So, 23 named storms, 11 hurricanes, 5 at Category 3+.

No one knows where these will make landfall. No one actually knows for sure that there will be that many, but multiple models are offering up similar scenarios. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—the ocean water is warm, and conditions would seem to be optimal for development, maybe even before June 1.

Sounds like action the wagering establishments would want a piece of—when, where, category, etc. It could be loads of fun for the entire family as they scurry for plywood and batteries and water, or join the bumper-to-bumper exodus on evacuation routes.

Something to do while nature does its thing and reminds us that of course there is no human-induced climate change, just repeated meteorological aberrations that grow steadily more intense and destructive.

Happening season after season, year after year.

Just, you know, the normal abnormalities.

Just round the bases and dispense with the theatrics, you little twerp.

Kids are sponges. They learn from their elders who’ve made it to The Show. For instance, a Little Leaguer stands at home plate, admiring the round-tripper he’s just hit, lingering for an annoyingly long time before commencing to run the bases.

Just run the bases! Enjoy the applause and cheers as you round them, and get to the dugout to receive the accolades of your teammates. Don’t be a hot dog and loiter in the box.

Maybe umps should be able to throw flags and erase the run(s) on the basis of the batter being a jerk.

It appears that Judge Aileen Cannon is doing what she can to play into Trump’s delay strategy by offering a questionable ruling on the usage of the PRA—Presidential Records Act. If someone didn’t know better, it might look like Trump has her in his pocket.

Analysts used by non-Fox networks are assessing Cannon’s decision making as being not a little mystifying, maybe even suspicious, at least that of a rookie. This whole episode only serves to highlight the hurdles faced in making any prosecution stick, when it comes to Trump and his life-long nose-thumbing at the rule of law.

Apart from attorneys, how can such a lowlife have anyone who’d be willing to do his bidding, especially a judge? I suppose influence pedaling is an ancient dark art. But a judge? Can’t be.

Finally finished the Harari book, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, returned it to the library, and awaited a paperback copy of it I had ordered on Amazon. It arrived yesterday afternoon and I promptly cracked it open and started highlighting passages.

I have to read it again. There is much to review, much to still take in and take a closer look at. I realize that it’s just one person’s research and perspective, but Harari is a rare intellect we would do well to welcome into our reading circles.

We probably won’t agree with everything he says, but he’ll open some eyes, which I’m sure he’s already done, since I’m late to the party and the book has become a worldwide sensation since its arrival in 2014.

It has been, and will continue to be a revelation.

John Stewart drilled down to the essence of the Tailgate-gate story with his usual humor and appeal to sanity. One after another of mainstream pundits were made to look like offended Sunday School teachers as they spoke of the cringeworthy AI-generated image of the President hogtied in the flatbed of an F-150.

They didn’t show the image because they decided it was too “disturbing” to show, even though, as Stewart observes, they have no qualms with bringing us footage of Gaza or Ukraine or 9-11.

I have to say it really did make the networks look pretty silly. The image was of course shown on The Daily Show, and while perhaps causing a certain discomfort, it wasn’t gory or gratuitous. Seeing it just makes one wonder why the networks made such a big deal about not showing it, and maybe aids in reinforcing the snowflake label, along with a tendency toward melodrama.

In fairness to the networks, Stewart must have been talking about the networks’ initial reaction, because the image has shown up in various media as recently as yesterday.

Anyway, the tailgate story was used as an entre into a segment on AI and the less-than-convincing arguments its adherents are offering up in its defense, specifically with regard to its effects on employment opportunities for humans. The lemonade is poured in the form of assuring us that an AI-led labor force will lead to more leisure time for us hominids, which is great if you have money with which to enjoy your leisure time—income you once had by doing a job that’s now or will be done by a robot.

We attended an Easter service at the local Lutheran congregation not far from our house. The first thing I noticed was the underwhelming attendance scattered about in such a large nave. The next thing I noticed was that the Prelude was too loud.

I still possess certain sensibilities and tastes when it comes to the music at the beginning of a service, when people are getting settled. On Easter morning, scripturally, the women who reached the tomb were not aware it was Easter morning. There was still a cloud over the proceedings as they went to prepare a body for burial. I feel as though the prelude music should reflect this—it doesn’t have to be in a minor key, necessarily, but something at least that hints at the quietness of an early morning when the events of Good Friday are still weighing heavy.

The second prelude piece yesterday brought us prematurely to the end of the service, with all the stops literally pulled on the organ and everyone within a half mile of the church pulled fully awake from a sound sleep. In my mind, it wasn’t time for that, yet. And it was an assault on the ears.

Anyway, the service progressed in a familiar manner, the pastor had a good sermon, we received the bread and wine, we ended vociferously, with full stops and brass and violins and… an acoustic guitar? The pastor greeted us in the hallway outside the nave, we greeted a couple folks, got our plastic, candy-filled egg from someone dressed as the Easter Bunny, then headed home, somewhat content in the knowledge that we at least had attended worship on such a high holy day.

Of course, all the preceding verbiage is prologue to what I really want to talk about, which is the almost total absence of inspiration that I have been left with every time I’ve gone to church since retiring, including yesterday. I go hoping for some switch to be turned back on, or maybe tripped for the first time in my life.

I know that it was a good thing that I retired, because I couldn’t stand in front of a congregation anymore and speak with anything approaching conviction about anything biblical, even as the scriptural contributions of Paul remain the only things standing between me and abandonment of the faith.

I was there, at yesterday’s celebration of resurrection, as a skeptic, as a doubter, as someone who wants to believe but is having an increasingly hard time doing so. And it’s not just because I’ve been influenced by the Harari book—this questioning stance, this doubt, has been with me for a long time.

Believing, to me, means taking a step that I guess I’ve always been reluctant to take. It means letting go of reason and logic and what can be seen—what is real before my eyes. I’ve never been at peace with the dialectic. And I certainly don’t want to cede an act of desperation, as in “what have I got to lose?”

I don’t always agree with Bill Maher in his New Rules segment. Sometimes I feel like shouting Amen, but not after his latest offering.

He was riffing on the recent generic question posed by various candidates about being better off today or four years ago, and reminded viewers that four years ago we were just starting the long journey through Covid-19. But he quickly pivoted to griping about how America overreacted to Covid and that some of the less mainstream or popular ideas at the time actually turned out to have some merit.

It’s easy, with the benefit of hindsight, to hold such an opinion, but in the middle of it we were dealing with something no one had ever experienced before. It quickly became a matter of whose advice and opinions we trusted, and the problem became the damaging fact that there were multiple opinions, all sorts of theories and voices. A serious health threat quickly became politicized.

I tried to listen to what the CDC was saying, but then there were the competing takes—led by Trump himself—who wanted to, basically, ignore reality, who said the virus would peter out by April of 2020 and things would be back to normal. Basically, he and the rest of the libertarian, contrary right were questioning the CDC and its “oppressive” guidelines because what it was saying didn’t fit with Trump’s plans to win the 2020 election and his need to downplay what to the rest of the world was an actual pandemic, killing people left and right and taxing healthcare systems and their employees everywhere.

Sure, from his vantage point here in 2024, Maher can posit in his snarky tone that the remote learning for so long actually did hurt our children, but, again, we were all navigating new territory at the time, and being fed multiple opinions about best practices. The kids probably could have been ok, but the other facet of that was that the kids are taught by adults, who, I guess, were supposed to be ready to lay down their lives for their country, take one for the team, unconcerned with nebulous plans and guidelines for teaching during a pandemic, or their own susceptibility to infection.

It’s just too easy to be cocksure and brave and to take pot shots after the fact.

Kinda sore this morning, after getting the latest Covid vaccine yesterday. Made it through most of the day without any effects, but started feeling them last night. And this morning, I’m sore all over, a bit warm, my scalp hurts a little, and I’m probably experiencing the consequences of getting the shot. It’s my sixth one, I noticed, since March of 2021. I figure a few more antibodies can’t hurt, even if opinions are all over the map regarding the need for so many sticks in the arm.

“Whatever it takes to win.”

Since when is deceit part of the game? Oh, it makes for some good storytelling about “legendary” and “quirky” plays and players and coaches. But unless we’re talking about actual war, “whatever it takes….” doesn’t work. It’s out of bounds. And even war-making supposedly has rules and guidelines.

Baseball, basketball, hockey, lacrosse, golf, horse shoes, swimming, figure skating, even football— the beautiful game or whatever product it is that the NFL puts on the field– aren’t warfare, as much as players and advertisers and league officials might want us to think otherwise. No doubt, competition is fierce, and there’s a lot on the line the deeper a team goes into a season and the playoffs, but, again—it’s a game we’re talking about here. There’s a line that can’t be crossed in competition. Cheating is degrading behavior embraced by adults and taught to children. It might be raised to an art form, but it’s always wrong. And always disappointing.

A competitive edge is some holy grail worthy of pursuit only to a point, as an individual or team practices hard, trains hard, strategizes and gets in the right mindset. Steroids aren’t part of this, sign stealing isn’t part of this, nail files and Vaseline aren’t parts of this. Foot wedges, deflated footballs or wagering aren’t included in this.

It might have been Casey Stengel who said that he’d do whatever it took to win, or “…it’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.” Really? This win at all costs mentality has no place in sports. There’s a difference between being competitive and being deceitful. That’s not winning, that’s just cheating, a sign that you’ve gone too far. A fear issue, a control issue.

The hidden ball trick is one thing. Steroids and sign stealing and loading up a ball and point shaving are something else entirely. The latter have no place in sports at any level, and are simply indications of someone taking things way too seriously. Succumbing to such unfair advantages, such crutches, feeling the need to go there, says more about a person’s confidence level and character than anything else. The desired outcome ends up being weakness, not strength.

And if “everybody’s doing it,” then it’s all one big deception. Fraud passed off as athletic prowess, as achievement.

Presidential campaigns are time-consuming, outrageously and inexcusably expensive, and exhausting for everybody. And they seem to drag on forever, especially this time around.

One could say, with little exaggeration, that we have been in campaign mode since the last Presidential election in 2020. This is largely because of Donald Trump, of course—he never got over his 7-million vote trouncing at the hands of Joe Biden and decided the results were not to his liking. He had the gall to go around saying the election was stolen from him, and in that process hasn’t allowed us a chance to catch our breath.

When November 5 finally arrives, I can foresee many of us just being glad it’s over, even though we all know it won’t be– regardless of outcome.