I’m obviously not understanding the rationale. Lindsey Vonn has a stellar skiing career, decides to call it a day, but then decides she wants another shot at the fame and glory. So she works her way back, comes to Milan with an anterior cruciate ligament injury, and subsequently takes a fall during Olympic competition that brings her close to losing a leg.

It begs the question: Why?

She tried to explain away the opportunity she took from someone else who could have made the team, saying her competitive spirit wouldn’t allow her to not make a comeback bid, but that all sounds quite feeble to me. Was she having trouble adjusting to life away from the slopes, with all the fame and notoriety it brought her? Is there an addiction to the bright lights and attention? Or is it truly all about being ultra-competitive?

Either way, I have my doubts.

The response to the attack on Iran has been immediate and somewhat visceral. And with good reason. There is so much not to like about the once-again-unilateral decision to rain death and destruction down on Iran.

On the surface, it’s a confab between hardline criminals—Trump and Netanyahu, though obviously planned with some intent to decapitate Iranian leadership capabilities (they had it coming…). But to basically say to the people of Iran, “Here, now it’s up to you to take your country back,” – like we’re doing them a huge favor—is simply convenient, pie-in-the-sky wishful thinking.

And of course Trump gets off on being the one who sells it on the home front with appeals to patriotism and sacrifice—things he knows nothing about. It’s dumb and tragic, yet one more reminder of the lengths these two will go to distract from their own tenuous existence on this side of prison.

After 9/11, it was WMD, this time it’s nukes. It was bullshit then, and most likely bullshit now. And take the damned hat off, Donald, when you’re breaking such God-forsaken news. Deep-six the hats. They’re not a good look.

Noise and lament and a throwing up of hands. It’s pretty much what we get anymore. The folks at MS Now can ponder and pontificate, raise their voices, talk over each other in panel discussions when they dare welcome a dissenter to the mix. But in the end, none of the alarm and anger and incensed tones really matter to the Trump administration. All the concern and worry seem to roll off of them, easily dismissed as the rantings of soft, liberal, socialist snowflakes.

Maddow and Psaki can ring the alarm bells, Velshi and Melber and O’Donnell can rationally, if not passionately, expose the lack of a moral compass and outright diabolical intent. But who’s paying attention, besides the choir?

I know I should hold my nose and wade into a Fox News broadcast, just to get a sense for what half the country is absorbing and apparently embracing, but I just can’t bring myself to do that. More often than not, what emanates from their talking heads feels like poison to me, like they live in a totally different place with a vastly different set of core beliefs. Like they’re watching a totally different game.  

So, the battle for hearts and minds rages on. 

The no-show Congress now has to show up. No more kowtowing or excuse making, no more riding coattails, no more silence in the face of this assault on norms and sensible rules and restraint. Sometimes “rules were made to be broken” is exactly what it sounds like—a pile of shit, a recipe for recklessness, the thing someone says in the absence of having any better ideas, or when someone just wants to break things.

Donald Trump cannot, unilaterally or otherwise, manipulate the election process, nor can he institute martial law because he’s afraid the mid-terms will not be good to him and his party. Is it not obvious to everyone on both sides of the aisle that this is all a bridge way too far? These are the ramblings of a desperate man, and what’s worse is that he’s getting direction or at least support from people around him to pursue such a course of action.

Is the Epstein noose finally tightening? Nothing like even the hint of a strike on Iran to work its distracting magic, right?

It’s always been a house of cards, though maddeningly resilient and sturdy, for some reason.

Playing to type, the guest on Newshour last night said that the reason ICE agents wear masks is to protect them from being identified by people who apparently have evil intent and are liable to make life difficult for the agent and his family.

Which doesn’t really answer the question and sounds more like a well-crafted excuse. Regular law enforcement officers don’t wear masks. Why are these people any different? Last night’s response doesn’t satisfy anyone’s curiosity and, in fact, only reinforces the ongoing suspicion that the powers that be know full well that their tactics and whole reason for being are heavy-handed, unpopular, and riding a razor-thin edge of legality. And masks add to the intimidation factor.

How many of these recruits have been pardoned for their role in January 6th?

I started going through old pictures yesterday. Well, actually slides from my grandfather that I’ve somehow come to possess. Even Gramp, as organized as he was, didn’t label every slide, so I made the decision that I am going to save mostly pictures of people I recognize, along with an occasional scenery pic, if it meets certain criteria like immediately catching my eye.

I was reminded of why I don’t like doing this—because it’s so easy to get distracted, sidetracked, and otherwise slowed down. And when I take a break, it feels like I’ve returned from the past– I realize I’m in my house in February of 2026 but also that I’ve taken a ride in a time machine.

These were bags of loose slides from as far back as the late 1950s, so Gram and Gramp are way younger than I am now. My siblings and I are little kids, Mom and Dad are our own kids’ age, or younger. It’s weirdly wonderful, but there’s also a bit of melancholy.

There’s a long way to go, and I’m not sure why I’m even bothering with this project. I guess it’s in hopes of these pictures meaning something to our kids or their kids, someone who has a sense of history and a hankering for continuity—a certain curiosity about the past and filling in blanks and learning from whence and whom they come.