Post-storm

As you might be aware, there was a snow storm here. The company contracted to clear snow from our cluster left a 2ft-high margin of 5ft in front of all the parked cars, which means that anyone wanting to move their vehicle out had to shovel about 60cu ft of packed, frozen snow from in front of it. It’s not expected to get above the 20s this week, so that snowpack isn’t going to melt any time soon, either.

I emailed the cluster board, and got back a load of nonsense from one of the members, and put in an urgent property management service request to send the plough out and narrow the margin to about 3ft. The PM for our cluster replied, "I have already reached out to the snow management and am awaiting their anticipated schedule for the next few days." 

What I would have liked would have been, "I've reached out to them and asked them to return and finish the job."

At the cluster board meeting on Monday night I brought it up again, and she gave me some bollocks about it being an unprecedented storm (on account of all of the sleet), and the contractors have to be careful about not wrecking their blade on the blocks of ice that form. Which makes no sense to me: if you can plough to a 5ft margin, why can you not safely go back and carve out 2ft on either side? 

We should "give them the benefit" and let them return for further passes, either Monday night or yesterday.

But as of nightfall yesterday, they hadn't returned.

(Fortunately, I managed to dig out the Saab, and made it out for emergency Kalamata olives and cherry tomatoes.)

Walking is also curtailed—despite HOA requirements that residents shovel the walkways in front of their property, not everyone gets with the program. Also, no one is responsible for clearing sidewalks along the city roads here, so pedestrians have to wait for a good melt, or else walk in the street.

So here’s a picture of a candle for you. I was interested by its burning pattern.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

If not now, when?

Eighty-one years ago today, the Red Army—no strangers to nightmares—came upon a hollowed-out shell of a compound that became the one-word representation of the worst that humans could do to one another. And so today, on the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, we mark International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

Auschwitz-Birkenau was a conglomeration of factories—both for manufacturing and for death, as distinguished from other camps like Majdanek or Sobibor or Treblinka, which were devoted to extermination pure and simple. Great German industrial powerhouses, like the chemical monolith I.G. Farben and arms giant Krupp, consumed hundreds of thousands of prisoners as slave labor in their factories. Those who could no longer work went to the gas chambers, where one of Farben’s most famous products, Zyklon B (developed for pest control), snuffed out their lives.

Oh, well—you know all that, don’t you?

And yet, you don’t, or you forget, or you become impatient with remembering, because it’s uncomfortable and inconvenient and even unpleasant to think about it. And there’s always someone ready to shout about how one atrocity is offset by another because it preceded it, or went on longer, or involved one ethnic or religious group or another.

But the events of recent weeks (and years and decades) have made it all too clear that those who do not learn from history’s mistakes are doomed to repeat them. Anti-Semitism, intolerance, racism, fascism and dogmatism are on the rise—and all of them right here in the US. And now that pretty much anyone has access to assault rifles, RPG launchers, bio-weapons and worse, we do well to haul ourselves out of our daily stroll through the trees and take a good, hard look at the bloody forest.

We have been provided with irrefutable proof on an unimaginably massive scale, within living memory, that those who begin by burning books have no qualms whatsoever about burning people. If we can’t learn that lesson, I just despair.

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Feathered friends

We had a big snow storm yesterday. Prolly about 5” in The People’s Republic, as measured by the top of the table carved out by the heated bird bath.

Sleet started dropping around 0900; by 1300 it was coming down like steady rain.

Forecast is for days of never-above (or even approaching) the freeze point, so I reckon I’m not getting out of here in my car for a while.

The weather also restricts my cardio workout, because no one’s responsible for clearing the sidewalks on public streets around here, so morning walks would be more danger than benefit. I have to wait until it unfreezes long enough to melt and dry away all the snow.

Still—I have provisions, heat and power; at time of writing I have detected no frozen pipes, so I’m doing really quite well.

I also have a bin of safflower seed, handfuls of which I toss out on the patio about every hour. And the birds who’ve congregated to tank up at the Bas Bleu Snack Bar—the juncos, blue jays, sparrows, finches, chickadees, downies, cardinals, wrens, nuthatches, titmice and even the doves—are my gratitude today. Because I spent hours, snuggled under an afghan crocheted by my sister’s late mother-in-law and sipping my way through a pot of tea, just watching them dancing in the unexpected largesse of food. (And also the unfrozen source of water.) The sparrows, especially, made me smile, because they were all fluffed-up little balls against the cold.

After the horror that was Saturday in Minneapolis, those birds saved my soul.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Don't give it up

After the unhinged performance in Davos Wednesday, I was thinking today’s earworm had to be “Yakety Sax”. Or maybe “Horst-Wessel-Lied”, for ICE kidnapping four children—one as young as 5 years old—to literally use as bait to draw out families who otherwise wouldn’t open their doors for fear.

(The children have all been sent to concentration camps in other states.)

But I decided that all of them can get fucked, and I’ve been surrounding myself with music that envisions the world we could make, if we really wanted to.

Viz: Playing for Change’s cover of Bob Marley’s “Get Up, Stand Up”.

I mean—think about the world we want to leave for Keith Richards.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Sadly not at Davos

Since I have no words (well, I do; but they’re very uncouth and I’d just run them on a loop for 72 paragraphs) for yesterday’s unhinged performance at Davos—by which I mean everything every member of this unhinged administration said and did—here’s a photo of some Canada geese:

(Apologies for the quality of the shot: it was 17°F, my glasses fogged up and I had the light behind me reflecting on the mobile screen.) 

TBH, I’m not a fan of them; they’re the rudest thing to come out of our neighbors to the North, they act like gangsters and they poop everywhere. (I reference the line from Patton, where the general promises that his Third Army will “go through Europe like crap through a goose.”) But compared to Republicans up and down the line currently in office, they’re organized, focused and would not follow anyone attempting to invade Greenland. (Or Iceland, as the case may be.)

These guys were on the golf course I sometimes walk through. I gave them a wide berth.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

So long...

Spotted this yesterday in the parking lot of the little park down the street.

Seems like a sad end to the season for a little guy who’s just trying to bring some happiness into the world.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

He has the nuclear codes

This is the week the world discovered the real reason that Li’l Donnie Two Scoops is saber-rattling about needing Greenland for US national security: he’s miffed that he didn’t get the Nobel Peace Prize last year, so he no longer cares about peace.

That’s exactly what he told Norway’s prime minister, Jonas Gahr Støre, in a text message:

(And it wasn't enough that he sent this to Støre; he directed that the State Department send it to EU ambassadors to pass it on to their governments as an extra so there!)

So—any upheaval that transpires as a result of the United States either attacking the territory of one of our allies, breaking up our longest and most honored military alliance, imposing snit-related tariffs on other alliances who back Greenland’s sovereignty or (probably) him stubbing his toe getting out of the shower is all on Norway.

Here's Ann Telnaes' take on this:

Honest to God—SCOTUS and the Republican pimples in Congress are going down in history as the most reprehensible cowards the American republic ever produced.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Be Good

Today I give thanks for the life of Renee Nicole Good, who was murdered by an ICE agent in Minneapolis on 7 January. She was 37.

I didn’t know her at all, and I probably wouldn’t have except for the circumstances of her death. She described herself online as a poet, writer, wife and mother; others have described her as loving, compassionate and kind. Her wife, Rebecca, said, “Renee was made of sunshine.” The Presbyterian Church of the USA (not the branch with a poker up its butt) issued this statement, which—among other things—mentions her mission work in Northern Ireland.

But I’ve been thinking a lot about Good in the two weeks since her murder; I can’t get the images of the glovebox in her car overflowing with stuffed animals and her open, smiling face instants before she was shot out of my mind. As her killer circled her car and then transferred his mobile phone (which was recording) from his right hand to his left so he could draw his weapon and fire three shots at her, she smiled and said, “That’s all right, dude. I’m not mad at you.”

Here’s what I absolutely know about Renee Good: she created more love, kindness and joy in her 37 years than the withered, aggrieved husk in the Oval Office has at more than twice that age. And I know that she is the exemplar I need to follow, starting with this gratitude.

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Not to love the Fuehrer is a great disgrace

Events earlier in the week inspired Ken White, one of the Law Bluesky people I follow (a resident of Pasadena), to rewrite the old classic, “Der Fuerher’s Face”. Viz. his new verses:

So it seems appropriate that I give you the Walt Disney original, which for some unaccountable reason, is still available on YouTube, even though the Disney organization has entirely caved to the Kleptocrat. (You'll note the racist tropes—this is a propaganda film from 1943. What's remarkable is how appropriate it is for today.)

But we take our opportunities as they arise, because if I didn't laugh, I'd be sobbing constantly.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Chirp

I pulled into the cluster the other morning to note that one of my neighbors might be having plumbing issues—viz. the well-branded van.

But what I noticed first was the license plate.

Nice use of the state bird plates.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Moving messages

Given what’s going on right now, I think it’s time for another installment of Vanity Plates Around Town.

Because I’m running out of words.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Product-market fit

I suppose that signs for services (and events like “government auction—Rolex!”) that pop up around the neighborhood are distributed by people hired for the purpose, not by actual representatives of the company being advertised.

And my point about this is that the people hired to drive around areas and jam the sign prongs into the ground are exactly like the ones who walk around neighborhoods and stick flyers for commercial services on doorknobs or in mailboxes: they’re paid by the number of units distributed, not for the specific locations that might represent bang for the buck.

Witness this one for GC Moving:

It’s at the entrance to the “luxury” townhouse development behind me; the development where the units start north of $1.2M.

I mean—it’s possible that, after you’ve signed a mortgage in the seven figures, you might want to save a few bob by hiring a flat-rate moving company. But I’d really question the wisdom of trusting your high-end furniture to such a venture.

Also—Bit Defender won’t even show me their webpage without me signing a risk waiver, so...

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: not alone

I got this totebag maybe a year ago.

It comes from The Barnraisers Project, a group I joined sometime in mid-2023, because I needed help with the concept of community. (And very grateful indeed am I that I discovered this group.) Their leader, Garrett Bucks, writes a really powerful and inspirational newsletter/blog called The White Pages. I strongly urge you to subscribe.

But it’s this tote that inspires my gratitude today because it was central to a lovely encounter I had last week—you know, the week that stripped all pretentions of law-abidingness and decency from the administration and its supporters.

I was at Trader Joe’s, buying milk, carrots and peas. In the past, one cashier (who’s from South Africa and used to be a flight attendant—some years ago we got talking because I’d just been to Singapore) had noticed the bag and gave me a verbal high-five.

(Interestingly, no other cashier at any other grocery store mentioned it, not even at Whole Foods. I suppose in that job you get to the point where you don’t even notice what the customer is handing you.)

Different guy this time, a Black man wearing a face mask (because we’re in the midst of a major flu outbreak, not to mention measles and still Covid-19). He was zipping through my purchases and then said, “What does this bag say? I have to see.”

When he did, he looked up at me and nodded. And he said that he appreciated seeing that message, especially on that day (Thursday), because we can feel so alone with all this shite (I paraphrase), but we’re not.

“No, we’re not alone,” I replied. And we’re not; we are a community, and it’s important that we are reminded of that.

So that’s my gratitude for today: for the message on a totebag I was using that inspired relief in someone I met, and that he reflected back to me.

Now—here’s another one for my shopping arsenal:

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

When will our sorrows end?

To tell you the truth, I’m still struggling with what I saw on multiple videos of the killing on Wednesday of Renée Nicole Good in Minneapolis. An ICE thug shot 37-year-old mother of three three times in the head at very close range as she was trying to maneuver her car amid multiple, conflicting shouted orders from his goon colleagues.

ICE refused to let a man identifying himself as a doctor attend to Good and they subsequently refused to let EMTs carry her in a stretcher, so they had to pull her out of her car by her limbs and drag her across the frozen ground.

Since the first shots were fired, administration officials have been lying about it (claiming self-defense for the thug), and—TBH—I am sick to the back teeth of all of them.

I don’t know what caused Good to be in that neighborhood—whether she was an ICE watcher or on her way from dropping off her 6-year-old son at school (the two are not mutually exclusive) or something else. And the reason doesn’t matter—every citizen has a First Amendment right to be in any public street without fear of government agents hauling off and murdering them as they’re trying to get out of the way.

So my earworm today is from the Irish vocal collective Anúna, “Jerusalem”. I need calming down.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Tears before bedtime

Here’s a change from my usual vehicular posts: the interesting point was not a vanity plate, but the bumper sticker.

I feel their pain.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Wakeup call

The doves in the ‘hood have twigged to the fact that most mornings the sliding door to my patio opens and a rain of safflower seeds hits the ground. So they wait for it. Every single morning.

Because it’s been my observation that they are basically squirrels with feathers—they hoover up everything a
nd bully other birds out of their way—I often don’t throw out seed if I see them; I just go out on my walk. So they wait.

Eventually I do toss out some seed, because my birds count on me. Then they eat and move on to their next station.

Anyway—this is what I woke up to yesterday morning; a carpet of doves.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

The holly bears a berry

Okay, what you’re looking at here is a row of seventightly-pruned holly trees, each with bright red berries.

They were planted last week near the block of model townhouses for the development behind my cluster.

The one where they’re building 82 three- and four-story units on five acres, at $1.2+ a pop. (Well, $750K for the Affordable Dwelling Units, which have only a single-car garage and no "rooftop terrace".)

The reason I took the picture is that these are all female trees; hence the berries. But without a male holly within 50ft, there will be no more berries. And there are no indications of a male (they’re usually kind of scraggly looking) in the landscaping.

Enjoy, yuppies, while you can.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: hydration

Okay, well, 2026 got off to a rocky start. The president of the United States staged a military strike on a sovereign nation, kidnapped it’s head of state and announced that we’re going to run the country until [some vague hand wave about “proper transition of power,” as though this mook has any notion about that]. Oh—and we’re going to take all their oil. Representatives of finance corporations are already getting their shots for the trip to Caracas to see how they can suck all the wealth out of the country.

So—I’m going small for my gratitude today.

Many years ago—in the Before Times—on the recommendation of my hairstylist, I bought a SodaStream so I could make my own sparkling water. I don’t add flavors, I don’t try to turn it into Coke or Fanta; I just make sparkling water.

I'm not sure how much cheaper it is, but the SodaStream allows me to indulge in this small luxury without adding to the plastic burden of the planet. I’m grateful that I can do this and drink as much as I like. (Or, as much as I feel like making.)

At time of writing, mid-day on Sunday, I’m on my second bottle of the day.

It’s good to stay hydrated in these times, so I’m grateful to have this little extra to help me.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

How do you go on?

For the second day of 2026, I’m sharing something from Bonnie Raitt, "Will the Sun Ever Shine Again". It’s pensive and sad, but what I take from it is that not only do I need to look for the sign, I need to make the sign.

That’s my resolution for this year.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Slurping in the New Year

Given what a complete load of shite 2025 was, let’s start out the new year with robins.

I walked into my living room Tuesday afternoon (after finishing yesterday’s post on notable deaths of the year) to see two robins drinking from the birdbath. There were more of them in the trees and on the ground. (It’s been my observation that robins, like nuns, never travel alone; in fact, if you see one, it generally means that there’s a squadron of them nearby.)

We’ve had some cold weather in the past couple of days, so they may have had difficulty finding unfrozen water, but my birdbath is heated. (No, it’s not like a hot tub; it just keeps the contents from freezing.) So it may have been their best source in the neighborhood.

There were so many drinking, I had to replenish the water mid-afternoon.

And I was entranced watching them.

Let’s hope this is a harbinger for 2026.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu