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

It's a new day

Considering the events of the past five days, I think today’s earworm has to be the incomparable Nina Simone singing “Feeling Good”.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Cake!

In case you’re in need of some happiness, here’s a woodpecker enjoying a suet seed cake.

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Horticulture

It started some time in May, when I bought the dwarf Meyer lemon tree. I didn’t really want a Meyer, but that’s all the garden center had. I got to the microscopic lemon stage, but then someone—my money was on some toerag with a bushy tail—knocked them off.

Well, then I recalled how much I enjoy limes, so I went to a different garden center about a month ago and bought a dwarf lime. No blossoms, but the leaves actually smelled like limes.

After the incipient Meyer lemons disappeared, I went back to that second garden center and bought a dwarf Ponderosa lemon tree. It was covered with blossoms, so I was hopeful. There were also microscopic lemons.

Then I watched one day as Scooter, the chipmunk, hopped up to the Meyer tree, rampaged around the branches, moved on to the lime and then to the Ponderosa. He was the culprit, the little hooligan. I opened the door to yell at him.

But I knew I needed to do more, so I now have the Ponderosa encased in a net bag. He’s tried twice to get up under it.

I may need to make another trip to the garden center.

(But, listen—I do not have a citrus problem. I can stop whenever I want.)

 

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Touching grass

Righty-ho, then—dunno about you, but I need to look away from the screen and breathe. So here are a couple of cloud formations.

Nothing spectacular; just nature being gorgeous.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

 

Gratitude Monday: hearing it

I gotta say—after the past week, I was feeling like there’s not much for me to be grateful for. Republicans fucking terrify me, Democrats just screwed the pooch and my hip problem just doesn’t seem to want to resolve itself. I thought I was going to have to reach for something like, “I thought I’d run out of ricotta because I couldn’t find it in the fridge, but then remembered that I last bought it at Trader Joe’s, and it was a blue container, not a red one.”

But then I recall a chat with a friend on Friday, who cut through my bullshit and suggested that instead of focusing on a project, I should come to grips with the much larger one—purpose. Which, of course, is a shit-ton more challenging, but also is at the base of all my miasma.

Rats.

So today—again—I’m grateful for the support and insights of friends, who will say things out loud when you need to hear them but can’t shape your mouth around them.

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu