One sure sign that I’m dreaming is how healthy I appear. Have you ever noticed that? In my dreams, I’m more likely to be in my 40s, healthy, and strong. I can still do things like climb trees to get a shot, rescue the damsel in distress, and eat a fantastic meal without feeling ill afterward. Such dreams are a long way from this morning’s reality: old, cancerous, and in pain. I’m not as witty as I once was. I’m not full of quotable sayings. I don’t like how I look. Posture is an afterthought.
Have you ever noticed that television and media don’t know how to represent people like me? It’s easy to represent a gay couple as long as they both look good. It’s easy to represent someone handicapped as long as they can pull off witty banter. Including multiracial characters isn’t a problem anymore, either. But when was the last time you saw a well-defined character who has trouble physically getting out of bed in the morning? Has the crime ever been solved by someone who has to stop in the middle of a car chase to take their medicine? The closest I can think to that kind of inclusion was the old police drama “Ironside,” which started in 1967. Even there, they chose an actor (Raymon Burr) who was otherwise healthy and strong. He was extremely intelligent, and decisive, and showed no sign of muscle atrophy at all.
But then, who wants a main character that’s inherently weak, flawed, and frequently boring?
I was boring yesterday. I’ll likely be boring today. The wind is back out of the North today so I’ll likely spend a fair amount of the day wrapped in a blanket. There are plenty of leftover beans and cornbread so It’s unlikely that I’ll cook. I might take a shower.
The kids were all but invisible again yesterday. G is making friends in the VR community. Tipper is working on her art. Neither leave their room except to get something to eat. Sure, this is typical teenage behavior. To expect much more of them would be ridiculous. I don’t have anything exciting to keep their interest. I mean, what dad can compete with VR?
At least I’m not Utah state Rep. Phil Lyman who responded to yesterday’s collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge with the nonsensical statement, “This is what happens when you have Governors who prioritize diversity over the wellbeing and security of citizens.” In a second post, he wrote, “DEI=DIE.” And this numbskull is running for Governor of Utah. Other insane Republicans blamed the bridge collapse on Russia and open borders. How people get to be so fucking stupid is a situation I don’t understand. ‘Tis the season for desperate attempts to appear relevant, I suppose.
Maybe I’ll go back and re-process some older photos today. Or maybe I’ll just dream.
Circus Rings
Waking up to the sound of gunfire isn’t nearly the rarity that it should be. Most of the time, the shots are fairly distant, over a quarter of a mile away. Last night, they were a lot closer, no more than a couple of blocks to our East. A single shot. No follow-up. I thought about going out to check before calling the police, but those are the kinds of actions that can get you killed. I stayed in bed and called no one. By the time cops arrived, no one was going to be around. This was around 2:30 this morning.
The dogs, sensing that spring break is over, want to go out at 5:45 this morning. As we stepped out into the dark between rain showers, the familiar “berries and cherries” of police lights could be seen at the entrance to our subdivision. A few years ago the dogs would have been straining at the fence to see what had happened. The lights have become so common in the neighborhood that the dogs ignore them now. Only the sound of sirens irritates them.
Coming back inside to avoid the rain, I turned on the local news. SEVEN teenagers between the ages of 12-17 were shot downtown around 11:30 last night. While all the victims are in stable condition, no suspects have been named. Local police are considering the possibility that there was more than one gun involved. This is the third weekend in a row with mass shootings. I find it interesting how this coincides with major sporting events in town all three weekends, bringing out a higher number of people than IMPD seems capable of policing.
Is this merely a local problem? Of course not. The law enforcement circus is a national disgrace. Opening this morning’s Washington Post, I see a headline that disturbs me deeply: The FBI is visiting people because of their social media. Every day. The person in question this time was a Stillwater, Oklahoma resident, Rolla Abdeljawad, who had the foresight to record the encounter. The “FBI” agents refused to identify themselves. Refused to show her their badges. Told the Muslim woman, “Facebook gave us a couple screenshots of your accounts.” The FBI refused to comment. Ms. Abdeljawad has been vocally pro-Gaza in her recent posts. No one is investigating whether the three men were real FBI agents or anti-Muslim troublemakers.
Welcome to the circus. No one’s responsible for their actions, especially if they’re drunk. No one’s responsible for their children running around downtown at 11:30 at night (even if they are leaving a sporting event). No one’s responsible for the harassment of non-Christians. It’s all one big, wild, raucous, many-ringed demonstration of carelessness, from sea to shining sea. Flack vests not included.
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