Travelin' the North Country Fair

My first thought when I heard about the VP pick was, “Welp, you just don’t get no more middle America than Tim Walz.” He taught high school social studies and coached football. He served 24 years in the National Guard as an enlisted man and non-commissioned officer. He was elected to Congress from a Republican district and won covered dish competitions while there.

(I do have an issue with his “Turkey Trot Tater Tot” recipe: he uses a single clove of garlic for a pound of green beans, a pound of ground turkey and a package of Tater Tots.)

He’s also signed laws guaranteeing all Minnesota schoolchildren access to free breakfast and lunch, ensuring paid sick leave for all Minnesota workers and restoring voting rights to convicted felons who’ve completed their carceral sentences. No wonder the Republicans hate him so much.

Walz is not afraid to ride the big dad energy. He’s made several videos with his daughter Hope (conceived via IVF, which Republicans have now officially turned against) on topics like the hands-free driving law and visiting the Minnesota State Fair:

So our song today is Minnesota native son Bob Dylan, singing “Girl from the North Country”. It’s early Dylan—1963—and definitely evokes English ballads (like “Scarborough Fair).It’s old-fashioned and evocative. Like Walz.

Here’s Bob singing it in the original release.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

One squirrel's trash...

I’ve been doing some clearing out around the house. Clothes that I’m never going to wear again (farewell to the pantihose!), books going to a synagogue’s annual sale, kitchenware I don’t use any more.

I’ve also shredded 40 years’ worth of journals. I’ve schlepped them across continents and oceans, but they served their purpose in providing a forum for me to work through things as they happened. I don’t need them any longer.

Fun fact: back at the turn of the century, I was living in London and going through some challenging things at work. On a vacation to Normandy, I somehow left the current journal in the toilette of a restaurant somewhere around Deauville. Didn’t notice until I got back to London. I pondered for a while—like I said, challenging things and I was pretty forceful in the language I was using to work through them. But I decided that I really wanted it back—for one thing, I was only halfway through the pages, and it was a really good format. So I faxed the restaurant, asking if they’d, uh, found it; if so, if they could mail it to me (at my expense) I’d be grateful.

They had, they did and I was.

Here’s another fun fact: when I went on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela 45 years ago, my journal was one of three books I carried with me in my panniers. (The other two were Henry IV, Part 1 and Montaigne’s Essays.) 

Within about three months of returning to the US, I was already mythologizing what an amazing, wonderful trip it was. A couple of glances at the journal reminded me that it rained a lot during that journey and that I didn’t feel fully clean all the while I was biking and staying in hostels.

Okay, well—40 years of journals results in nearly three large Hefty bin bags of shreds. I’ve put a few gallons into my composter, but decided that my almost completely clay ground might benefit from having some of the bits worked directly into it. So I dumped about half a bag on the ground and did my best to do that.

You’ll see from the video that I was not entirely (or even mostly) successful. Not only is there clay, but a crap ton of roots, which make it really hard to turn the dirt over. So I left it, figuring that eventually the rain and heat will help it decompose and do some of the work of amending the soil.

What I’ve discovered is that this has become a squirrel playground, which makes me literally laugh out loud. I mean, look:

Turns out that clearing out your life has unexpected benefits.

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Creeping holidays

So, as of 6 August, not only is Costco selling this:

They’ve also got this on display.

I just can’t.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Holey ground

About a month ago, I noticed there was a hole in my back garden. And then I noticed a second hole, which made me wonder about who might be digging them. Like…snakes?

I notified the management company, who sent out a pest control guy to check. He pointedly looked at my bird feeders and asked if I was feeding squirrels. (Implication: if you’re feeding squirrels, you can expect snakes.)

Well, no—I’m feeding birds. And if squirrels are attracting snakes, they took their sweet time getting here, because I’ve had feeders and squirrels for seven years with no holes in the back yard.

Well, he stomped on the holes to close them and told me to call him if they reappeared.

A week or so, I noticed that the larger hole was back. I stomped it and it came back.

Well—Friday afternoon I discovered who was doing the digging.

I’ve ordered stand down on all interventions, and put out some carrot pieces beside the bowl of water on the ground.

And I really hope that, if there are snakes, they play nice with everyone else.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: street legal

Vehicle SITREP: the 23-year-old Saab’s air conditioning has been fixed, the oil leak repaired and the annual inspection + emissions check done and passed.

Also, I used the $100-off coupon from the mechanic, which was a nice discount.

I cannot tell you the change in my mood as I pushed the AC into full blower and felt the cool air pour over me as I drove off the garage lot on Friday. I haven’t needed to drive the car over the weekend, but just knowing I could without shvitzing like a fountain was so empowering.

So that’s my gratitude for today: I’m back in action, baby.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

If you know what life is worth

So, we’ve had a bit of a moment since Joe Biden announced he was ending his re-election campaign and Kamala Harris became the presumptive nominee of the Democratic party (and sparked an absolute tsunami of support, enthusiasm and donations). Because the Kleptocrat has a hard time dealing with multiple or even complex messaging, he’s had to drop back on what is lodged most firmly in his amygdala: racism and misogyny.

This was manifested in spades during his dumpster fire appearance at the National Association of Black Journalists’ conference on Wednesday. Delayed by at least half an hour while his team argued that he wouldn’t appear if they fact checked his stream of lies in real time, when he finally went on, he proceeded to mix his stream of lies with whining about the questions ABC Senior Congressional Correspondent Rachel Scott and Semafor political reporter Kadia Goba asked. (Fox’s Harris Faulkner is completely in the Bonespurs bag, so he was fine with her.) He called them rude, nasty and horrible because they asked him to speak on issues and did their best to get him back on point when he did his automatic deflection and rambling rants.

So, no change there, then.

It was bad enough being faced with real questions from real journalists who really didn’t buy his bullshit. To have those journalists be both Black and female was just too much for an aggrieved, entitled, bloviating, unhinged old White man painted orange to bear.

In between tossing his running mate JD Vance under the bus (VPs don’t add any value when it comes to getting elected) and claiming to have done more for “the Black population” than every president except Abe Lincoln (this is actually a back pedal for him; in the past he’s said he’s done more than even Lincoln), TFG proclaimed that Harris only pivoted a few years ago from “being Indian” to “being Black”. (She is the daughter of a South Asian mother and Black Jamaican father and has celebrated both those legacies.) He thinks, "Someone should look into that."

The gasps and guffaws in the audience of Black journalists were audible.

Thirty minutes into the hour-long panel, the Kleptocrat’s team ended the discussion. It was clearly too painful for them to bear, even without the fact checking. He subsequently claimed on his pathetic faux Twitter that despite the unfairness and nastiness of the women on the panel, he crushed the interview.

Okay, so with that in mind, today’s earworm is Bob Marley and the Wailers singing “Get Up, Stand Up” at their 1980 concert in Munich.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Getting around

First of all, you need to understand that I come from LA, a place where you are what you drive. Except when I’m traveling, being without a reliable car gives me the jim-jams. I know when stress is getting to me by my dreams—I dream I can’t find my car, I’ve crashed my car, someone has vandalized my car. Because without a car, you are basically a non-person.

Moreover, my current vehicle is a 23-year-old Saab. GM killed the Saab division about 15 years ago, so whenever I take my car in for service, the big challenge is getting parts.

So when, last Friday, I was leaving my physical therapy appointment at 0900 and switched on the air conditioner, I was rendered instantly anxious by the fact that—while the fan blew—the air did not get cold. Turning the corner on August in Northern Virginia without AC is a genuine, certified bummer.

The earliest the garage could take a look at it was today, and that was strictly a “drop it off and hope” situation.

Well, I did my grocery shopping yesterday (at the store with underground parking, so not in the sun) and I’m actually okay, because my house AC works fine.

But the last time I took the car in for repair it was there three days, because they had to order parts from possibly Ghana or Nepal. I’m just hoping for the best, because any more, AC in cars is definitely must-have.

UPDATE: Garage called. Something about the something, plus almost completely out of freon. And oil leak at the top of the engine. But should be ready by end of today. 

And I got them to tack on the annual inspection, due this month, so I should be set for a while.

  

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

You can call me jay

They call bluejays bully birds, which is the category for birds that hog all the seed and drive other birds away from the feeders.

Basically—squirrels with wings.

Anyway, I have not found that to be the case with the jays that visit my back yard. These guys seem to get along with other bird varieties, take their turn and generally seem to be pretty good neighbors.

There was actually one time—after I’d tossed out a couple of fistfuls of seed—when I watched a bluejay get chased repeatedly away from the (plentiful) birdseed by a mourning dove. The dove would go after the jay; the jay would move away and then approach a different quadrant of seed; the dove would hustle the jay away again. That dove was just not having it.

Here’s an example of a bluejay living in comity with a cardinal, each minding his own business and neither fussed by the other.

Would that Americans could be more like the bluejays.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Somewhat chipper

This seems to be a bumper year for chipmunks. In the past, I’ve only seen them infrequently, but this summer it’s multiple times per day. I even, once, saw two of them concurrently, chasing each other around the patio.

Anyway, here’s a picture of one with a squirrel, who looks like a brontosaurus by comparison.

And here’s video of him scooting around, and for once, not rampaging through my citrus trees.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: two scoops

I was going to express my gratitude for how strong Kamala* Harris has emerged as the new Democratic candidate for president in this past week. I mean—more than $100M raised in the first 24 hours coupled with Republican heads exploding all over the country…that’s some amazing shit, and I am definitely here for it.

But I also wanted to say how grateful I am that—after a very, very bad Saturday—the pain in my hip was actually bearable yesterday.

So…

¿Por qué no los dos?

 *Means “lotus” in Sanskrit, so:

©2024 Bas Bleu