Hurricane Milton—kindly, old Uncle Milty—reached Category 5 status in almost record time after it became a hurricane. One meteorologist was brought to tears while reporting that the internal pressure had dropped 50 millibars in a shocking amount of time. If it maintains its forward speed, it’s going to hit the Florida Gulf coast sometime late in the day tomorrow, maybe around Tampa.

Windspeeds have been recorded at around 180 MPH, and some are saying it could be approaching Cat. 6 status, if such a thing existed, though it most likely will weaken before making landfall.

And all this on the heels of Helene.

What’s making matters unnecessarily worse is the swirl of mis- and disinformation finding its way into the mix. Anything to use to Republican advantage, right? Even if it jeopardizes peoples’ ability to get helpful and accurate information that might make their lives just barely, perceptibly better in the post-Helene chaos.

Donald Trump is such a heartless bastard. An absolutely worthless human slug. He and Elon and the rest are nothing but pathetic caricatures of uselessness, playing games, scratching and clawing for any perceived advantage in this ridiculous election Trump shouldn’t even be part of.

It’s difficult to speak in terms of sinking to a new low. By now, we should be fully aware that there is no depth to which Trump is not willing to plummet.  

It’s the one-year anniversary of the ruthless Hamas attack on Israel.

In a way, I don’t feel it’s proper for me to comment—I’m a Lutheran Swede whose life has gone on just fine, relatively speaking. Yet, I watch the news. I’m a citizen of Earth like everyone else. I see what the attack has wrought: pretty much nothing but stoked anger, retribution, stoked anger, death and destruction, stoked anger, more retribution, stoked anger, piles of rubble, stoked anger, and the imminence of wider conflict.

A few hostages have been rescued or released, many others have been killed—either by Hamas or friendly fire. The U.S. has sent Mr. Blinken on a fool’s errand. It’s a difficult position to be in—trying to broker a ceasefire while being the face of a nation that’s supplying Israel with weaponry and half-hearted moral support.

Israel, meanwhile, has shouldered the mantle of wild-eyed ogre, as it appears to have decided that enough is enough, that civilians are indistinguishable from the enemy, as it has bombed hospitals and residential neighborhoods indiscriminately (they’ll say “surgically”) because of the Hamas tactic of sheltering and operating beneath these structures. Civilians are apparently guilty by association, caught in the middle, and with soul-crushing results.

Much of Israel is walking on eggshells, looking over its shoulder. Much of Gaza is no more or has sustained damage that will take years to repair, if at all. And now the focus shifts to the north, as Israel goes after Hezbollah in Lebanon, and maybe Iran.

“Anniversary” feels like the wrong word, as if there is something to celebrate. It’s just more of the same, really— a cycle of attack and revenge, a scriptural imperative, an evolved religious dynamic with players who want to destroy each other, more sophisticated implements of destruction, a mix of evolved and devolved tactics, wrapped up in the same predictable misery and despair.

Not to mention far greater political implications. Between this and the upcoming election, maybe Armageddon isn’t so far-fetched after all.

Way to stay positive, eh?

The thing about Trump and Vance and the rest who are riding Trump’s coattails is that they are, to use the cliched word, weird. Strange, off-kilter somehow, beating a very different drum, emitting a vibe that says, “I’ve somehow managed to live under a rock all my life, even though I’m wealthy and able to speak in complete sentences.”

Many sense something “off” about the lot of them.

Trump is a thug wannabe, and joins the rest of his cohorts in behaving like they’re all caught in a Dr. Evil tractor beam, like they’ve been deprived of something, missed important steps in their development, come under the influence of the wrong people.

It’s an essence, an aura of strangeness that raises hackles and rings alarm bells.

I happened to catch coverage of Kamala Harris sitting in on a meeting of officials in North Carolina who were giving her an update on the situation post-Helene.

I realize that such a gathering may be viewed as a photo op and even an unpaid political advertisement. Still, it didn’t take long to realize that I couldn’t picture Donald Trump handling a similar situation with anything rivaling the same attention span or level of engagement.

Here was the VP and potential POTUS gathering with the governor and other disaster response people, being briefed on a serious situation, engaged in relevant discussion—doing her job.

I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would have taken Trump to lose interest and turn the conversation to him, maybe start talking about Sasquatch or deriding flood victims for living so close to a river, or inquiring about the nearest KFC.

Millions plan on voting for this clown.

To me, it sounds like they’re bored. According to Ars Technica, trolls, extremists and others spread conspiracy theories for a variety of reasons. They crave attention, they make money doing it, they love to create chaos and doubt and distractions, they do it to get a reaction or somehow further the cause of political candidates.

The writer of the article maintains that some conspiracy theorists come to believe the lies they’re peddling, while others don’t. But they all want us to believe them.

What a slimy way to do business. A waste of electricity, time and breath, one might think.

But it obviously works. It exposes peoples’ gullibility, introduces doubt, makes people think twice, clouds the decision-making process. It’s a tool, and for anyone with questionable intent and a functioning imagination as easy as sitting in front of a computer just making shit up, and then sending it out to the world– waiting to see what sticks.

Donald Trump has become a catalyst for the making of unlikely bedfellows. Last night’s public appearance of Liz Cheney beside Kamala Harris, at the birthplace of the Republican Party, is a clear indication of just how serious many are taking the outcome of the upcoming election.

Cheney is as mainstream conservative as they come, yet she has made the decision to vote for the Harris-Walz ticket. She is, of course, anathema to the far-right zealots, but her temporary truce with Democrats means something. She’s not the only one who’s dared blur the lines of partisanship, and with good reason.

Even if some of the verbiage and claims are outsized and a bit hyperbolic regarding the danger of another Trump presidency, why would we as a nation find Trump-Vance at all palatable? Trump is a known quantity and has proven himself a pathetic, laughable misfit, not to mention a felon 34 times over. And Vance may be diabolical.

I don’t know if we can talk about “normal” going forward. But maybe we can revisit “reasonable” and “sane.”

Among this morning’s first page of Pinterest thumbnails, there was one that offered a picture of a first aid kit for gunshot wounds.

Gunshot wounds. You know—for that day when everything goes to shit and we all find ourselves in a scene from The Purge.

I was a Boy Scout. I know there’s wisdom in being prepared. But this seems a bit ridiculous and sad. Excessive, maybe even a dabbling in fear-mongering, like blood in the streets is an inevitability.

I understand that, given who the Republican ticket is, some might be thinking in these terms. But to see such an offering—on Pinterest—is a bit jarring. Only from the minds of a paranoid, self-appointed militia who are preparing for Armageddon if Kamala is elected.

Because, you know, Trump is the idea guy, and one of these days he’s gonna make America great again.

Smart enough to be deceptive. This is JD Vance. Maybe the person who we really need to worry about is on the ticket with Trump.

Vance is a slick talker, a good debater, for whatever that’s worth, and possessive of some frightening ideas about the path America should be choosing. He speaks in theories and vagaries, so one has to read between the lines, decipher and dig deeper. He buys into the philosophy espoused by Curtis Garvin, he speaks of far-right visions for the country, does not seem averse to violence, and probably has designs on running for President in 2028 or even before. He’s young and idealistic in a Third Reich sort of way.

So beware, America. Don’t give Mr. Vance an inch, don’t let him smooth talk you with those hypnotizing baby blues. He is a weird dude.  

The devastation post-Helene is gut-wrenching, and a reminder that we’re not in Kansas anymore.

What worries me is that the once relatively isolated pockets of destruction are no longer as isolated. They’re growing closer together and so numerous that insurance companies can’t possibly offer compensation and coverage.

Peoples’ lives have been upended and thrown into chaos, and there’s either no easy road back or no road at all. Stress levels are through the roof, bewilderment and shock are taking their toll, and maybe all of us are starting to wonder who’s next. When is it going to be our turn to sift through wreckage and pick up the pieces of our lives?

This isn’t pessimism, exactly. It’s just a recognition that no one is safe, no one emerges unscathed from the immense forces being unleashed by a changing climate.

Our attention should be rapt at this point.

Are social media companies to blame for kids’ suicides? Seems like a 21^st century question.

Sure, let’s blame it on the impersonal behemoths because they’re an easy target who must be preying on our innocent, angelic children’s naivete and undeveloped social and coping skills, and banking on parents who haven’t quite mastered the art of when to be parents instead of “best friends.”

Without reading the article (because I refuse to pay for Apple News), my gut reaction is that social media giants of course spend their days thinking of ways to keep people hooked on their products, keep people on their devices. But someone should be asking about the parents’ role in all of this.

A device that exposes an insecure, immature teenager (or younger?) to potential abuse needs to be monitored by an adult in the room. And maybe this is part of the issue: the adult either refuses to do their job of parenting—providing emotional support, establishing limits and guidelines—or there is little to no parental oversight in the first place. Or maybe the authority figure is feeding his or her own addiction to Facebook or Instagram, looking for affirmation themselves, bragging about a cruise to Antarctica or their gifted children and how great their lives are.

While there may be a need for regulation of some sort, and unless there is found to be something on the scale of concealed knowledge or a cover-up regarding nicotine addiction, it’s just too easy to blame everything on the big guy with deep pockets.