Not without a star

Sunday is Independence Day in the United States. It marks the publication of the Declaration of Independence by our Founding Fathers in 1776. It’s always been a holiday for light and noise in the form of fireworks, of community gatherings, of bands (marching or seated), of maybe some local pols’ pontifications.

And now that Cadet Bonespurs has been resoundingly voted out of office, maybe we can get back to those celebrations.

So for today’s earworm I’m giving you Neil Diamond’s “America”, which is about the diverse strengths brought to this nation by immigrants from all over. It’s something we all need to remember.

 

 

Ding, dong

So Donald Rumsfeld has permanently dodged the International Court of Justice at The Hague. Damn. I hope when he meets Osiris he gets dropkicked to the Devourer because whatever withered husk that passed for a heart (he had no soul) in his privileged white corpse will for sure be found to outweigh a feather.

Well, the ICJ is still cleaning up Serbian war criminals from the 90s, so here’s hoping that George W. Bush and Dick Cheney can yet be brought to book.

 

 

Street art

Chalk artists have been out and about; here are a couple of the latest.

This one is pretty straightforward.

This one was a whole village.

 

All the news

Here’s a prize example of delighting the customer. Not.

I’ve had a Sunday-only home delivery subscription to the Washington Post for more than four years. That subscription comes with full digital access to WaPo (including archives).

I finally decided I don’t want the physical paper because I get all my news online and I see no reason to just send it straight to the shredder and then to the composter. So I called WaPo’s subscription line (you can sign up online, but to unsubscribe, you have to call), which—from the accents—is somewhere in the Philippines. When I explained what I wanted, the guy (I forget his nom-de-contact-center, but the woman I first got was Shirley) told me that my options are: basic digital (“complete” access, except no archives; so, not complete), at $100 per year; premium digital (“complete” access plus archives), at $150 per year.

However, because I’ve been such a great customer, he could give me a promotional rate of premium access for $101.60 per year; that rate stays the same forever. But I have to keep Sunday delivery.

I’m not going to make you go through the entire surreal conversation; I’ll just say that I’m getting the promo rate, and I have to remember to call in once a quarter to put the Sunday delivery on a “temporary” three-month vacation stop.

Gawd.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: respite

As we move into a week of solid 90-degree temps with about 115% humidity here in the District They Call Columbia, I am deeply grateful that I have air conditioning. Just about a year ago to the day, I spent a weekend without it, and it was pretty ghastly.

(Yes, I recognize that in today’s universe, this is not only a First World problem, but it’s a privilege problem, given that Detroit’s freeways are under several feet of water, the West Coast is prepping for another hellscape of fires and the rescue mission at the Champlain in Miami Beach is turning to recovery.)

Because, in my corner of the world, I greatly appreciate air conditioning in the summer. And central heat in the winter. And that’s my gratitude for today.

 

 

Love forgot

Throughout her career, k.d. lang has pushed envelopes. She’s tackled musical genres from country to punk to old standards and brings unique perspectives to everything. Her vocals are on soundtracks to films ranging from Even Cowgirls Get the Blues to Tomorrow Never Dies.

She’s been out since 1992, when she was 31.

Today I’m giving you “Love Is Everything”.

 

 

Nature's mysteries 3

 

Okay, time for another installment of #IDme.

These low-to-the-ground things were out earlier this year. They evidently come in pink and yellow.

What are they and do I want them in my garden?

 

 

Fabulous

Hey, looky here: I’ve got an Aesop fable from the last couple of days’ walks.

This guy was actually booking it. He was close to the sidewalk when I first encountered him; by the time I made my return pass in about 15 minutes, he was out of sight.

This guy, now…Just as I cut the second video he hopped over to look like a shrub, so of course he became invisible. (Although he, or someone very like him, appeared in my back yard a couple of hours later.)

Anyway, the People’s Republic’s very own fable. #AmIRight?

 

 

Internal combustion

You know—we have not had any vanity plates for a while. So let’s do it.

These two were parked next to each other in the cluster; I’m thinking their owners are related, but that could be me imagining it.

Likewise, these were next to each other in front of a house. It’s the connection to Reston Runners that makes me think they’re related.

Not really sure what SHESHLY works out to be. She's holy? Shesh, LY? Dunno.

And this pair—well, the guy in the Aw Yeah van took exception to me shooting a pic; got very bolshie, like he was going to fight me in the parking lot.

Dude—your plate is, like, public, you know? Also, the whole point of a vanity plate is to attract attention. 

 

Gratitude Monday: one small step for antipasti

Today’s one of those micro-gratitudes: the self-service olive bar at Wegman’s is once again self-service:

It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed taking with the staff over the past 15 months as I get my bi-weekly fix of pitted Kalamatas. It’s that the pandemic must well and truly be lessening in my part of the world if Wegman’s feels free to hand over the slotted spoons (albeit with latex gloves) and plastic containers. 

Is this pettiness, or is it a harbinger. I dunno.