Hello again and happy midsummer!
In the words of '90s one-hit crooners 4 Non Blondes, I said hey, what's going on? (Actually, the song is called "What's up?" yet at no time does she sing the actual words "what's up". I'm thinking it's because after she woke up in morning and stepped outside, she took a deep breath, got real high, poured herself a bowl of Boo Berry and forgot the rest). Even so, I do love that song and its grungy grunginess.
It's been an eventful summer, but by "eventful," I'm sorry to say I don't mean county fairs and ice cream trucks. The devastation caused by the Maui wildfires can't be accurately put into words. The Maui Strong Fund is a great place to donate if you can. If there was ever a time for the millions of us who've enjoyed (and dare I say, exploited) this paradise to step up—myself included—that time is now. And stop blaming Biden for...whatever you seem to be blaming him for when it comes to Maui.
West Maui, as seen from Ali'i Lavender Farm, July, 2023
Indeed, the summer of '23 hasn't been full-on awesomeness. In July, Jason Aldean's "Try That in a Small Town" rocketed to the top of the country charts, its lyrics celebrating racism and violence. The video was even shot at the Tennessee's Maury County, site of a lynching in 1927. As much of a craze as this song became for a cup of coffee or even two, hate is the enemy of creativity, Jason. See Ted Nugent.
Then, just couple of weeks later, the U.S. Women's National Team lost to Sweden, forcing its earliest exit in the history of the World Cup. To make matters worse, their elimination was heralded by some rightward-leaning pundits as just desserts for a squad of commies masquerading as patriotic footballers. They were even accused of tanking the games to screw their country. Yeah, that's rational.
On a positive note, while the plague still circulates among us like a vaporous swirl of Dementors, we've nonetheless returned to what might be considered normalish. Thanks to the quasi herd immunity brought on by life-saving vaccines and dead but nicely de-wormed ivermectin users, society can again enjoy hanging together. Which is nice.
Summer TV has been good too, and I'm not even talking about the latest "Untold" episodes on Netflix or that series about the Duggars on Prime (both fantastic). I'm talking about network news, where pert-near every week has brought with it a new set of criminal indictments against Little Mister Toadstool Pants.
The problem is, now that all the indictments are in, we'll still have to wait several months to see Satsuma Noggin face justice. I'm also low-key salivating at the thought of Rudy Giuliani's saggy ass being traded for three Marlboro Lights and a can of WD-40 somewhere in the bowels of Rikers Island. And if I weren't already a highly disciplined TV watcher from finding other uses of my time in between seasons of The Handmaid's Tale, I'd be rip roaring ready for them to mugshoot that mug, fingerprint those fingers (I wonder how they deal with all pinkies) and light this candle.
I know, I know. The wheels of justice turn at the speed of Twinkie compost. I'll move on.
Before I started writing this post, I thought, do I really want my blog to devolve into nothing more than a bitchfest about the dumb but fervent fascist enemy among us? After all, fourteen years ago ROASP began as nothing more than a journal of my life as a dad to a couple of funny daughters. Is it constructive to hurl cheap insults and coin new monikers for the bloated nationalist strongmen who are currently attempting to murder our democratic system?
I'll say yes. And despite today's subject matter, please have a great rest of your summer.
