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
Well, another DalÃesque week in Kleptolandia. The protestors in “war ravaged” Portland played for keeps, since it seems that ICE thugs are terrified of frogs.
Not to mention a T-Rex with serious moves.
Meanwhile, ICE thugs in Chicago—defending the White
Christian supremacy, as ordained by the Orange One—shot a pepper ball point blank
into the head of a Presbyterian minister who was <checks notes> doing
nothing except urging the ICE snipers on the roof to think about Christian teachings.
And the Kleptocrat said the quiet part out loud:
There is no longer a First Amendment in that
dementia-fueled world of his.
Pro Tip: The courts—including an actually non-dysfunctional
SCOTUS—have upheld flag burning as protected speech. Of course, with these six
clowns, it may be up for grabs, especially as Thomas has declared that
precedents are not even really guidelines.
Finally, today Cadet Bonespurs is getting his second “annual”
medical checkup of 2025. It’ll turn out that he’s 6’4”, 225lbs of nothing but
muscle and once again aced that test. You know, the one no one’s ever aced like
he does.
So our earworm for today is the “Imperial March”. Typical of John Williams' oeuvre, it's heavy-handed, bombastic, hollow and overwrought. Like every Republican in office.
©2025 Bas Bleu
Even as Lowe’s is ready to sell you seasonal yard monsters, do not be concerned that they’re going to short change the Christmas opportunity. Because right next to their Halloween display, they have these:
©2025 Bas Bleu
After my recent Costco run, where I discovered Christmas décor had pushed out Halloween stuff (in September), I made a trip on Monday to Lowe’s, because I knew they’d be doing it right.
They did not let me down.
©2025 Bas Bleu
Found this literally in the gutter on my morning walk yesterday, and I have questions.
The seal on the wrapping is still intact; I wonder why the
owner (possibly the recipient of a gift?) never even opened it to look at the
inspirational sayings for each month?
We’re ten months in to 2025—why ditch it now?
Why dump it in the roadside gutter? Typically, that’s where
people toss crap out their car windows—did they drive around the People’s
Republic to find exactly the right place for this sad thing?
What a statement about the futility of marking the passing
of days, no matter how hopeful the framing, in these times.
At least I recycled it properly.
©2025 Bas Bleu
NGL—after events of the past few days, I’m struggling to find macro things to be grateful for today. Federal government shutdown, which Republicans are flat-out lying by saying it’s the Democrats’ fault (Rs control the House, the Senate and the presidency; Dems said they’d vote for the CR if Rs take out the slashing of ACA subsidies and Medicaid—which exposes millions of Americans to exponentially higher healthcare costs).
Kleptocrat and SecDef in ill-fitting suits engaging in
willie waving before the assembled military leadership at Quantico. More willie
waving as the Kleptocrat threatens to send US troops to invade US cities.
Violations of international law as US forces sink Venezuelan boats in
international waters because “drug cartels”. Ordering a full-blown perp walk
for James Comey—sending out a call for “the beefiest” FBI agents to show up in
full tactical gear for the photo op on a summons to appear, not a warrant.
ICE thugs—they’re a category of their own. Raiding an
apartment building in Chicago and disappearing all the residents into unmarked
vehicles; entire families. Ziptying toddlers’ hands behind their backs. Getting
stuck in traffic and not liking the jeers of onlookers, so they popped a can of
tear gas into a residential neighborhood. Assaulting peaceful protesters
wherever they encounter them. Pepper spraying a vocal but non-violent protester
in the eyes.
Because they can.
These are dark days.
So I’m going to be focusing on the beautiful
not-quite-Autumn weather we’ve been having here in the District They Call
Columbia. Temperatures in the 60s and 70s, low humidity. Leaves changing color
(but to brown, not reds or golds, so no pix), crisp mornings. Pretty soon the
mosquitos will die off, and I am here for that.
(I’m reminded of a friend of mine, Uhura, who once said
that some days she’s just grateful for her favorite preserves on the morning
toast. We find what we can.)
That’s my gratitude
©2025 Bas Bleu
