the Vaterland, so Germans wouldn’t smell the smoke coming from the crematories.

Even people in South Dakota and Wyoming might object to that sort of thing, job prospects in prison management notwithstanding. Not in theory, you understand; just NIMBY.

To put the scale of this “detention center” into perspective: 30,000 is roughly the population of Rahway, N.J.; Gloucester, Mass., Winter Park, Fla.; Juneau, Alaska; Bangor, Maine; Laramie, Wyo.; or East Palo Alto, Calif. It’s the undergraduate student body of the University of Southern California, Clemson University, the University of Massachusetts-Amherst or the University of Iowa. Pulling something like that out of the Kleptocrat’s ass because it’s the best way to hide crimes against humanity—well, what could possibly go wrong with that process?

We started down this path of lawlessness in the pursuit of geopolitics when George W. Bush announced the Great War on Terror and repurposed the naval station to imprison men scooped up in raids all over the Middle East and West Asia—often just on the say-so of others who had scores to settle. (Much the way people ended up in Dachau or Sachsenhausen on being denounced by their neighbors.) And then held them in prison without trial for years. Our hands are not clean. But man—we’re just diving face first into the abattoir with this insanity.

Since the White House has declared that shoplifting $100 in merchandise constitutes major crime if you aren’t White (basically), this means that people with anything less than a US passport in documentation can be swept up and jailed without due process, because migration. (It was the first bill he signed in office, the so-called Lakan Riley Act.) And those people could end up in Guantánamo. Because once he’s built the facility, he has to justify it by filling it.

Well, but it’s Friday, innit? So our earworm for today is “Guantanamera”, a folk song based on a poem by 19^th-Century Cuban poet, nationalist and philosopher José Martí. The poem is about a girl from Guantánamo, but she’s a proxy for his love of Cuba. He would be appalled by these plans.

Let’s hear Cuban artist Celia Cruz singing it.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Oh, poop

People—what the almighty hell is wrong with you?

I see this all the time on the W&OD train; dog walkers think their civic responsibility is met if they bag their animal’s poop. No need to carry it to a trash bin.

But when you’re within 20 yards of a bin? Explain this to me. Now.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

H2 O my

So, this happened yesterday:

Only (and I know you're be amazed by this):

And these replies were pure gold:

God, but we are well and truly fucked.

Medical wonder

Yesterday I had occasion to have a CT abdominal scan. The prep for that required that I ingest 1.5 bottles of what is pleased to call itself a barium smoothie.

Let me just say that it’s not so much a “smoothie” as a “slimy”.

The scan itself lasted less that 15 minutes, from being called to the waiting room to exit. That was a breeze.

 

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

Gratitude Monday: mobility

Three things you need to know: I am from LA, a place where without access to a motor vehicle, you are completely dead in the water. Public transportation was a joke when I was growing up and you needed a car to accomplish the basics—get to work, buy groceries, get to swimming lessons at the Y. I walked to school, K-12; that was the only thing that was walkable in my youth.

The second thing: I drive a 2001 Saab. It only has 115K miles on it, so I rightfully expect to get another 136K before I need to think about replacing it. The battery is about two years old, but I don’t put a lot of miles per year on it.

Third: There was snow/wintery mix on the 17^th, and up until Saturday, we’ve had many days of temperatures that didn’t rise above 20F; they went down to single digits a couple of nights.

I had no reason to drive on the MLK weekend, but I was going to go out to breakfast with a friend on the holiday. She couldn’t get out of her cluster parking lot because it was an icy hill, and when I went out to start to car, the battery was completely dead.

Well, I ordered one of those portable battery chargers, because I knew once I got the car started, it would be okay. It arrived on Tuesday, but when I went out to connect it, I found that the snow on my car had turned to ice, and the hood was frozen to the frame. I couldn’t get it open.

For a couple of days, I chipped away at the ice, but with temps in the 20s, I was getting no help from nature. And I needed milk. Then I remembered—my neighbors were both in Seattle, and he’d left me the key to Das Auto. He’d already asked me the week before if I’d started the car, and was clearly disappointed when I said I hadn’t, so I thought he wouldn’t mind if I drove it to Trader Joe’s.

Das Auto started straight away. It took a while to scrape off the windshield and rear window (it’s an SUV), but while I was doing that, the driver’s seat was heating up. Let me tell you—the most amazing invention of the 20^th Century is not the polio vaccine or rocket engines, it’s heated car seats. Streets in the People’s Republic were clear and I made it to TJ and back without incident on Wednesday. And I drove it the next day to pick up something I needed for a medical appointment today. The Saab was still frozen shut.

Thursday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk and saw my neighbor waving at me through the front window. Back from Seattle. I handed over the key straight away; he told me to feel free any time to come down and sit in the heated seat. He also said we could try hot water on Friday to free the hood.

Well, Friday morning I went out and was ecstatic to feel the hood pop up when I pulled the latch. And that battery charger worked a treat. I got all the icy scraped from my windows and drove around town. Went to the library, bought bleach and tea—and felt the most wonderful relief and freedom. Selkie doesn’t have heated seats, but I wasn’t worried about some yahoo ploughing into me while driving someone else’s car.

If you are not a Southern Californian, you may not fully grasp what a difference this made to me. It was as though the sun had come out; hope returned to my life.

So my gratitude today is for having my car fully operational again, but also for being able to use my neighbor’s car in a pinch.

And, of course, for the heated seat.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Change the world

Graham Nash’s “Chicago” has been in my head recently. He wrote it in response to the trial of the Chicago 7 (originally 8), but it seems so apt for what I’m seeing now. The emboldening of White racists, abandoning any kind of accountability for law enforcement thuggery, obliteration of regulations and dismissal of any pretense of the rule of law. And we can look forward to a whole lot more of binding and gagging.

Man—good times, eh?

Here’s Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young singing it. Crank up the volume.

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Mad hatter

Quiz time: what are these memes from this week referencing?

Do you really need a hint? Okay:

Also:

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

White infrastructure

Oh, I forgot—in our first snow of 2025, a couple of weeks ago, we got enough for kids to make snowmen. And build a snow fort. Or whatever this is.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Weathering the day

It was a beautiful day yesterday in the People’s Republic. We got maybe one or two inches of snow on Sunday—not the big dump that was forecast. It was mixed with rain, and of course froze overnight, which made walking iffy. It was cold—no doubt about it, but not much wind here.

Also—my car battery wouldn’t start. But I have the key to Das Auto, which—as it happens—does have a new battery, so I was able to get around.

I shovel my patio so the birds don’t have to dig around in the snow for seeds. It got a little coating after I cleared it on Sunday; here are the designs left by little bird feet.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: No lie can live forever

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr., day in the United States. The third Monday in January has been a federal holiday since 1986; I suppose that’s another line item on the grievance list of White supremacists. Boo hoo.

In March of 1965, King was one of the thousands who marched from Selma to Montgomery; when they reached the Alabama capital, he gave an address that resonates with me particularly strongly today. He began:

“Last Sunday, more than eight thousand of us started on a mighty walk from Selma, Alabama. We have walked through desolate valleys and across the trying hills. We have walked on meandering highways and rested our bodies on rocky byways. Some of our faces are burned from the outpourings of the sweltering sun. Some have literally slept in the mud. We have been drenched by the rains. Our bodies are tired and our feet are somewhat sore.

“But today as I stand before you and think back over that great march, I can say, as Sister Pollard said—a seventy-year-old Negro woman who lived in this community during the bus boycott—and one day, she was asked while walking if she didn’t want to ride. And when she answered, ‘No,’ the person said, ‘Well, aren’t you tired?’ And with her ungrammatical profundity, she said, ‘My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.’ And in a real sense this afternoon, we can say that our feet are tired, but our souls are rested.

“They told us we wouldn’t get here. And there were those who said that we would get here only over their dead bodies, but all the world today knows that we are here and we are standing before the forces of power in the state of Alabama saying, ‘We ain’t goin’ let nobody turn us around.’’

King enumerated continuing goals for marchers—segregated housing, segregated schools, poverty and ballot boxes. The latter are mentioned several times, because they are the keys that unlock all the rest. Then he served notice to all the White folks calling for the 1965 version of “unity” that the kind of unity they want—Black folks kept in their place—is not in the cards.

“The only normalcy that we will settle for is the normalcy that recognizes the dignity and worth of all of God’s children. The only normalcy that we will settle for is the normalcy that allows judgment to run down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream. The only normalcy that we will settle for is the normalcy of brotherhood, the normalcy of true peace, the normalcy of justice.

“And so as we go away this afternoon, let us go away more than ever before committed to this struggle and committed to nonviolence. I must admit to you that there are still some difficult days ahead. We are still in for a season of suffering in many of the black belt counties of Alabama, many areas of Mississippi, many areas of Louisiana. I must admit to you that there are still jail cells waiting for us, and dark and difficult moments. But if we will go on with the faith that nonviolence and its power can transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows, we will be able to change all of these conditions.”

And here we get to the part that I take to heart:

“I know you are asking today, ‘How long will it take?’ Somebody’s asking, ‘How long will prejudice blind the visions of men, darken their understanding, and drive bright-eyed wisdom from her sacred throne?’ Somebody’s asking, ‘When will wounded justice, lying prostrate on the streets of Selma and Birmingham and communities all over the South, be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men?’ Somebody’s asking, ‘When will the radiant star of hope be plunged against the nocturnal bosom of this lonely night, plucked from weary souls with chains of fear and the manacles of death? How long will justice be crucified, and truth bear it?’

“I come to say to you this afternoon, however difficult the moment, however frustrating the hour, it will not be long, because ‘truth crushed to earth will rise again.’

“How long? Not long, because ‘no lie can live forever.’

How long? Not long, because ‘you shall reap what you sow.’’

William McCormick/Huntsville Times Archives/Alabama Department Of Archives And History

And this is what I’m holding on to today:

“How long? Not long, because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

I am the most impatient person you will ever know. And seeing the events of the past eight years culminating in the return of the convicted felon to the White House, surrounded by sycophants and toadies has sent me up the walls. I’m infuriated by 95-year-old Nazis claiming the infirmities of age as a defense against standing trial for war crimes. I have been flipping out at the outrageously unqualified nominees for Executive Branch appointments. I scream knowing that Jack Smith had enough on the Kleptocrat to convict him for election interference, but prosecution was obviated by the election. And don’t get me started on Aileen Cannon and Samuel Alito. Having King remind me that—even if I do not live to see it—no lie lives forever and the arc of the moral universe will bend toward justice brings peace to my soul.

My soul needs that peace, and I am grateful for it today, this week and the coming four years. We definitely have difficult days ahead of us and we have many miles to go. Let us all keep our eyes on truth and justice as we march.

 

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

Another perfect day

Seems to me that the only possibility for today’s earworm is Randy Newman’s “I Love L.A.”. Released in 1983, this is the anthem to the city and culture of the protean community that’s been drawing in dreamers for two centuries. Newman—like myself—is a native and he knows how to celebrate and mock in the same breath.

One of the things he calls out is the Santa Ana winds, which are a major factor in the ferocity and uncontainable wildfires that have raged across the county for a week. If you’ve never experienced one of them, shut the fuck up about how if you were in charge, you’d have put out the flames in less than a day. (It amazes me not that Republicans are on the “we have to chastise Californians because their disaster is of their own making, while the disaster of two hurricanes in Florida and the Carolinas are completely different” wagon, but because Republicans from California are climbing on that wagon to score points with the Kleptocrat.) Santa Anas are dry and hot, and gust up to 100mph; not for nothing are they known as “devil winds”.

Here's Raymond Chandler on them, in the novella called “Red Wind”:

“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.”

Well, possibly fewer cocktail lounges these days. And some of the settings for Newman’s video have been incinerated. But the city will reinvent itself. Again.

 

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

On kings

As we approach the inauguration of a convicted felon, who—but for a slight majority of those who actually voted last year—would currently be either in court defending his criminal attempt to overturn the 2020 election, or in the process of appealing his conviction for that crime, I’ve been thinking a lot about Aesop’s fable about the frogs and their kings.

Here's the gist:

There was a pond with frogs who thought very highly of themselves. Very important frogs in what was most likely the most important pond in the universe. (Well—so, that made them the most important frogs in the universe, innit?) But they had no ruler worthy of this amazingness, so they petitioned Zeus to send them a king.

“O, mighty Zeus—give us a king to rule over us! Send us someone befitting our status in the world.”

The king of the gods then dropped a log in the pond, making a huge splash. Literally. It frightened the frogs, but after a while some of them noticed that King Log wasn’t engaging in kingly activities, or even, truth be told, any activities at all. Frogs started hopping on the king and mocking him.

“Yah—proper king you are, I don’t think!” they probably said.

Well, after a while, the frog chorus appealed to Zeus again—“This isn’t the kind of king we deserve! We’re very important frogs; send us a real king, who’ll do king things!”

And Zeus sent them a stork. Naturally, the stork started scarfing down frogs, because that’s what storks do.

The frogs were terrorized as their numbers were decimated. Those who escaped wept piteously and petitioned Zeus again to take away this terrible monster.

But Zeus replied, “Nah—you should have realized when you were well off instead of getting ideas above your station. You got what you asked for. Also—there’s this word, “hubris”. You should look it up.”

I can see how some of the frogs in this American pond might consider Joe Biden a do-nothing King Log. In contrast to the Kleptocrat, Biden is muted; his decency and competence guided us through the chaos left by the last Klepto administration. He controlled the pandemic; he brought down inflation and enacted policies that built up business, spawned jobs and invested in infrastructure. But he’s not a flashy guy and he didn’t shit-talk immigrants, allies, neighbors or people who disagreed with him. Republicans hopped all over him, deriding him as useless and unworthy to be our king.

The MAGA frogs, they want flash—they’re very important frogs who haven’t been properly appreciated! And they want a powerful king who’s going to hurt people, bigly! So they elected King Stork, who is now completely unfettered by virtue of the willingness of legislators, the federal judiciary and big corporations to prostrate themselves at his feet and let him do as he pleases.

There is going to be such a slaughter of the frogs as this country has never seen. In little clumps and great big swaths, he will gobble them down without bothering to chew. And they will not understand what has happened, and they’ll blame it on someone else.

Problem is, salamanders, newts, dragonflies and other pond creatures are going to go into the maw, too.

Zeus is laughing his ass off.

 

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Paperwork

I was spitballing my estimated tax payment for 2024 yesterday. Since it’s due today, I was actually much earlier than I usually am about this. It’s a challenge because of the change in my earnings status; for the past two years I’ve gone down to the wire because I couldn’t predict what the total would be until I’d crossed the line. It should be steadier going forward.

That doesn’t make me happy about it. Paying taxes that are going to support a criminal regime with everyone in office skimming off it does not sit well with me. Sometimes not being a lawbreaker is a moral burden.

But what really got to me yesterday was that, in the process of verifying my retirement disbursement, I came to the beneficiaries page. And I had to remove my sister from the list.

I believe I’m done with this for a while.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

White out

A couple of mementos of the first real snow we’ve had for a while in the District They Call Columbia. It's been hanging around for a week on account of the sub-freezing temperatures.

Birds on the patio (before I shoveled it for their convenience):

Snow on a fence.

If it’s all the same to Nature, I’m ready to forego this kind of thing for a while. Kthxbai.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: even in the fire

Despite all the horrifying visuals coming out of the wildfires devastating LA County, there are still things to inspire gratitude.

First—my sister and her family in Pasadena are safe. They were evacuated in the early hours of Wednesday, but allowed to return later in the day. The Eaton fire is burning within blocks of their house, so the air quality is bad, but they’re okay.

Even though there are James Woodses, weeping on CNN about losing everything in the Palisades fire (and he later learned his house in fact survived, but he didn’t apologize for all the calumnies he managed to fling between tears), there were people like Steve Guttenberg, doing what they could to help first responders get to the fire sites. Guttenberg was interviewed by a local reporter—who did not recognize him as the smart ass Mahoney of the Police Academy franchise (fair enough; that reporter was probably not born until long after the sequels ran their course)—while he was trying to move abandoned cars that were blocking streets. Not an actor or star; just a guy trying to help out (and save people from having their Porsches and Teslas from being bulldozed aside).

Folks all over Southern California stepped up to the plate, donating food, clothing, toys and other supplies for the more than 100,000 people under evacuation orders. Animal shelters sprang up throughout the area for small to large critters displaced by the fires, and people donated food, toys and supplies to them, as well.

Relief organizations are also out in force—including World Central Kitchen, which I’ve been proud to support for years. By Friday, they had two meal service operations going in Pasadena, providing sustenance to first responders and comfort to people having the worst day of their lives. And that was just in Pasadena.

States and municipalities have sent firefighting teams to join the efforts to tame the multiple fires, driven by Santa Ana winds that at times have gusts topping 100mph. I want to point out in particular teams from Canada and Mexico, who’ve been in the air and on the ground for days, sent by their governments even as they have to bat away bullshit blustering from the Kleptocrat about how he’s going to fuck with them to show who’s boss when he takes over.

And, when handlers were trying to herd their flock of ground-managing goats out of danger as the Palisades fire approached Brentwood on Saturday, drivers—LA drivers—got out of their cars to help when some of the goats bolted.

I’m grateful for all of that.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Lead me home

It seems appropriate that we end the week with something honoring former president Jimmy Carter, who died last week at age 100. In fact, I’m choosing something from his funeral service, held yesterday in National Cathedral.

If any man—especially any president—can be said to be suffused with grace, it would be Carter, who spent his entire adult life in service and was guided at all times by the tenets of his faith. He was an extraordinary man, whose decency is a shining beacon to the world.

So, let’s have “Amazing Grace”, performed by Phyllis Adams, with Leila Bolden on piano, from yesterday’s service.

©2025 Bas Bleu

 

Moving messages

I think it’s time for another tranche of vanity plates; it’s been a while.

 Not entirely sure about the six eyes (maybe something to do with Tesla), but I do get the Hawkeyes possibilities.

The woman driving this one said this is what her family calls her:

This person may be a fan of the Cherry Blossom Festival:

And this one may be from Georgia, or a very nice person. Possibly both:

I have not seen these drivers, so I do not judge:

Okay:

Possibly someone from Virginia Tech:

Okay, not a vanity plate, but clearly plenty to say. 

©2025 Bas Bleu