A Little Time Means A Lot Of Focus and Politics is Personal

As election day draws near, I cannot deny that my resolve not to vote for Trump began to waiver. Colorado is solidly blue, so a Trump vote would certainly be a wasted vote. Still, I was starting to feel like it would be fun to tell the grandkids that I was part of the unforeseen popular majority.

As I voted today, I just couldn’t do it. And with time running out, the underlying reason finally surfaced. (I don’t know why I didn’t see this happening; it always does. We veterans prefer working under pressure for the clarity it brings.)

The reason I can’t vote for Trump is because I can’t vote for Republicans. The Republicans were in power during 9/11. They had a chance to accomplish what no humans have yet accomplished, and they blew it—including wasting my time and energy by sending me to Iraq in response.

9/11 should have been used to relegate the false god Allah to the myths and legends section of libraries and bookstores. And the only way to do that is make supporting him deadly—which can be done directly or indirectly, but with intention, nonetheless. So many gods have perished. This shouldn’t be controversial. Instead, and unconscionably, the supposedly great Republican party* decided to lie and wage irrelevant (and illegal) wars under the guise of satisfying all interested players and offending no one.

So, no, I won’t buy into the same system that made that category mistake. Nations are okay, but gods are where the action is at.

Anyhow, I know my opinion is unpopular. So it’s not like I expected to find some candidate who wanted to lead and win the coming Holy War. But I also can’t vote for people who have had the opportunity to do so and dropped the ball. So I found the rules for write-in votes (you can’t just vote for anyone) and there is some random unaffiliated and normal looking citizen that satisfied the requirements for Colorado’s ballot and I voted for him. In other words, literally any average citizen is better than Trump/Harris and the major (and minor) parties. His name is Chris Garrity. Best of luck, man.

In short, with time drawing to a close, I have just now realized that, for me, politics is personal.

*To be clear, the Dems would have done no different.

The Preacher Said, “Joy Cometh in the Morning” in Today’s Service. Was It Code Today?

This morning was my last morning with the Black Baptists before the election. (I work next Sunday.) Going in, I was curious what kind of political talk we’d hear. For the past several Sundays, the gist was always “Trump bad,” but never quite “Kamala good.” And Baptist preachers wouldn’t be Baptist preachers if they didn’t say, “Vote!”

Today’s service had two political moments. The first occurred way before the sermon, during a fairly random reading of a Black History Experience. I don’t recall the exact words, but I remember smiling as the lady said something about how important this election was.

I thought, “Hype!! It’s all hype. She’s a sucker. No different than at this Super Bowl or during these playoffs ‘we are witnessing something never before seen!’ It’s all hype. Don’t fall for it.”

The second moment requires a brief reminder. There are many sayings or scriptures or proverbs which the Black Baptists all around the country utter at least once during each Sunday service. “But early, EARLY Sunday morning…” is one. Another is, “God loves…a cheerful giver.” A third is, “You can’t out-give God.” Another is, “He woke you up this morning!” Another is, “As the old saints used to say…”

The one in question, and behind this post is, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

Seriously. If a woman who has seen five or more decades and survived at least one round of cancer doesn’t say this into a microphone, with perfect timing and emphasis on “But Joy!!…comes in the morning,” then you weren’t at a Baptist church.

Today, however, the sermon was essentially a Stephen-esque recounting of all it took for Moses to strike the rock rather than speak to it. Then, as the capstone, she delivered the somehow never-tired, “Remember, weeping may endure for a night,” (wait for it) “But JOY comes in the morning.”

It was code. It was so clearly code. “Vote Kamala—the candidate of JOY. And stop worrying. The LORD won’t let him win.” Had she said it at any other time in the story, I wouldn’t have even noticed it. But it was delivered with an ever-so-slightly-out-of-place force, an ever-so-slight amount of “indulge me, Saints” that I am certain it was meant as a Gilead-made balm to the community.

My aforementioned Ethiopian wife didn’t see it that way.

What do you think?


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A Midwestern Man Telling His Ethiopian Wife About Democrat Family Members + Bonus Lecture

“So, I have a question. I know you don’t agree with S- and H-. But I don’ understand why you try to change them?”

“No, no, no, no. That’s not it. You’re missing it. I am not trying to change them. I don’t care who they vote for. That’s not the problem. The problem is they think they are smarter than us. Do you understand? They think they are smarter than us and that that is why they and we vote differently.”

She presents a confused look.

He resumes, “Okay. Try this. You know about killing people, right? Sorry, about the death penalty. You know how some criminals are killed for punishment, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So there are some people who don’t think criminals should be killed. Other people think criminals should be killed. I can sit here and accurately list the reasons each side gives. But I believe what I believe and disagree with the other side. I do not think I am smarter than them. I just believe differently. It isn’t about being smart or not. It is about the issue. Do you see what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, S- and H-, and the democrats in general don’t defend their positions on any issues, they just believe they are smarter than us. S- told our mom about H-’s work with abnormal babies when she was a nurse. He mentioned the whole ‘some babies are born with both parts’ disturbing fact as he defended the democrats support of transgender nonsense. Do you see why they are wrong? Transgender rights has nothing to do with those babies and the decisions their parents have to make. It isn’t like anyone marching through the streets believe those babies need a voice. No. The democrats, S- and H- included, believe they are smarter than us and so they just argue, ‘Of course people should be able to live how they want.’ Or they confuse the issue or bring up random and irrelevant experiences, if anyone will force the issue, which have no bearing on the issues and hope we cower before them. I don’t want them to change their vote. I want them to hear that someone on this earth believes they are full of shit.”

****

Vote for Kamala, vote for Al Gore. Vote for whoever you choose, I say. But be a man. Defend your position. Make me defend my position. Stop the nonsense that you somehow have a special insight into life on earth. You don’t. I don’t. We just have our ideas and, more importantly, our methods.

Many pundits have already said it. But this election, these two candidates, represent “condescension” vs “Don’t Tread On Me”. There are no classic issues on the ballot. The issue is whether you believe you’re smarter than other citizens and therefore have some greater capacity and vision and duty to run the show. If so, you like Harris. If not, you like Trump.

To be clear, I am not smarter than democrats. My distinguishing qualities include I am braver, have my integrity, and encourage literacy.

Kamala Is Not A Grandma

The politically incorrect trolls are having a field day with Kamala’s “as a parent” response. People or bots are correctly pointing out that she is not a parent, but their implied reason is invalid.

Kamala Harris has no children of her own, and she met her step-children when they were 15 & 19 (or thereabouts). But CNN’s question was about the last 4 years, which means while the step-children were 21-25 and 26-30 years old. And Kamala was 56-60.

There’s more. The whole “make mistakes while parenting” is relatable when you and your children are young. If Donald Trump, while 70 and Barron 10, delivered the quip, it may produce laughs, but it still wouldn’t accomplish the purpose Kamala sought the other night.

But all of this is missing the bigger point.

This woman is 60 yrs old. That makes her twenty plus years into being capable of being a grandma and she is suggesting she is a mom making mistakes. The lie she told is her age, not her family status.

Donald Trump, the most misogynistic presidential candidate in recent history, is going to beat the first two women candidates, and why? Because Kamala lied about her age. Why? Because she’s a woman and lives in reality after all.

Trump’s Not A Horse in A Building; He’s James Bond

My brother was the first to share with me the humorous analysis that watching Trump was like watching a horse inside a building—it’s off-putting, but everything is probably gonna be okay.

But the more I watch Trump, the more I am sure that the creature he is most similar to is James Bond.

If you haven’t watched one of the films recently, please do so before reacting argumentatively to this idea.

The general highlights of the two characters’ similarities are the neat suit, and the humor—often some kind of sexual innuendo, as was on display yesterday. There is also, at this point, on full display for the entire nation and world, a remarkable ability to land on their feet.

And if you haven’t watched the McDonald’s clips, you owe it to yourself to track some down. A beautiful lady pulls up to the window, and Trump says aloud, “You’re a beautiful woman.” A tough looking large man pulls up to the window, and Trump says aloud, “Wow, I wouldn’t want to mess with you.”

“And you are?”

“Trump. Donald Trump.”

Is It Possible that They Are Mad Because They Couldn’t Control Him?

Many American Generals are saying some outrageous things about Trump as this election cycle dashes to the finish. Is it possible these high-ranking men are mad because they couldn’t control Trump?

There are reports that General Mattis allegedly slept in his gym clothes in case he got a call to come in overnight.

“What do you want to discuss now, my favorite color?”

Is fate so unkind as to hinge nuclear attack on the time it takes to change clothes?

I doubt it.

More believable is these generals, regardless the character they exhibited along their climb to political power, became persuaded that they were anointed and Trump was not.

I’m sorry, but I do not live in a country where the defense secretary’s pajamas are a matter of national security anymore than Colonel Jessup’s underwear.

Sleep, Sleeper

If I could change one aspect of modernity, it would be to un-invent the clock. I know, I know, it wouldn’t work. Modernity needs the clock like fish need water. But living by a clock has always felt unnatural to me. Most unnatural is the idea of waking up because of “what time” it is. Sleep, I say.

Running right alongside my fantasy is that I hate waking people up, no matter what time the clock says it is. I feel that I have done my small part in increasing happiness for my fellow man if I help keep people asleep. Specifically, I do everything in my power to keep babies, toddlers, and children asleep. This sleep benevolence of mine extends also to spouses and family members and house guests in general. If I am at work and someone is sleeping, I tip-toe away and do whatever is in my power to not wake them.

I cannot recall the last time I caused or allowed (or let pass without strong rebuke, for that matter) a sharp noise to be sounded while someone was sleeping.

I do confess there are moments where my posture towards sleep is more difficult, perhaps impossible, to maintain. When H- was small, we went to the symphony together and she would fall asleep despite the racket. At the end, I couldn’t just close the place down as she slept. So I woke her.

On Sundays, the black baptists run long as a rule. J- often finds the padded pew similar enough to a bed. I cannot just allow him to sleep as they come to the conclusion of the whole matter. Life must go on.

But I ask you, dear reader, what about when I show up to H-’s orchestra concert only to be carefully ignored by her? What if H- plans a trip to visit my parents and siblings (her grandparents and aunts and uncles) and is sure to confirm that I do not have a coordinated surprise visit in mind before boarding?

What then? Should I let H- sleep? Should my family let H- sleep?

H- is told the worst kind of lies by her mom, her mom’s parents, her step-dad, and his parents, and my parents, my siblings, and—unless I miss my mark—the entire fucking population of this great country have decided to let her sleep.

H- is living a lie.

She doesn’t know it, but she has been kidnapped.

She doesn’t know it, but her dad is robbed monthly and has been for 12+ years.

She doesn’t know it, but she would not have a roof over her head, food in her belly, or a pot to piss in, if it wasn’t for me.

She doesn’t know it, because she sleeps.

Should I wake her?

Nahhh. Let her sleep.

Sleep, Sleeper.

Kamala Harris Speaks in Sentence Fragments and Believes the Sky is Flat

The “word salad” description of Kamala Harris’ utterances is just not powerful. It is accurate, but it is not powerful. So the time has come to change the description of her speech. It is time to plainly state that she does not speak in complete sentences. Instead, simply describe that she speaks in sentence fragments.

Kamala Harris speaks in sentence fragments. She does not speak in complete sentences. She also does not speak in run-on sentences. Instead, she speaks in sentence fragments.

****

I also want to return to her “see the constellation” wisdom she pronounced the other day, one more time.

Forget that constellations are “not real” in the sense that Orion doesn’t really look like a warrior with a bow, nor does Orion’s Belt really look anything like a belt. I don’t care about that. What is striking to me, especially after having read through many of the great “scientists” of Western Civilization and their celestially-centered work—something Harris has clearly never read—is that constellations and Harris’s entire point are based on an incorrect model of the universe. The night sky has depth. The stars in the constellations are not lights lining the interior of a sphere, similar to a planetarium. The universe is deep.

Kamala Harris is manifestly ignorant of this and consequently passes on proverbs from antiquity which amount to little more than horoscope. This woman is a moron. And it ain’t because she is black, Indian, or a woman. It is because she speaks in sentence fragments and believes the sky is flat.

A Midwestern Take On the State of the Two Campaigns

Trump: They know they have won. At this point all that is left to do is stay in headlines. (ref: dancing, outrageous rhetoric etc.)

Harris: They know they have lost. At this point all that is left to do is prove you really tried. (ref: interview explosion)

The Answer to This Gen Xer’s Middle-School Question, “What Is the Point of Diagramming Sentences?”

Harris answered, “If you just look at where the stars are in the sky don’t look ‘em as just random things if you just look at them as points look at the constellation what does it show you?”

Before you review the provided diagram, please take a moment to consider the concept she asserted that the “stars” are “random things” and “points”.

That took about 45 min and some help from the internet. Overall, I learned that Harris used the imperative (I hate being bossed) and uncommonly deep subordinate phrasing.

Now, if only we knew what those random points in the sky when it is dark were, then we might be getting somewhere towards understanding Trump’s racism.

Harris 2024!!