The road leads back

I know you saw this coming, so let’s just get to it.

Today’s earworm is Ray Charles singing “Georgia On My Mind”, honoring Fulton County DA Fani T. Willis slapping Captain Capslock and 18 others with 41 felony counts to do with election interference in the 2020 presidential election in Georgia.

They include RICO charges, which seems appropriate since the Kleptocrat has been a mobster wannabe since his youth. (It’s also chef’s kiss for co-defendant Rudy Giuliani, who pioneered the use of RICO prosecutions when he was US Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Lotta guys in federal slammer are laughing it up and hoping to be block mates with Rudy Colludi about now.

If you dive down into the indictment, released late Monday night, you’ll see a lot of mob-like activities in service of keeping Cadet Bonespurs in office. It’s hard to pick the most despicable and terrifying of the lot, but the campaign of intimidation against election workers Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss—multiple heavy-handed threats to get them to lie about how they processed the counting of ballots—stands out. That went all the way to the top.

The other thing that really scares the bejesus out of me is the literal interference with voting machines in Coffee County, with corrupt voting officials allowing unauthorized whackjobs access to the machines, including downloading data—sensitive data on voters and votes—in service of the conspiracy. Those geshreis you heard Tuesday morning were me shrieking, “What the FUCK???” Everyone involved in that (and similar activities in other states) should be on the fast track to the joint, with no access ever under any circumstances to anything even remotely resembling a computer or connectivity.

So—let brother Ray take it from here.

 

Leaping fungus

Saw some mushrooms popping up along the W&OD trail the other day. I liked the pattern they made, so of course I took a photo.

But I cannot see mushrooms on the hoof without thinking of the dancing ones in the Nutcracker Suite part of Fantasia. So I went to YouTube to watch them again and was startled by the racist trope. (It’s been decades since I last saw the film.)

However, it turns out that this particular segment is “The Chinese Dance”; here’s what it looks like as choreographed by the Mariinsky Ballet:

So I’ll stand down.

 

 

 

Piling on the beauty

Last week I was taking some more pix of the gigantic hibiscus when I realized that something—some insect—had been chowing down on some of its leaves.

And it occurred to me that they’d created something that formed its own lacy beauty. 

Then, there were these sockets that anchor the blooms.

So much to admire.

 

 

Macro plastics

Monday is recycling day here in the ‘hood. Fairfax County stopped taking glass a few years ago, so you have to take that down to designated dumpsters (there is a grand total of two in the People’s Republic). Dunno what happens with them—the county probably dumps them in the landfill with everything else, but at least you feel like you’re making the effort.

They do continue to accept plastic, aluminium and paper. So I suppose we should be grateful.

However, I noticed one of my neighbors had this out for collection, and I was appalled:

I don’t know what period of time this barrelload covers, but how can people go through this many 16oz plastic bottles of water? The ratio of content to container is just criminal; why can’t you at least buy gallon bottles and pour glasses? Or get five-gallon delivery?

I absolutely despair.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: An attitude of gratitude

Saturday I went to a party hosted by a friend and former colleague at a major enterprise software company. We’ve known each other for 20 years. (She’s been with the company for 36 years; I lasted 15 months.)

The community center of her development was absolutely chockers with people who’d come from all over for the celebration, which she called “Joyful Time!” There was uncertainty about what was being celebrated (she disabused anyone who thought it might be her birthday, which is in October, or perhaps her earning an MBA from the University of Maryland at a certain age), but really, everyone came because of Jacquie herself.

She explained that she was throwing the party because for so long we haven’t been able to hold get-togethers, so it was about damn time. And she expressed gratitude for everyone there; every person in the room is important to her and she’s grateful for all of us.

Well, so am I. For my first party since the Before Times. For seeing Jacquie for the first time in probably 19 years. For meeting her family and friends. For getting out of a Confederate state. For being reminded of grace and gratitude.

I’m reminded of an exchange Jacquie and I had back I the office:

Jacquie: We gonna get you some attitude.

Me: You know—I’d have thought that attitude was the one thing with which I was singularly supplied.

J: We gonna get you some sistah-attitude.

Well, alrighty then.

Here’s a shot of Jacquie and her sisters.

And here’s the crowd who came to celebrate.

  

Put the load right on me

Well, we lost another great one this week. Robbie Robertson, lead guitarist and prime songwriter of The Band, died on Wednesday, age 81. In addition to his time with Bob Dylan, he also collaborated with Martin Scorsese on many of his films.

There are so many of his creations I could share for today’s earworm. As much as I like the driving beat of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down”, I don’t much feel like promulgating anything to do with the Confederacy at the moment. So I’m giving you “The Weight”. Because, frankly, he had me at “I was feeling 'bout half-past dead”.

This version is a collaboration with Ringo Starr and a number of artists around the world, as part of Playing for Change. Seems appropriate.

 

 

Fair trade

Okay, the thing about July and August in and around the District They Call Columbia is that no matter how crappy the weather—with temps and humidity in the 90s—there are still crape myrtles. In all their brilliantly colors and stages of presentation.

 

Cycles of beauty

When I’m looking at flowers on my walks, I find that I enjoy them in all their stages. Viz: these daisy-like blooms.

I took a lot of pix of them in their pre-expansion phase, because I liked how they kind of cradled their centers with their petals, as though for protection.

Then, of course—they did their thing.

But even as they were on their uppers, I found them beautiful.

Maybe that’s just me, tho.

 

 

 

Camouflage

Last week I was heading out for my morning walk when I spotted this guy:

Well, since he was obviously pretending to be grass and thus invisible to me, I made a wide loop around him and walked on.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: finding the win

I don’t think I realized how deep I’ve been in depression ever since I learned last September that I’d be laid off in May. But the weight of that black dog must have been part of what prevented me from really scrambling to find another position in the Megalithic Software Company. Because I couldn’t bring myself to find the energy to care about the place.

Four years ago, when I was applying for the job that eventually led to MSC, I was uncharacteristically focused on and determined to be hired for that position in that company. I networked shamelessly; I researched like a boss; I bought a skirt for the in-person interview. I did everything except supply 8 x 10 color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was.

Because I was playing to win, and doing that work was winning.

Somehow in the past nine months, I’ve lost the vision of what “winning” is for me. It was so crystalline back then, and I had all the energy of an F-14’s thrusters to make it happen. And confidence; whoa! But now…

To give you an idea, somehow on the train between Lyon and Arles on my trip to France last year, the lens cap on my camera jammed into the UV filter, shattering it completely. I took it out to shoot and little shards of glass fell out onto the street. It was impossible for me to replace it—there was no camera shop in Arles, and the store they directed me to in Avignon didn’t have the size I needed. I won’t shoot without protection over the lens (which cost at least a house payment-and-a-half), so for the rest of the trip I just used my mobile phone to take photos.

Since mid-November, the Nikon has sat on a shelf, waiting for me to haul my ass out to the camera shop to get a new filter. (Yes, I could order one online, but I wanted professionals to look over the lens for scratches and clean it up before putting on the filter.) Since November (with the exception of a few meals with a friend, medical appointments and going to the office until mid-May), my only outings have involved Wegmans, Costco and the public library. I just couldn't move.

Until last week when my job search accountability partner said she would be in Arlington on our meeting day and could come out to the People’s Republic and then we could go to the camera store. Well, okay. Finally.

We also discussed our career goals and next steps, and I confessed that I just don’t know what my goals are and how am I meant to get somewhere if I don’t know where it is? Do I really want to stay in tech? If so, what flavor? Do I jump on the AI bandwagon? If so, what do I do and how do I position myself? Do I stay in cyber security? If so, how do I dodge the assholes?

If I leave tech, where do I go? And what do I do?

And why does none of it excite me or inspire me or charge me up?

You see my problem? I’ve been poking at this stew on the back of the stove for at least three months and got nowhere. Because it’s all blah.

And then she mentioned writing—people need good writing, she said. That’s what I can do.

Well, yes—people do, in fact, need good writing, but it’s been my observation over the decades that everyone thinks they can write, so they see no need to pay someone to do that job. And now that ChatGPT and its ilk are out there, they just double down on it, because AI, man! It’s intelligence! And it’s cheap!

But I’ve been walking around this notion for the past few days, trying it on, taking it off, looking at the seams, feeling the texture. Is this the next pivot for me? Going back to my roots of writing? And if so, where? For whom? And for what purpose?

Is that what winning looks like now?

Well, I dunno yet. But yesterday I took out the Nikon to get some shots of the sacred lotus next door. After nine months, it felt good to have it in my hands. I stopped along the way to practice on a hydrangea and wouldn’t you know—it’s been so long since I’ve used a real camera that I forgot to check the battery! If that’s not a metaphor for my life, I do not know what one is.

So I had to walk back home, swap batteries and then go back out.

It was worth it.

(Apparently you can catch large-mouth bass in that pond.)

And that’s what I’m grateful for today: a different perspective on winning, a reminder to keep my batteries charged and the feel of shooting photos with a real camera. The depression is not lifted, but I may be able to see beyond it.