I’ve got something today for everyone struggling. Whether it’s physical, mental or spiritual pain; the ungodly continuo of right-wing ratfuckery that permeates our lives like smog; direct, targeted terror; or anything else. We all need a bit of respite.
So here’s one of Paul McCartney’s best, recorded in 1970.
Breathe, y’all.
©2025 Bas Bleu
I’ve grown accustomed to clocking human detritus on my morning walks: fast food wrappers; beer, soda and energy drink bottles and cans; way too many filled and discarded dog poop bags; the occasional article of clothing; a sodden bath towel.
But this one was a first:
It was in the cut-through from the third hole of the golf
course to the W&OD Trail, and I’ve spent a lot of time since discovering it
wondering about its back story.
Still haven’t come up with anything plausible.
©2025 Bas Bleu
Meet the new patron of the Vulpine Snack Bar.
He's quite regular: nightly between around 1950 and 2020. He gets the same offerings—pizza bones, the occasional
salmon skin, a bit of mozzarella that’s just about to turn. The difference is
that he washes everything in the water bowl I keep out for the ground feeders.
Also, for some reason, he steps in the bowl and kind of
wallows around.
I may need to set out a wider bowl.
And it's now the Vulpine and Procyon Snack Bar.
©2025 Bas Bleu
Vanity plates, of course, are not the only way motorists can express their opinions. Bumper stickers and decals have been around a lot longer than state governments have used customized license plates as a revenue stream. Here are a few I’ve seen recently.
©2025 Bas Bleu
I voted last Tuesday. This was early voting in an election for Virginia officeholders: governor, lieutenant governor, attorney general and delegates. We’ve had four years of Governor Fleecevest and his toadies trying to move us back to the good old days when Richmond was the capital of the Confederacy, so we’re ready for a change.
Youngkin can’t run for re-election because of term limits,
but the current lieutenant governor is making her bid to move up, along with
the incumbent AG and some new mook (who evidently has a penchant for SoMe porn selfies) for the number two. This was their sign at
the polling place:
(Winsome is the LG’s first name; I assume “Earle-Sears” was
deemed too long to fit on a standard-sized sign. I really get a kick out of
their sense of irony with the completely fictional “good thing”.)
The right and the duty to cast my vote in all elections is my
gratitude today. As a historian, I have always been mindful (although perhaps
quite often in the back-of-mind) that there are tens of millions of people in
the world today who do not have even a modest say in their government. This
year I’m particularly and painfully aware how tenuous this right is in our own
country as members of one of the two major political parties do their best to
suppress, restrict and pervert the practice of free and open elections.
I got notification from the Commonwealth a while back that
I could vote by mail if I wanted to. That’s a turnaround—as recently as 20
years ago you had to show up on Election Day if you wanted to cast your ballot.
The only way you could vote early was to swear that you’d be out of the county
on the day—you actually had to fill out a form declaring the precise nature of
the impediment. Now they have voting for about six weeks before an election.
And vote-by-mail? Dang.
I decided against that, though, because one Republican
prong of voter suppression is to screech that mailed ballots are de facto
fraudulent ballots, and I want my goddamn vote counted. I don’t trust a
Republican-run state to not throw out mailed ballots for one cockamamy reason
or another. So I went in person.
The polling station was quite busy—staffed by volunteers
who make things work efficiently. Even with the line, I was out in maybe eight
minutes, thanking all the workers. Eight minutes to have my say in who’s going
to run the Commonwealth come January; that’s an amazing ROI.
I’m so grateful to have had this privilege my entire adult
life, but particularly now when I don’t know whether it’ll still be in place a
year from now. I’m grateful for everyone who has a part in it—the candidates,
the elections staff, the volunteers, the people who’ve been sending me
postcards.
I’m grateful that I did not have to pay a “poll tax” or
pass a “civics test” (which would have been triggered by skin color) at the
precinct. Nor did I walk a gauntlet of armed “watchers” (either government or
self-appointed) or face any obstacle due to perceived otherness, and that all I
had to do—at some point—was register, prove who I am and where I live to be
able to vote in election after election.
(I do have to show ID, which was not a requirement in
California or Washington, and that still gets up my nose. But I let it slide.)
Really—this is a tremendous thing and we should all give thanks for it, as well as work to ensure its continuation.
©2025 Bas Bleu
