Ever notice how people who have dangerous jobs like to play up that danger in PSAs? It sometimes seems like a not-so-subtle form of bragging, like they enjoy letting people know how dangerous their work is as they prey on peoples’ fears, hyping worst case scenarios and feasting on peoples’ fixation on Doomsday.

That’s probably overstated, but the other day’s power company demonstration at the county fair gave me that feeling. The presenter obviously knew his stuff, but the content bordered on fear mongering and unnecessary drama, a presentation of a perfect storm of untenable situations. I laughed at one point, and not because I have a perverse sense of humor. It just struck me as being a bit over the top, sounding unnecessarily dire, like the old skit on Prairie Home Companion, the ad for Bebop Rebop Rhubarb Pie.

In the end, of course, it’s all good and helpful information that I hope never has to be retrieved and put into practice.

Furries. Baby killers, human trafficking and other abominations. And so much more. All spun from the same cloth, the broken and damaged offspring of fear and gullibility and ignorance.

It can’t really come as a surprise that this country is in the shape it’s in because people believe the swill they want to believe, even if there’s a tiny voice shouting, “You should know better!”

The internet is a remarkable, indispensable tool, but of course it was only a matter of time before it became an effective weapon and platform for every deprived impulse and warped worldview.

Rachel Maddow was particularly on point the other night, even more so than she regularly is. She was focused on the events in Italy, tying current election results there to what transpired there a hundred years ago, with Benito Mussolini’s arrival and his surprisingly speedy and largely bloodless takeover of the government.

The upshot is that the recently elected far right candidate there is a member of the same party started by Mussolini sympathizers after his unceremonious death and public humiliation, which unfolded in that order. The same sentiments of a far-right authoritarian have reemerged and won the day in Italy, reported Maddow.

Then Rachel went on to speak to her audience and hopefully maybe a few others who just happened to tune in in time to hear her offer an impassioned, insightful commentary on the connection with and reality of what we see happening right now in this country. Beware, she says, of anyone who wants to take away your ability to vote, anyone who minimizes the importance of free and fair elections, because these people want to rule without your having a say. They don’t care about you, they don’t want to work for you. They just want the power.

Which isn’t exactly the way she said it—her version was much more succinct and thought-provoking, and powerful in its own right.

Maddow also interviewed a writer who offered another attention-getting observation: the dysfunction in our current political parties is asymmetrical. With few exceptions, there is no corresponding dalliance with off-the-wall extremism among Democrats. The Republicans largely own and have owned—and expediently embraced—that distinction for the past 70 years.

History doesn’t repeat, as another writer recently reminded, but it does rhyme. It remains to be seen whether or not we as a nation appreciate and grasp the implications of not keeping these ever-present threats at bay. They’re not exactly unprecedented.

Went to a local fair the other day, a big, well-established event that’s been around for over a century and a half. We’ve been to previous editions of it and in some ways it’s always the same itinerary—searching out some good food, maybe trying something new, perusing the exhibition buildings, avoiding the myriad hawkers of over-priced wares, perhaps running into someone you know. In some ways, it has the look and feel of a circus, but in general, it’s just taking in the sights and sounds and aromas.

In one of the buildings, there was the inevitable display that could be entitled “A Trip Down Memory Lane,” the kind of stuff one can find hanging on the walls in Cracker Barrel, only the real things, not manufactured facsimiles. Seeing this stuff always gets me thinking about why it is that we need such displays, or why they often conjure such warm and fuzzy feelings.

Yes, it’s about nostalgia, a longing for times that, from our current perspective, seemed simpler and somehow better. I’ll admit to liking that feeling, wanting to linger in it. I guess it’s one of the charms of such an event— it fills the senses, sparks the child in us. We get to reminisce and indulge our appetites, we ooh and ahh at the talents of local artists and craftspeople of all ages, marvel at the size and majesty of a work horse, or simply gaze at the more pedestrian blue ribbon-worthy plate of zucchini and artful arrangements of zinnias.

We walked a lot, eventually had our fill of the crowd and the noise, and will probably be back next year.

I’m glad Tampa Bay lost yesterday, though was kind of hoping there was a scenario in which both teams could lose. I’m especially growing weary of both quarterbacks. Tom needs to retire, and Aaron needs to step down from the pedestal he’s put himself on and just go eat or smoke or whatever he does with some more of those mushrooms.

Just walk away, guys. You’ve both proven yourselves, you’ve both worn out your welcomes.

I’ve always been of the mind that Aaron Rodgers has been the better QB, at least in terms of raw talent—cooler, quicker, better arm, but lacking those elusive intangibles. Or maybe Aaron just hasn’t played with a chip on his shoulder every week. In any event, it’s time for them to let their competitive juices fuel other endeavors and make room for a couple of upstarts who are looking to make a name for themselves.

The old vets’ll probably play for the NFC championship.

The remains of Fiona packed an incredible punch in eastern Canada, by the looks of things. Houses built at water’s edge are now in the ocean. Big surprise there, though I imagine people have been thinking it’s somehow a safer bet, being that far north.

And now Ian looks to be gaining strength and on course to hit somewhere along the Gulf coast of Florida. Get ready, Ron. Make sure you get your next load of migrants on some planes before the airports are shut down.

Or maybe you can work something out with Greg—actually work out a plan together this time. Looks like things will be quieter in Texas.

Or you can simply deny that the storm’s even coming, like your former mentor and muse. Better yet, you can blame your geography! Why does this peninsula have to stick out so far? We’re damned sitting ducks here.

The air has been remarkably clean the last couple of days. Everything is noticeably sharper and brighter. Visibility has been seemingly limitless.

It happens to coincide with the earliest days of Fall. And it’s fodder, somehow, for the climate change naysayers. So clear. So beautiful. It’s been the best clean air.

It’s little wonder that people are trying to avoid being pressed into servitude in a war apparently many don’t want. Mr. Putin is too blind, in too deep, feeling too much pressure from his inner circle of old guard warmongers, to see the writing on the wall.

The people he views as materiel, as simply filling a need to plug holes in the line, are trying to tell him to fuck off.

It’s difficult to know if the pictures of lines of people trying to leave the country are indicative of widespread unrest and demonstrations, or just Western media doing its part in creating a counter-narrative.

What did Vlad expect, though? There is no basis for whatever rallying cry he could conjure up. This is his doing, his nightmare. He had no business thinking he could just march in and take territory from a sovereign country full of people who want to live their own lives apart from the control of an out-of-touch oligarch living in the past and trying to hold onto something that went away for a reason.

People just wanna be free. Or they at least resent being told how they are to live their lives. I hope they prevail in helping Vlad realize that. Though maybe it’s out of his hands now.

In the most recent post, I misspoke regarding the name of the Texas Governor. His name is Greg, not Jim. My apologies for the inaccuracy.

The rash of migrant transplants might raise peoples’ ire, and with good reason. But, as much as I disagree with their methods, I guess I understand why Ron DeSantis and Greg Abbott have been doing what they’ve been doing. From a political standpoint, they might be making points with their coveted bases, looking like badasses on immigration, forcing the hand of sanctuary cities to live up to their aspirations, and maybe shining a light, in a perverse way, on immigration in general.

Still, it’s Ron DeSantis and Greg Abbott we’re talking about here. Both are players, bona fide puppets, cut from cloth that was lined with burlap and dragged through a patch of poison ivy.

Just more antics, more over-the-top calculation intended to ruffle the feathers of so-called coastal elites, all the while reinforcing the notion that these two guys really are in a class by themselves. Black hatters, faux groundbreakers, not to be outdone or trusted, though perhaps pitied. Who are they working for?