SHIP TO SHORE: February 6 2017

I think the thing that really gets me about this new world we're living in, is how readily certain people accept that this is normal. 

I hate to tell you, but this is not normal. 

At the same time, I'm not going to go all 1984 on you, because I think that gives Mr. Trump WAY too much credit.  I don't think his boot is the one stamping on a human face forever.   I think we're just dealing with a man child who has lived to his seventies without having experienced that first great disillusionment most of us experience when we're in our twenties.   That moment when we know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the world doesn't revolve around us, and that things are not going to work out quite the way we wanted it to.  For some of us, that means that we're going to have to grow up a little.  For others, it means that we have to sack up and get to work.  For Mr. Trump, it means that a majority of the people in this country might like watching his bombast on a reality TV show, but we don't much care for that same bombast in the Oval Office.  It also means that he's finding out--maybe for the first time--that he can't have everything he wants, and that makes him MAD.

I'm of two minds on that lashing out, because our President and Id made flesh seems hell bent on alienating us from the rest of the world, and that is going to lead to conflict to some degree.  I don't know if that's just a public shaming of Mr. Trump by the rest of the world or something much more tragic, but in either event it's going to be unpleasant.  

In the end, one thing is for sure, and I'll put money on this:  It will not be the Democrats that bring down Donald Trump.  Donald Trump will do it all by himself.  

 I didn't honestly think I would see Saturday Night Live return to social relevance in my lifetime.  Let's be honest, it's been SO bad.  I stopped watching years ago.  I had a conversation with LoonRadio some weeks ago in which I suggested that the next four years will see a renaissance in what I'll lovingly call the subversive arts.  It is the heart of piracy to rebel, of course.  

It seems a lot of creatives have found a reason to chart a course and go sailing.  A silver lining in this new age of creeping fascism, I suppose.

It occurred to to be today as I was sitting in the car that the overly warm feeling of the sun on my face was something I had not felt in quite a while.  That sunny feeling that is a foreboding of sunburn if you're not careful.  It's the first sign that my City of Dolphins is creeping slowly out of Winter.  I despise Winter; I tell people that while I'm from Maine, there's a reason I'm not IN Maine.   Maine was always more of a weigh station between duty stations, and luckily just a short time between stations.  I've lived in Hawaii, Virginia, and Cuba in my conscious memory.  I'm told we have also lived in Oakland, San Diego, and Bremerton before I was five.  Hawaii is the first thing I remember, and as a result, I'm pretty spoiled.  Seasons are vastly overrated, and I have a rule of thumb that I share everyone in a while with those that know me personally: If it's too cold to water ski naked, it's too fucking cold.  

You're so very welcome. 

The technical difficulty that happened this weekend was my foot.  I have been dealing with a nagging injury for a while now, and I  overdid it this past weekend.  I don't know if I do not have the luxury of stopping, or if my will justly does not allow me to, but physicians and physics and some combination thereof mandated it for Monday.  So I stayed home, put my foot on ice and painkillers and read.  A lot. 

The lost pastime of reading.  I used to inhale books.  In fifth grade while my peers were reading Judy Blume, I was reading All The President's Men.  I read The Fountainhead at 12.   I read most of the books that the Virginia Beach Public School system mandates before I made it to high school, and they wondered why I was bored.  

Then life happened, and my library dwindled, and my interests became concrete, and I didn't lose myself in wood pulp again for years.  I still haven't gone completely back to the dead trees, because I have a Kindle.  Many of my bibliophilic friends hate this, but I don't care.  I can carry a library in my pocket, and I like that.  I like that a LOT.  

Being able to read for 30 minutes before bed has also allowed me to sleep better, so long as I leave the other screens in my office.  I've managed to do this for about a month, and while I don't know if that whole blue screen business is hokum or not, I know that reading primes my brain for sleep.  This may be known, but remember that I have to find my own way sometimes. 

The days of staying up late during the week are pretty much over.  I have shit to do. 

One more thing on the subject of reading:  Get magazines related to your interests.  Get your local paper.   Do this.  Like Grace Slick advised us, 'Feed Your Head'.   Learn.  Also, learn to take that time to be silent.   Take all the time to be silent you like.  Daydream in solitude.   You authority figures that told us it was bad to daydream: Go to hell.   Letting your mind wander and think of the what if moments of life is fucking amazing, and everyone should do that for a few minutes every day.  Even better if you can write it down after.  You never know....





2956 Delaware Crossing, Virginia Beach, VA, 23453