Putin and Xi have to be in cahoots. It’s a WWII dynamic with new/similar players who really have had enough of the U.S.

So, WWIII. Fucking humans.

Will this need to dominate and exert influence ever evolve into something less consequential for the majority of us who just want to live our lives in relative peace? Why this unquenchable desire to prevail and control and inflict unjustified and horrific suffering, and death?

We’re all expendable. We’re all paying the price for leaders who could always pursue plans for actual peace and cooperation and sharing but decide instead that they need to compare dick sizes and claim bragging rights.

All the stuff we’re taught growing up—about sharing and being nice? It’s all useless on the world stage, just irrelevant and naïve.

Bringing more children into the world borders on irresponsible anymore. It’s tough to argue with primal urges, but we really do have a hard time with reality, with seeing the writing on the wall and making changes to our expectations and attitudes, and our sense of entitlement.

Some trends we make it our business to indulge, while others we simply ignore at our own peril. The flooding in Kentucky might be “just” a 500-year event, or it could have been made worse by climate change. The searing heat just about everywhere might be just a heat wave. It is summertime, after all.

I guess we’ll never know, though we have to know by now.

Are there, or have there ever been, any great men? Or are they all just pretenders, master story tellers with dreams and aspirations and a bit of smarts? Has society and daily life softened us to a point where things like strength and bravery and a healthy savviness—whatever that looks like—have gone the way of the tail and communicating in grunts?

I’m beginning to think that those men toward whom history has been kind and even reverent have never truly existed apart from the passage of time and a long-standing patriarchal bias. No doubt, some have found something inside, risen to the occasion, maybe surprised themselves, or were just doing what they knew they could do. And maybe they just aren’t made like that anymore.

Today it seems there are mostly people with an imagination and a command of the English language who deal in sound bites, know how and when to say the “right” things.

I don’t know. Ambition isn’t always a bad thing, and self-confidence can be an asset. As far as politicians are concerned, I suppose some are idealists who want to serve and make life better for their constituents and country. And others are plainly, objectively awful.

In this moment, we need someone—man or woman—with a gift for wise, compassionate leadership. Not just another talking head on a power trip who’s driven by a need for adulation, or a nice person who should call it a day after one term. Someone who’s humble, most days unflappable, tireless, kind, insightful, brave, and strong at her or his core.

Not sure who that might be, or if such a person even exists, but we need to keep our eyes open.

Scorching temps, monkey pox, world-wide inflation, Donald Trump. It’s time for some good news, one might think. Stop the presses and reset. Get off this Calamity Jane kick where everything and everyone are going to shit. We know you need clicks and viewership, but we can’t take this much longer. The alternative is to just stay away from our media. Tune out, take a break, find some peace. But we can’t be ostriches, either.

There’s nothing that happens simply because it happens every now and then. Anymore it’s because the earth is in the process of purging us, since we’ve been reluctant to take the hint about the effects we’re having with 8 billion of us vying for resources and spoiling the air. We hear that there’s still time but that time is running short. We latch on to the “there’s still time” part and then continue the procrastination, keep propping up the lie of not needing to do anything, not needing to change our habits and make sacrifices.

If this is the road we’ve chosen, then it’s only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down, and all the ”end of civilization as we know it” movies become fulfilled prophecy. Sooner than later.

Golfers need to stop saying they’re going with the LIV because they “want to grow the game.” Everyone on the planet knows that’s a crock.

It’s ok, guys. Just say you can’t turn down a decent pay day and maybe even win 4 or 5 million bucks if you finish on top. It is dirty, though, funded with fossil fuel-soaked Saudi money, not to mention whatever else those folks are into. So, along with the promise of riches comes the moral compromise. And The Shark sounds like a ruthless business man with no time for fealty, maybe even carrying some sort of lingering scars from his collapses and tough losses in big tournaments.

As far as the PGA is concerned, it’s tough not to sound like sour grapes or a nostalgic traditionalist, though it’s not like the PGA hasn’t been a monopoly forever. It’s an upset to the system when there’s a new kid in town.

I guess it becomes a matter of “making a decision for me and my family,” or being shown the money, or just jumping on the bandwagon. The allure must be intoxicating, especially for someone with a mountain of gambling debt.

Is the Hunter Biden story even real, or of any significance? Or are the Republicans/Fox News trying to distract and hit back in light of the Jan. 6 investigation? Interesting timing—that this finds its way back into the headlines the day before what looked to be a decidedly damaging hearing.

Executive privilege? Such a thing has been made to look risky, and even a bit pathetic. Pat Cipollone pleading the fifth without expressly pleading the fifth, the whole time looking like he’s hiding something yet somehow still answering the question. Trump should be sweating, because his role is clear now, despite efforts to c his a.

I’m glad that people who served in the Trump administration have been coming forward and offering testimony that incriminates and confirms what many already suspected. One thing that grates, though, is when these former officials mention that they are lifelong Republicans who were proud to serve and proud of the things President Trump had accomplished. This hits like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Accomplishments? Do they actually believe this, or is there a lot of self-talk going on? Accomplishments, like so much else, lie in the eye of the beholder. There’s a certain subjectivity and selectivity in play, a matter of perspective and opinion. Withdrawing from a major climate accord, deep-sixing regulations, or burning bridges with allies are accomplishments? Downplaying or attempting to ignore a pandemic is an accomplishment?

They were working for a soulless despot or at best an impostor the whole time, yet still managed to find something nice to say about him. Remarkable devotion.

The January 6 Committee’s work has revealed what many have long known: Trump is a devious and scheming derelict, the opposite of a patriot, an empty vessel who should never be able to come anywhere near another run for office, ever. Whether it’s POTUS or local Sewer Board.

Been thinking a lot lately about my life and what I’ve done with it. Pride has never been an issue, as in being proud of or content with what I’ve accomplished. If anything, it’s been more than a lion’s share of second guessing, restlessness, dissatisfaction, wheel spinning, melancholy, mediocrity, and regret. It’s always felt like I’ve been waiting—for my life’s work to come and bite me in the ass, for my life to officially start. I know I’ve treated this in an earlier blog post, but it keeps nagging at me.

I spent my entire working life doing things that I needed to do to pay the bills. I never derived satisfaction from any of it, whether it was working on the farm, at the restaurant, at the box factory, even the laser maker, though that was a pretty good job. At least I was working on something interesting and cutting edge and my co-workers and management were great. I guess making lasers was the high point.

What unfolded after that was 26 years of feeling like an impostor, a pretender. Overmatched, underqualified, talking out of my ass most of the time, and making enough money to barely keep our heads above water.

How can anyone get into the ministry of word and sacrament and feel like they know what they’re doing? I guess that’s not the point of such a vocation. Nevertheless, what might have begun as a walk of faith became, most days, a walk of doubt, a slog, an aimless search for meaning. An exercise in lostness.

When I was in seminary, I began to buy the line about my life up to that point being fertile ground for answering “the call.” I.e., everything I’d done and experienced had been training of some sort, tools in the tool belt, things that were pushing me onto this path and which would serve me well in this new endeavor. Yah, maybe not. Too many doubts, too many unknowns for my liking. I’d rather mow a lawn or paint woodwork. At least I know I’ve done something.

I’ve half-assed my entire life— vocationally, as a husband and father, and as a blind, unthinking consumer of Earth’s vanishing bounty.

So the method to Trump’s latest bout with madness is to announce another run for President in time (two years out!) to prevent any further investigation of him, per an order that came from Bill Barr in February of 2020. Trump must realize that those in pursuit of a conviction or some manifestation of justice must be on to him. It remains to be seen whether or not the wheels turn fast enough to catch him at his own game.

Some would give Trump credit for being proactive. Sometimes I hate that word.

Vladimir Putin has had that devious, Dr. Evil look since day 1. In terms of a high school yearbook prediction, he’s the one who could have been voted most likely to ruthlessly invade a sovereign country.

So, what to make of Joe Manchin and his motivations? Is he pariah or pragmatist? Is he the only one who’s standing against spending money we don’t have, or is he just another politician in the pocket of the fossil fuel industry? I don’t know. I wish there was somebody who did know.

It’s a ridiculous position to be in—to see climate change taking its toll, gathering steam, and feeling like we won’t be doing anything about it, other than lamenting and watching it unfold. The futility is laying so heavy.

There are no heat waves anymore. Nothing aberrant and one-off and rare, events that simply happen every now and then. The new normal, the trend, is excessive everything. Higher temperatures, lower pressures, stronger winds, heavier rain or no rain at all. Water where it never used to be, or water levels alarmingly low and unlikely to be replenished. And now we get word that the warnings started fifty years ago.

We’ve done a shitty job of tilling and keeping.