democracy

This Land: Delaware

Ok… Ronnie wants to share another vivid dream. This time accompanied by a lone, mournful saxophone moaning a melody from some vaguely familiar smoky jazz club. The scene is a dusty phantom TV studio at night with the sound of a flickering fluorescent light, buzzing like a trapped fly. The dream conjured forth a vision so preposterous, yet so uniquely American in its blend of earnest naivety and jaded cynicism, that it deserves attention.

To the mournful strains, a debate between two ladies, from drastically different eras, denizens of that diminutive state of Delaware. A place known for its accommodating incorporation laws and its haste in jumping on the Federal bandwagon.

The first, a clever gal called “Lizzie” Magie, the originator of the popular board game, Monopoly, was aflame with the righteous indignation of a perennial reformer. Her prescription for the nation’s 21st Century Defcon-II constitutional emergency? To uproot the entire federal governing apparatus from its swampy roost in DC and transplant it for a time to the hallowed, if somewhat cramped, soil of Delaware. Rehab, a shock to the system for a period of time before moving back into the original storied monumental structures. The symbolism, she declared, of returning to the “first state” would, by some occult magic, restore the pristine virtues of the Founding Fathers… those gentlemen who, if they could witness the current state of their handiwork, would likely prescribe a universal draft of Jonestown Cool-Aid.

This Lizzy Magie creature, with the touching faith of a Nebraska retiree buying into a Mazatlán time-share, lamented over the rapid degradation of the “three co-equal branches,” a charming myth that has as much relation to current reality as Schoolhouse Rock has to the operations of Donald Trump’s meme-coin exchange. The branches, she correctly observed, are no longer co-equal; they are, instead, a grotesque mirage… it’s all about the ONE, she would say. One part AI Pope, one part Verruca Salt, and one part Bonaparte wannabe. Her solution to this, beyond the geographical transplant, was a ballot method currently adopted by a few progressive states and municipalities called “ranked-choice voting.” Anathema to the current crop of minority rule denizens, and so not likely to be adopted as long as they hold the reins. Then again, the notion of an innovative method of tabulating ballots can somehow transmute the base metal of homo imbecillis into political gold is rather quaint! The idea, as she expounded it, was to compel the scoundrels who infest the halls of power to appeal to a wider swath of the electorate, to dilute their venom, to approach a reasonable approximation of “the common interest”. Of course, this will only fly over Christian Nationalism‘s dead body.

Against this geyser of well-intentioned wishful thinking stood the second apparition, a younger, livelier, specimen of Delawarean womanhood named Aubrey Plaza. This curious exhibit, draped in the deadpan weeds of fashionable apathy, met the older madame’s reformist zeal with a blast of arctic cynicism that was, we confess, almost refreshing in its bleak honesty. To the proposal of Delaware as the governmental rehab facility, she responded with a chuckle worthy of a seasoned city editor observing a cub reporter’s first fumbling attempts at the Parks & Rec. desk. The problem, she drawled, with a voice like coffin nails scratching ice, was not the capital’s temporary address, but the fundamental, irredeemable character of the political species and the greed that elevates them.

This Aubrey Plaza-like apparition, to her credit, harbored no illusions about “fairness” or the noble aspirations of the founding slave-owners. Politics, in her view, was a naked grab for power, and the current vogue for “minoritarian rule” was not a bug but a feature, a “boutique monopoly of misery” to be savored by its practitioners. She saw in ranked-choice voting not a path to a more reasoned polity, but a machine for manufacturing “beige” politicians, an army of anodyne chameleons stripped of even the base authenticity of their current awfulness. Her ultimate vision, delivered with the deadpan ennui of a bored Delphic oracle, was of an algorithm anointing rulers, a prospect that, in its sheer mechanistic horror, almost eclipses the current system of selection by dark money, performative martyrdom, and juvenile bullying.

What, then, to make of this nightmare debate between the earnest, if deluded, progressive and the languid, clear-eyed absurdist? Lizzy, with her touching faith in procedural tinkering and the essential goodness of humankind, represents the eternal optimist, the kind who believes a new coat of paint can mitigate dry rot. Her desire for a return to foundational principles is understandable, if naive; her championing of ranked-choice voting, merely the latest iteration of the age-old quest to make silk satchels out of swine ears. It presupposes a citizenry capable of, and interested in, nuanced decision-making, a presupposition so wildly at odds with observed reality as to be laughable. The average voter, faced with ranking their preferences among a slate of multi-creed options, would likely succumb to vertigo or simply vote for the candidate with the most reassuringly vacuous slogan.

As for dear Ms. Plaza, her pronouncements, while reeking of the intellectual sewer, at least possess the virtue of an unvarnished realism of sorts. Her embrace of minoritarian rule as an “elegant slide” is, of course, monstrous, yet it is an accurate enough description of the trajectory of more than one so-called democracy. Her dismissal of compromise as “what people who are losing agree to” is the distilled wisdom of every ward heeler and backroom boss since Odysseus launched his armada. She sees the game for what it is: a contest of audacity, not a symposium of philosophers. Her suggestion that some tribes are simply “better” and that the point might be for the “correct minority to achieve a beautifully efficient, aesthetically perverse monopoly” is the quiet part said loud, the unspoken ambition of every tinpot Messiah and aspiring oligarch.

As rare as it is to glean coherence from these prematurely interrupted sleep cycles, Ronnie was able to dredge some meaning, if fleeting. Namely, the dream offered a grim choice between two equally unappetizing just-desserts. On the one hand, the saccharine, pie in the sky nostrums of the bleeding heart progressive librul, forever convinced that one more committee meeting, one more ballot reform, will usher in a new Shining City on the Hill. On the other, the cold, reptilian embrace of power politics, a frank acknowledgment that the entire enterprise is a swindle, best enjoyed by those with a taste for the perverse.

The notion that advanced information technology, as Lizzy hopefully termed it, could facilitate a more pluralistic utopia via ranked-choice voting is perhaps the most vulnerable element of the entire phantasmagoria. Technology, in the hands of civic charlatans, may end up being a more efficient tool for bamboozling the citizenry, for refining the techniques of mass manipulation, less for elevating civil discourse. To imagine it serving the “interests of all” is probably a hopeless pipe dream.

So, the capital can remain in Washington, or it may, for all we care, be relocated to Mars, with Congress critters required to broadcast their imbecilities in matching blue space suits… it’ll make no damn bit of difference. Ms. Plaza’s final, chilling observation about Delaware’s “low incorporation fees” as a boon for some minoritarian corporate monarchy is perhaps the most salient takeaway. For in this emerging grand, cacophonous, and increasingly deranged Republican Autocracy, the only true constants are the pursuit of plunder and the eternal, unyielding willful compliance of at least a bloated third of the electorate. And it will take more than bizzarro dreams to push back against this unfortunate state of affairs. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time to head out to the van and throw a burrito down a clearly hangry dreamer’s throat.

Onward through the fog… RH

A sure-fire way to…
Spoil Thanksgiving…
Fire up a game of…
Classic Monopoly…
It works the same way…
For national unity…
Go ahead and blame Delaware.

Below the Earth – Above the Sun: Freedom?

Well, well, well… it seems we’ve reached the final stages of a long process dismantling the Rooseveltian status-quo. And with the reinstallation of D.J.T. in the White House, there’s a concerted effort to make these changes as permanent possible, given the constraints of the original constitutional design. With that in mind, and considering the current electorate’s chronic division, this would be a good time to gut-check where our neighbors are coming from. That is, if we care to avoid uncivil conflict.

Now, i think we can agree there are forces benefiting constant news cycle chaos, keeping potential voters focused on differences over commonalities. It keeps their eyes off the various power grabs going on behind the scenes. It keeps the respective tribes feeling threatened and fearful. This works for those who practice the “art of the possible.” I mean, not long ago, the possibility of having an ethically-challenged flim-flam man occupying the White House was patently absurd. I’m not saying the swamp didn’t need some scrubbing bubbles and a stiff brushing, it certainly did, but the intellectual gulf between someone like Gary Hart (a known philanderer) and Donald Trump (even worse) is unfathomably wide. For some reason, our fellow citizens decided expertise and competence was no longer as important as loyalty to their respective “identity” clubs (Ted Coppel summarized it best).

My decision to wade into this toxic pool was motivated by what appears to be an unfortunate side-effect of this “tribal” urge. Specifically, it appears the forces of Christian Nationalism have risen to the top of the power struggle in DC. This is alarming for me as a strong proponent of maintaining the church/state separation. Over the years, i have observed with dismay the rightward creep of our political overton window. I dread the possibility that, when the dust settles on the Trump era, we find ourselves in a totalitarian theocracy, the kind predicted by Frank Zappa in the 1980s. But then reason kicks in, i follow the money and no, i don’t believe the theocrats will end up on top.

That said, what’s coming up behind the theocrats concerns me more. That is the billionaire tech-bro libertarians lapping up Curtis Yarvin‘s notions of “corporate monarchy.” Not that he doesn’t have some interesting ideas, he does. And when he’s riffing at his trolly best, it’s a super entertaining read. However, i’m no historian, but i do pay attention, and it seems pretty clear that we’ve already litigated the divine rights of kings (1776), and we’ve already litigated totalitarian fascism (WWII), we’ve already defeated totalitarian communism (cold war), and we’re currently contending with totalitarian theocracy (global war on terror). Oh… and the planets, including ours, are spherical, not flat (i can’t believe these things have to be said out loud).

Anyway, Mr. Yarvin’s corporate monarchy is a libertarian pipe dream. He says “democracy is incompatible with ‘freedom,'” i say monarchy is… but again, we’ve already litigated this, right? Unfortunately, Mr. Yarvin’s now defunct Unqualified Reservations blog is all the rage with the billionaires backing the MAGA electoral coup. He says things like progressivism is a monolithic cathedral, not a bustling marketplace of ideas, and the Rand-worshiping self-interested billionaire tech titans lap it up like caviar. They know their ideas can’t prevail in the marketplace bazaar, let alone a functioning democracy.

And so… we have to address it. The contrast of Eric Raymond‘s thesis on the Cathedral and the Bazaar, and the reality of the Yarvin-inspired Project 2025, in fact, morphing the US Federal Government into a right-wing, totalitarian dictatorship before our eyes really does feel like a glitch in the Matrix. Will they succeed? Jury’s out, but if it comes down to the federal judiciary, Trump and Mitch McConnell have effectively stacked the deck for the MAGA version.

How will they do it? Well, by now, most of us are savvy to MAGA’s “flood the zone” strategy. That is keeping the press and those that follow along buried in outrage after outrage effectively wearing down resistance due to fatigue. Now, Yarvin’s musings can be seen in a similar light. In that, his “Open Letter to Open Minded Progressives” is 300 pages of cherry-picked history, and troll-speak blather making a scant few interesting points. Who has time to pour over 300 page troll manifestos? For Christ’s sake, get to the point, and move on.

For those unfamiliar, here’s a bare bones outline:

  • Progressivism is an orthodoxy every bit as monolithic as Catholicism.
  • He suggests the press and universities are part of this distributed monolith. He calls this monolith the “Cathedral,” a totalitarian society, lacking central coordination.
  • Conservatives are captive of the Christian Cathedral, and Leftists are captives of the Progressive one.
  • Progressive-inclined voters are the American equivalent of Brahmans in a class-stratified society (the ruling class).
  • The doomed are “untouchables” in this metaphor… he offers some provocative ideas on what to do with them… wow.
  • Conservatives are everyday middle-of-the-road work-a-day citizens… Yarvin calls them, “Townies.”
  • Yarvin believes the Prog-Con duopoly needs to be smashed in favor of a neo-reactionary monarchical structure (back to the classical future), very much like the modern corporation, leveraging the latest technology replacing human bureaucracy with technology-assisted autocratic rulers (CEOs) answerable to appointed boards of directors.
  • He says the current system is incompatible with “freedom” and suggests military rule or restricting voting rights as part of the transition from democracy to a more libertarian-friendly patchwork of autonomous city-states.

Yay… no more participatory democracy… no more stupid voting… woohoo!

FREEDOM!

Ok… back to the original purpose of this screed (appreciating our neighbors’ definition of the word, freedom). There’s way too much assuming going on these days. What i mean is, when we hear someone talking about “freedom” whether accompanied with Manosphere chest thumping or NPR-style hushed tones, we are rarely treated to a specific definition of the term.

With that in mind, let’s start with the Oxford English Dictionary (freedom): As you can see, there are many ways to apply this Swiss Army Knife of a word, but i would argue a couple angles are of paramount importance within the context of our current crisis of incivility, 1.) freedom to exploit market opportunities, unhindered by cumbersome regulations (or taxes), 2.) freedom of agency and lifestyle choices unhindered by the dictates of patriarchal culture or the dogmatic demands of a particular religion or ideological concern.

Based on what they take from Yarvin’s Dark Enlightened vision, here’s what i think the MAGA brain trust plans to ram up Red (Con) and Blue (Prog) America’s backside:

1.) All will be free of the maddening obligations of participatory democracy.
2.) All will be free to trust gov-corp to deliver value for the customers (citizens).
3.) They will, because we know customers vote with their feet when they find conditions in their current “patch” (autonomous city-state) unsatisfactory,
4.) All will be free to move to a friendlier patch. One that caters to their particular cultural, legal, tax-code, healthcare, travel, climate, recreation and professional opportunity preferences.

Don’t like it…? lump it…
Are you ok with any of this…?

What are you going to do about it?

Onward through the fog… Rohlfie

Below the Earth – Above the Sun: Crossroads

I have to get something off my chest before moving on with Phase II of the Hot Springs or Busk tour. It veers into politics, and though i know it’s more polite to avoid politics and religion in casual conversation, both are on the ballot in the upcoming election. Though i don’t expect to persuade anyone away from their way of thinking, i feel it necessary to call attention to a few areas of personal concern, vis our future as citizens of the UNITED States of America.

First, i can appreciate the IT-system metaphor advanced by MAGA’s current brain trust (Peter Thiel, Steve Bannon, Curtis Yarvin, etc.) for modern governance. Specifically, that we need to shut the current system down and bring it back up. I mean, this (adaptive change) should be the goal of all democratic referenda, right? Strangely, there are powerful voices behind the new-right providing wind beneath MAGA’s wings. They assert (d)emocractic processes aren’t sweeping enough. (or, democracy is incompatible with “freedom”?) They say there’s an entrenched nefarious “deep state” at the root of all U.S. disfunction and the only way to fix it is to burn it all the way down. My problem with their proposed solution is that they would merely replace the existing “administrative state” with their own version. You know, “meet the new boss, same as the old boss”. I’m not persuaded that this will be an improvement for every day working people. Maybe for the billionaire or millionaire class, but not for the folks i know and love. They (new right) don’t want to merely reform the system, they want to scrap democracy (Lincoln’s version) and replace it with a techno-monarchy featuring all-powerful CEOs (like modern corporate governance). No, really. And ya… i’m not persuaded. They say we need to get over our “dictator-phobia”. WTF? We already litigated the divine right of kings, and we’ve also litigated authoritarian fascism. 

Not only no, but HELL to the NO…! 
We aren’t going there, ever again… hello! 

That said, as a former IT professional, i understand the corrosive effects entropy can have on complex adaptive systems such as hardware/software synergies and electoral politics. And so, i’m open to ideas. But, rather than throw the founders’ baby out with the bathwater of institutional corruption (dark money, lobbyist/congress revolving door, etc.), let’s take a look at how our leaders are chosen. Let’s scrap the zero-sum “winner take all” method of the current electoral system and replace it with ranked choice contests, enforcing radical transparency in the funding of campaign messaging. This would force all campaigns to appeal to voters outside of narrow ideological lanes. If nothing else, taking down the temperature of divisive campaign vitriol.

I realize i’m veering off my lane as i’m not a political scientist, but i had to throw a couple pennies in there as the ideas these guys are throwing around, whether simply trolling for reactions, or worse, if they’re serious, have me more than a little concerned. Seriously… melt the underclasses down into bio-fuel? Jack them into “Matrix-like” virtual-world simulations, red pills, blue pills? Is this supposed to be funny? Sorry, i’m not on board. Enjoyed the movie, immensely, not amused by Mr. Yarvin’s analogy. In fact, he’s got it all quite backwards. He calls the administrative state and a collection of elite opinion makers a “cathedral”, but, as a fellow IT maven, he should remember the software development structures described in the early days of the Internet by Eric S. Raymond as the Cathedral and the Bazaar. With mission-aligned engineers developing commercial software being the Cathedral, and the loose confederation of developers contributing to open-source projects being the Bazaar. As i see it, the current loose configuration of influences making up MAGA’s nemesis, the “deep state” operate like Raymond’s description of the Bazaar, and the ideologically-aligned power structure Project 2025 aims to install “on day one” would be closer to Raymond’s description of the Cathedral. Yes… ass backwards. But enough of that digression.

You think i’m joking? Look it up… Curtis Yarvin is admired by Peter Thiel, Steve Bannon, and VP Candidate JD Vance. Project 2025 is the Heritage Foundation’s sanitized version of the brave new world order these radical libertarians have in mind, and they know libertarianism can never take power without totalitarian monarchical rule so, rather than face reality and modify their expectations, they propose we simply scrap democracy and install CEO Tzars…? Seriously… shouldn’t this simply be the end of discussion?

Well it’s not, and the way i see it, we stand at a very important crossroad in our nation’s history. Sure, the current system has major flaws, and corruption seems to have become the norm rather than the exception. So, we should consider seemingly wacky reform ideas and let the best rise to the top for implementation. After all, we still have the Electoral College. A reasonable compromise in the horse and buggy days. And it did serve a noble purpose at one time. Do we really need it now? This should be up for vigorous debate. And the lobbyist/congress-critter revolving door in D.C…? is this the best way to bring citizens in so they can have their say in the way the rest of us are governed? Some might say, “hell no”, but the critters in the revolving door will fight to keep that gravy train a’rollin’.

Thing is… we are still the gold standard City on the Hill. Surely everyone can identify areas of the founders’ brilliant framework that remain relevant, and fill the gaps of, how would Peter Thiel put it, outdated policy “software” in order to go forward in a manner that benefits all citizens, not just the millionaire/billionaire class.

Anyway… we report, you decide, and that’s all i wanna say about that.

Back to the search for the fibrillating heart of our divided nation, the 2024-25 Hot Springs or Busk tour.

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter XVII (ready or not)

“What we know is a drop…
What we don’t know is the ocean.” ~ Isaac Newton

I tried… i really tried. Or maybe i’m adjusting to life’s inevitable curveballs scrambling the perfect symmetry of my best laid plan. You know, the one where i, knight-errant in a rolling studio apartment christened Rocinante, traversing the 48 contiguous states. The noble quest? To get my arms around the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation“. To get these insights from whomever in these sleepy college towns might be willing to spend five minutes with a weirdo packing a guitar and a head full of questions.

But fate, that fickle wench, had other plans. First, it was the librarians. Pale, overworked automatons shuffling through Dewey decimals, with nary a moment to spare for philosophical pontificating on state mottos. Was it time constraints, or a gut-wrenching fear of my “political agenda”? And don’t get me started on the chilling possibility that the modern anti-intellectualism plague has seeped its tendrils into the heartland’s libraries! The horror! I quickly concluded my approach was to blame. I mean, c’mon, what the hell is this all about?

Then came the body blows: Rocinante’s innards failing like a politician’s promise, and a Utah road pebble punching a hole in our windshield. The Hot Springs or Busk mission – a symphony of soaking in geothermal glory and serenading the masses for petty cash – lay in tatters. Sure, the Dakotas and Wyoming soothed my travel-weary soul with their natural mineral baths, but that dream’s on hold till the autumn chill sets in. And busking? That one never even sprouted wings. Turns out, maintaining personal hygiene on the road, wrestling with writer’s block, acquiring provisions, and figuring out where to sleep takes up most of a day.

But here’s the kicker, loopers. The world’s gone batty, and burying my head in the sand just ain’t gonna cut it anymore. “Project 2025” leaked like a sieve, painting a dystopian portrait of a second Trumpian reign that’d make Orwell blush. And don’t even get me started on the assassination attempt – the twisted pandora’s box exposing an unholy alliance of theocratic nutjobs, techie snake-oil salesmen, and white-bread racists all marching in lockstep toward MAGA-land.

This, loopers, is where Rocinante and i draw a line in the sand. It’s time to stand up, or at least yell obscenities at the oncoming storm, in defense of the freaking democratic republic our forefathers sweat blood to build. This ain’t some pre-packaged travelogue anymore, folks. This is a gonzo odyssey hurtling towards a cliffhanger ending November, 2024, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

Let me establish some bona fides, loopers. It was 1993, the Jurassic period of the internet, when i, a late-blooming recently reformed rock-n-roll wannabe made his way to the meticulously landscaped limestone campus of Fort Hays State University. At this frontier outpost, i stumbled upon a great tech-fueled human awakening. The era, mind you, when dial-up modems whined their mating calls, and the internet itself resided in a fluorescent-lit dungeon called the “computing center” – a place that would make a Kafka setting look like some cheerful dentist’s waiting room.

There, on a terminal that resembled a torture device from a B-movie, i logged onto a primordial internet, a MUD (multi-user dungeon) teeming with virtual spelunkers from across the globe. It was like falling into a rabbit hole populated by Aussies, Brits, and basement-dwelling samurai – a world where geography dissolved like a bad acid trip.

Intrigued (and maybe a little scared), i embarked on a quest to understand this beast. I traded my dog-eared textbooks for a master’s degree in the field of “communication studies,” focusing on the particular learning styles of these early internet adopters. As the web blossomed (or maybe more accurately, sprouted like a particularly virulent fungus), so did my career. I landed in academia, a Don Quixote tilting at windmills of ignorance, determined to share this newfound curiosity.

Ah, but this paradise wasn’t built for everyone. Back then, computing power was the exclusive domain of pocket-protected engineers and those with the social graces of an abacus. The average digital apprentice, like myself, had two options: learn the arcane language of coding, a feat akin to deciphering ancient Sumerian, or grovel before the high priests of computer science. And for what reward? The dubious honor of navigating a buggy wasteland of productivity tools resembling a drunken Rube Goldberg contraption. The “graphical user interface” revolution, if you can call it that, was just another layer of lipstick on this technological pig.

Before the internet, navigating the marketplace of ideas meant a pilgrimage to the library, that mausoleum of knowledge and arcanery. You either wrestled with the Dewey Decimal System, a logic puzzle designed by Satan himself, or relied on the benevolence of the librarians, those gatekeepers of the pulp-n-ink media. The contrast between the Dark Ages of ’78 and the digital supernova of 2024 is enough to make your head spin.

Now, we drown in a tsunami of technological pronouncements – quantum computing, designer DNA, the ever-present threat of Skynet. But fear not, loopers, for even as we stand on the precipice of a technological singularity, nearly half the population still believes the Earth is flat and six thousand years old. We are a nation of flickering attention spans, perpetually distracted by the digital fireflies flitting across our screens – a society of shuffling zombies, hypnotized by the glow of our handheld gods, and there will be a reckoning… oh yea.

Look, i’m no Luddite. Here i am, hunched over a keyboard in the merciful silence of the library, instead of downing near-beer and swapping healthcare stories at the Bingo Hall. The digital siren song is hard to resist. But where’s the master plan in all this? Who’s steering this chrome chariot hurtling towards who-knows-where? It feels like a rigged game, doesn’t it? The puppet masters, these billionaire Übermenschen, dangle their techno-baubles in front of us, content to keep the masses hypnotized. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s just economics, not some grand conspiracy. After all, we don’t wanna give spoiled, marginally-competent “self-made” trust-fund babies too much credit, right?

Anyway, we stand at a crossroads, teetering on the edge of a technological revolution. The chaos around us is a symptom of our collective unpreparedness. Let’s arm ourselves with knowledge, not just the latest gadgets. The future is ours to shape, but only if we wrest control from the digital puppeteers and use this power wisely. After all, wouldn’t you rather be the architect than another brick in the wall?

Either way, we’re in a heap of trouble. The gap between the haves and have-nots is wider than the Grand Canyon on a bad acid trip. We’re hurtling towards a technological future with all the grace of a drunken walrus on roller skates. What’s the answer? Jeezus! Who knows…? If i had the answers my dispatches wouldn’t live in an obscure blog no more discernable than a needle in the galaxy of obscurity. I’d be one of the puppet masters, right? There would be publicists, and media tours, and wardrobe people, personal trainers, financial advisors, domestic services staff, etc..

So, assuming my guess is as good as anyone with comparable bona fides, consider this: What if we were to pump our educational systems full of digital steroids, create a generation of media-savvy citizens who can think critically, not just parrot the latest pronouncements from Silicon Valley snake-oil salesmen? Also… maybe leave the religious dogma to Sunday schools.

Whatever we decide to do, it’s time to stop worshipping false idols (as seen in the 10 Commandments) and reclaim our rightful place as that shining pluralistic city on the hill. Let’s stop vilifying intelligence, but celebrate it. From there, maybe we really CAN … Make Humanity Great Again.

Ok… enough for now. Stay tuned for a reverse “red-pill” treatment… we’ll flip the whole “Cathedral” of the neo-liberal “deep-state” on it’s head. We’ll restate The Who’s pithy observation from their anthem, Won’t Get Fooled Again…

“Meet the new boss… same as the old boss.” ~ PT

Be well…
Be sane…
Good luck…
Pay it forward…

Onward through the fog… R.H.

The Campus Crusades: Hippies and Hashtags

So, the nightly news is all a-twitter about these “campus crusades,” wouldn’t you know it? Students these days, with their avocado toast and fidget spinners, are apparently throwing tantrums worthy of a cicada party. But fear not, America! We’ve got a crack security team on standby – guys in kevlar looking like they wandered off the set of a bad sci-fi flick. Apparently, pepper spray and zip ties are the new hotness in higher education.

Now, hold on a cotton-pickin’ minute. Back in the good ol’ days, when your grandpappy was dodging tear gas at a draft protest, things were different. It wasn’t a five-second news clip with dramatic music; it was a full-blown morality play beamed into every living room. Walter Cronkite, bless his soul, wasn’t whipping out metaphors about the wrath of God every time a student raised a fist.

But hey, that was then. Nowadays, the media landscape is more fragmented than a dropped kaleidoscope. Every Tom, Dick, and Harriot with a smartphone can be their own goddamn news anchor, spewing out half-truths and conspiracy theories faster than you can say “filter bubble.” Dissent ain’t a unified chorus anymore, it’s a cacophony of angry tweets and pixelated FB livestreams.

Back in the groovy 60s, students had their own media machine – underground newspapers, folk anthems that could launch Viking longboats, and even the occasional documentary that didn’t make the government look like a pack of bumbling buffoons. Nowadays, student activism plays out on TikTok, where teenagers with ironic mustaches film themselves chanting slogans in between dance challenges. Progress, they call it.

But let’s not forget the elephant in the room, shall we? The very foundation of our democracy is about as sturdy as a house of cards built on a sandbar. Politicians sling feces like it’s going out of style, and the concept of compromise has gone the way of the eight-track player. No wonder these kids are restless; they’re inheriting a world where “truth” is a relative term and civility is a forgotten relic.

And then there’s the whole “culture war” nonsense. It’s enough to make a body nostalgic for the good old days when everyone was united against a common enemy – like, say, actual fascism. Now, it’s all about who gets to use which bathroom and who gets offended by what pronoun. The lines are so blurry, Uncle Walter himself would need a double dose of Pepto-Bismol to sort it all out.

So, a word to the wise, folks: sending in the troops to silence dissent is a slippery slope steeper than a greased watermelon. Peaceful protest is the cornerstone of a healthy democracy. Take it away, and you’re left with nothing but a pressure cooker waiting to explode. Let’s not trade the right to disagree for the quiet hum of an authoritarian state. Because trust me, that’s a future that wouldn’t be very “groovy” at all.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter VI (class bamboozle)

America, that grand experiment in democracy and greasy cheeseburgers, has split in two. It’s a nation of Penthouse and Outhouse, caviar dreams and dumpster diving. And in San Francisco, the poster child of this cracked reality, the divide slices cleaner than a Zuckerberg algorithm.

On one side of the looking glass, you have the Tech Titans. Think smooth-faced whiz kids who probably still get carded for rated-R movies, but their bank accounts have more zeroes than the national debt. They cruise around in their self-driving Teslas, sleek as chrome beetles, sipping twenty-dollar green smoothies. Their fortress-like penthouses look out on the city like bored gods on an anthill. At night, they gather at fundraisers you couldn’t buy your way into with a suitcase full of pirate treasure, nibbling on edible gold and discussing the colonization of Mars. It’s enough to make a regular Jane want to scream into her tear-stained pillow.

Then, there’s the other side… the sidewalk crew. These are the folks who exist in the blind spots of the digital aristocracy. Tents sprout like poisonous mushrooms along cracked concrete, faces etched with a lifetime of hard luck, and eyes that mirror the dull sheen of discarded iPhones. They push their worldly belongings in shopping carts, a symphony of rattling wheels and despair that no noise-canceling headphones can drown out. The smell of unwashed bodies and stale urine hangs heavy in the air, a constant reminder that while some worry about stock options, others worry about their next meal.

The great irony, one that would have Kurt Vonnegut cackling into his cornflakes, is that these two Americas need each other. The tech overlords, for all their billions, would be lost without the army of delivery drivers, baristas, and dog walkers that keep their designer lives running like clockwork. And let’s not forget those poor souls who clean up the aftermath of their all-night coding binges fueled by energy drinks that could power a small nation.

Meanwhile, the street folks are an endless source of moral hand-wringing for the penthouse set. They fuel charity galas, anguished blog posts, and the occasional guilt-ridden donation tossed to a panhandler like a bone to a stray dog. It’s a sick kind of symbiosis, the way their high-tech kicks need the muddy puddle to prove just how awesome they are.

H. L. Mencken, the old cynic, would have a field day with this mess. We can practically hear him snorting into his whiskey highball: “Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard.” Ouch.

The thing is, nobody seems to be doing anything about this chasm that grows wider with each passing Uber Eats order. Politicians, as usual, are flapping their mouths like beached fish, some spinning promises about fixing a broken system that’s been cracked since before iPhones were a twinkle in Steve Jobs’ eye, others still blaming the poor for not pulling on their bootstraps hard enough. Both sides, with a few rare exceptions, not even trying to hide the fact that they are bought and paid for in a system of abject corruption. They’re too busy eyeing their campaign donors in those sterile fundraisers to actually do anything that might rock the boat.

So it goes. While the tech wizards dream of space colonies and the sidewalk crew prays for a dry patch of pavement, the rest of us stand somewhere in the middle, bewildered and nauseous from the whiplash. The great American experiment, once a beacon of hope and hotdogs, now resembles something more like a Salvador Dali painting… melting, distorted, and just plain bizarre.

Peas and Carrots

In the sweat-drenched arena of U.S. political discourse, two forces clash under a floodlights of existential unease: Traditional Conservatism, a stoic warrior draped in the tattered fabric of custom and belief, and Secular Humanism, a nimble pugilist armed with the rapier of reason and cold logic. Their clash is not a battle for power, but a dance of meaning in the face of the absurd, a silent debate over the fragile scaffolding of morality in a universe indifferent to our struggles.
 
Traditional Conservatism stands rooted in the fertile soil of custom, its roots intertwined with the ghosts of ancestors and the whispers of inherited wisdom. It seeks solace in the embrace of community, in the shared rituals that bind individuals into a tapestry of shared values. For them, morality is not a question mark etched on the blank slate of existence, but a pre-written script, passed down through generations, its lines etched with the blood of experience. Within this script, the individual finds meaning as a cog in the grand machine, a steward of the past, and a builder of a future that honors the whispers of the departed.
 
Secular Humanism, however, steps into the arena with a different swagger. Its gaze, unclouded by the mist of faith, pierces the darkness, seeking meaning not in the echoes of the past, but in the stark light of the present. For them, morality is not a divine decree, but a human construct, a fragile edifice built brick by brick through reason, compassion, and a relentless pursuit of justice. The individual is not a cog, but a sculptor, carving their own path through the wilderness of existence, guided by the compass of logic and the flickering torch of empathy.
 
Their clash, however, is not one of pure opposition. Both, in their own way, grapple with the same existential anxieties, the same gnawing questions about purpose and belonging. Traditional Conservatism offers solace in the shared narrative, in the comforting embrace of belonging to something larger than oneself. Secular Humanism, on the other hand, challenges complacency, urging the individual to stand alone, to forge their own meaning, to find solace not in borrowed robes but in the naked authenticity of their own choices.
 
Yet, neither interlocutor seeks to topple the fragile democracy that allows them to find higher meaning in the contest. Both, in their own way, cherish the freedom of thought, the right to question, to dissent, to carve their own path through the labyrinth of existence. They understand that the alternative, the anointing of an unaccountable dictator, is not a victory for either worldview, but a surrender to the paralysis they have allowed the clash to become.
 
In the end, their dialectic continues under the indifferent sky, a testament to the human spirit’s eternal struggle for meaning. Whether they find solace in the whispers of tradition or the stark light of reason, both Traditional Conservatism and Secular Humanism offer, in their own way, a fragile answer to the question of existence. And perhaps, in the shared arena of democracy, in the clash of ideas, in the constant questioning, lies the only solace we can hope for, a flicker of meaning in the face of an ineffable universe.