As long as we’re on the topic, what gives with people who build where they probably know they shouldn’t be building?

They put a million-dollar home next to the ocean and then cry and get indignant when zoning authorities and insurance companies balk at rebuilding and continued coverage after it gets washed away by a no longer rare storm of the century?

I understand the desire to be close to the water, but is there any practical thinking going on, given the increasing likelihood of a dangerous storm rendering your dream home a pile of matchsticks, or at best leaving your fortress the only building left standing up and down the shoreline, and leaving you the poster child for stubbornness and an outsized sense of entitlement?

Practicality and wisdom go right out the window. And maybe out to sea.

The tornadoes in the Midwest have been of the monster variety—dark, ugly, indiscriminate vortices tearing apart brick walls, rendering whole blocks and housing developments piles of rubble. There’s little to salvage, prompting blank stares and questions like, “What do we do now? Or “Where do we start?”

One minute everything’s fine, the next it’s all gone. In less time than it’s taken to write these few sentences.

I’m sure people are hoping their diligence in keeping up with insurance premiums will soften the blow, give them a bit of hope. But they probably shouldn’t hold their breath. The frequency and extent of these disasters means people will be waiting for their checks, and eventually insurance companies will be revealed for what they’ve always been: nothing more than a money-making scheme looking out for their own financial viability.

To hear Rachel Maddow tell it, the Republican party is backing a bunch of clowns for various seats around the country. And the clips she showed last night corroborated her assessment, perhaps no more glaringly than a woman at a Washington state Republican gathering who read something off her phone that denounced democracy—in part because she and the rest of the zombies are afraid any mention of any word containing “democrat” or its variations will give undue attention and credit to the Democratic party.

I’m pretty sure I heard that right.

One of the two major political parties in this country has gone off the rails, lost its mind, and it’s not the Democrats. The Republicans are just saying stuff that must be coming from somewhere. Is it homegrown nonsense, or might this mindset be fertilized by the firehose of bullshit being pumped in from Russia or elsewhere?  Are these people capable of thinking for themselves, looking around, asking questions, noticing things?

Is life really that bad for them, or is this all about following Trump’s lead, buying into the darkness, doubling down, embodying the lies regardless of conditions on the ground and the appeals to wake up?

It’s headshakingly crazy– how deeply the con has burrowed.  

Trump has forced us to think about things we’ve never had to think about, which isn’t something he gets to be proud of. It merely speaks to his sickness, his bottomless needs, his narcissistic tendencies, his stunning selfishness.

Equally stunning and mystifying is the level of support he still has, despite plentiful evidence that he is a damaged human being incapable of empathy or compassion, only in it to win it for himself.

Seventy million throw-away votes, coming right up.

If Trump somehow wins, I wonder what happens to the Washington Correspondents Dinner.

It’s a gem of an event. Colin Jost would have been arrested and summarily sent to Siberia. He would have been “disappeared,” taken out of commission, if he had dared say such things in front of Putin. I’ve always found the event a bit uncomfortable, but always a refreshing reminder of what we have here—a system of governance where no one is above not being taken too seriously, including the POTUS and some in the media.

That would end with Donald Trump. Herr Trump would not show, or just have the event cancelled.

Imagine, for a moment, another Trump presidency: can anyone picture an event where he would knowingly subject himself to derisive commentary, be poked fun at and held accountable with humor? There will be no humor in another Trump reign, mostly because he has no sense of humor.  It will be nothing more than a multi-year revenge tour, day after day of dour incompetence on display, where no one in his inner circle dare make light of his mind-numbing ineptitude.

The strongest critique will come from some Democrats and the folks at MSNBC, but mostly from the periphery– a doubled-down late night assault from all directions. We’ll need Colbert, Kimmel, and the rest more than ever. The humor would still be present, and needed, but Trump would try hard to stifle it.

Nothing but a revenge tour. That’s what we’re in for if Trump somehow prevails in November. He’ll be loaded for bear, psyched for his own relentless march to the sea. Nothing funny about it.

Tornadoes in the Midwest—in Nebraska and Iowa—have ravaged populated areas in the last couple days. Massive funnel clouds, sparking power lines, debris being sucked up and whirling around. One image even looked like a scene from The Wizard of Oz—part of a building ripped apart and pulled into the vortex like it was a piece of paper.

Pretty dramatic footage online, and the thing that sticks with me is the unaffective commentary of a couple of chasers, especially a woman who deadpans something like, “Looks like it was a nice house…”  after her companion says, somewhat more excitedly, “It’s gonna hit that house!” These two were just out for a thrill, no apparent connection with emergency services, or any kind of advanced warning assist, seemingly detached from the misery being wrought in front and sometimes beside them.

For all I know, she might have been smoking a joint and drinking a beer, just out for a good time as all hell broke loose for the local residents unlucky enough to be caught in the path of this monster.

Contrast that footage with another guy who’s evoking Jesus’ name in every other breath, praying for protection for those in the path of the storm he’s covering, who even stops in the middle of the road to assist some shell-shocked guy who may have just driven through the thing, who goes back to this guy’s relatives’ place to check on them, while the storm is still raging close by, and discovers they took a direct hit but survived by hiding in their bathroom, which was now open to the sky, no remnant of a roof to be seen.

Holy shit. Pretty amazing footage, and not just of the storm.

There was a time when I didn’t care about the party of the person I voted for in a presidential election. I went with whoever seemed the best, whatever that meant—more based on first impressions and how they spoke, less to do with policy. Or maybe it was policy. And I was more patriotic, for whatever that was worth.

Seeing that written out is embarrassing anymore.

Speaking of anymore, I look askance at most Republican candidates now, because of Donald Trump and the litter of outliers, possessors of disproportionate consequence in the House of Representatives, along with some Senators.

Republicans, at least the ones with the loudest voices, often come across as overly religious, antiseptic, paranoid, money-hungry, selfish and provincial, smug and angry. Democrats may be every bit the control freaks and as power-hungry, but they at least dare to be compassionate, more likely to be in tune with the human condition, more willing to get their hands dirty. Perhaps more idealistic, more likely to put themselves out there on behalf of anyone who is suffering and who needs a hand.

Republicans are quick to call needing a hand “laziness,” or “gaming the system.” A handout is blasphemy, so they resort to trigger words like Socialism or even Communism, but that’s just to scare people into voting for them.

There seems to be no room in the Republican lexicon for a social safety net, or even an acknowledgment that life can be hard and people need a hand from time to time. No doubt, the world can be a cold place, caught up in a blind allegiance to capitalism, mergers and acquisitions, ledgers and bottom lines and tax breaks for people who don’t need but have come to expect them. But all that seems to be missing the point.

Enough Republicans believe white is right, and every other hue is somehow suspect. And the whole national security, always a heartbeat away from Armageddon, “America—love it or leave it” vibe is tired and disingenuous, patriotism with blinders on.

I think it was George Carlin who boiled down the difference between Republicans and Democrats to saying Republicans are more interested in stuff and things; Democrats are more interested in people. Let’s add that Republicans seem to hold the bootstraps mentality on a pedestal—as in picking oneself up by the bootstraps, every man for himself. Self-sufficiency, making your own way, endless achievement and a certain blindness or aversion to any sense of corporal connectedness.

At some point, I decided that this Republican mantra sucked, and Democrats were more closely aligned with my understanding of human needs and what actually makes the world go ’round.

It’s being made to sound like the Supreme Court is going to hand Trump yet another victory.

Could a sitting President start a coup and get away with it? Maybe not, but in Trump’s case, all that matters is that the justices appear to be heading toward writing an opinion that will fend off any use of plain language, fend off immediate action, thus also nixing any hope of a timely conviction with any teeth in the January 6 case.

In other words, the son of a bitch will be free and clear to spread his poison in the remaining months of the current campaign and not have to be concerned with the possibility of a damaging decision that would curtail his capacity to hold rallies or travel around the country lying to everyone and just making shit up. He’ll get to keep doing that, thanks to a SCOTUS that appears to be leaning toward giving him a pass.

They will find the words, the angle, that will somewhat placate those who know Trump is a slime ball, but they will also not go so far as to piss off the diehards in the base just itching to start trouble or shoot somebody.

Trump isn’t worth the handwringing, yet members of the United States Supreme Court appear conflicted and concerned about… something– the court of public opinion?

It’d be nice to know if this is because the 6-3 conservative majority is doing Trump’s dirty work, or if it’s because they have legitimate concerns about legacy or interpretation, or consequences for peace and stability as we approach November 4 and beyond.

For anyone who smells a rat, it’ll just look like the lack of a backbone and an unwillingness to make a hard decision based on the common sense understanding that no one– not even a POTUS– is above the law. No need for convoluted language or a convenient smokescreen.

Presidents aren’t gods, or unassailable models of rectitude. Number 45 has made this abundantly clear for us. And yet, so many prefer not to see it.

Just finished A Day In the Life of Abed Salama- Anatomy Of A Jerusalem Tragedy, by Nathan Thrall. Many names, many threads and backstories, somewhat difficult to follow or keep in order. There was a list of characters corresponding to the different sections of the book, which helped as a reference from time to time, but I still gave up after a while and just tried to notice prominent themes.

That being said, it is a heart-rending true story of life in the modern-day environs of Jerusalem and the West Bank for a Palestinian family with deep roots in the area. The book revolves around a tragic accident in which Abed Salama’s son, Milad, was eventually discovered to be one of the victims of a deadly collision between a school bus and an out-of-control semi-trailer on a dangerous road in awful weather conditions.

The story is about the barriers—both literal and figurative—that Palestinians deal with in their daily lives, with commentary along the way. A timely read, given current headlines.

One thing that I took from the book is how complicated life is in that place—a simmering animosity and distrust, green IDs, blue IDs, separate roads, numerous checkpoints, a dearth of all sorts of essential services, a 26-foot-high wall that inhibits access, heightens aggravation, and snakes around with no visible rhyme or reason—even as there is a certain logistical coherence to its placement.

What struck me is the money spent and the lengths Israel has gone to ensure safety for its citizens and access to as much of the Promised Land as possible, leaving islands of crowded, often unkempt, unpoliced, neglected parcels for Palestinian families who also share in the history of the area. I was left thinking, “No, thank you,” with regard to ever wanting to live in such a place.

While “complicated” was the word that kept coming to mind, the bigger challenge for me was trying to get my head around the dynamic of two groups of people with deep religious and historical ties to the area who often clash, who have often been brought to deadly, mindless violence, who make distinct claims, and who occasionally try to get along.

The jacket description claims Jerusalem and its environs– and, really, much of what we know as the state of Israel– to be one of the most highly contested parcels of land on earth. This book reveals how that dynamic plays out, through the eyes and ears and hearts of a single, connected family.

Took a ride on I-80 yesterday, got off and drove back roads, crossed Chillisquaque Creek and the West Branch of the Susquehanna River, out into the open farmland of Union County. It was a beautiful day to be out and about.

Well-kept farms, rolling hills, flowering trees in bloom, including the redbud, my favorite. Seemed a bit dry, though—what land was tilled looked like clumps of hardened clay, and the grass in spots looked washed out, a lighter green than usual. Saw a couple of Amish buggies heading somewhere, and we headed home in time to run into bicycle traffic as one of the rural schools let out.

In some ways, it felt like we were stepping back in time, perhaps aided by a stop for lunch where there just happened to be a five-man band playing Civil War-era music.

It felt good to be heading west, even if it wasn’t all that far west. Far enough, though, to get the feeling that we weren’t in Kansas anymore…