Baby's First Protest

Years ago, when I worked in L.A., I heard there was going to be a faux anti-mutant protest as a promotion for the X-MEN movie.  I called up my friend Erik and bought a posterboard and made up a pair of protest signs (one was of Blinky the Fish from "The Simpsons" with a circle-slash through it, and the other said, "Do your duty, report a mutie!"--which I was quite proud of), and we went to the venue to participate in the protest.  When we got there, we were told that it was not a real protest, and only paid Fox employees were allowed to march in the parade.  It saddened me, and I swore to never raise my hand in protest again.

Yet here we are, twenty-five short years later, and I'm up to my old tricks.  

Because of the long-gestating announcement that Donald Trump was going to have a military parade in Washington DC to honor the 250th anniversary of the U.S. Army . . . that just happened to occur on his 79th birthday, an opposite event was announced: something called No Kings Day.  

It was organized to show criticism of Trump and his cabinet, and in the last few days got a huge boost as his administration ramped up their efforts to detain, arrest, harass, and deport as many undocumented immigrants as possible, focused specifically in Los Angeles, where the whole infrastructure is basically propped up by undocumented workers.  I don't have to tell you this, but Trump's birthday celebration could not have fallen at a worse time, at least as far as his general approval among Americans goes.*

My niece and her fiancé recently went to a rally in the capitol, where I could only listen to the livestream while going on an uncharacteristic daylight run, but I sent her a message when I heard about No Kings Day, and asked if she wanted to go to it.  Me not being near to her favorite uncle, I heard nothing for almost two weeks . . . but a couple of days before the event, she texted me back saying she was in.  It would be Saturday morning, starting at nine am.

I had worked the night before, and there was a lady at work who was talking about going and told me that, if I went, I should make a sign to hold up to the traffic that drove by.  So, after finishing my shift, and wasting my time going to Target, and doing my run, and eating, I sat down to make a sign.  I tried to think of a play on words, a pun on the word Trump or a rhyme with the word "Don," or his famous "I like people who weren't captured" statement.**

Ultimately, all I could come up with was to draw the Burger King mascot and put a circle with a slash through it (what I irritatingly refer to as the Ghostbusters symbol), and another where I wrote the words "So Much Destruction, Such Little Hands."

I should have made a third sign, since Cathexis's boyfriend was also coming, and ended up driving us there, but I'm not sure what I would've written on it (I'm still fond of the old saw "If You're Not Angry, You're Not Paying Attention"--one I could write up for next time), but when we got there, somebody handed my niece a "No Kings" sign, and now we all had one.

We drove to the middle of town, where the City Center is (and where my niece has recently started working), and the size of the crowd was unbelievable.  It was probably three or four times what I imagined, even thinking a lot of folks would be there.  People were very nice, patient, and seemingly happy to be there.  I saw so many clever, funny, or incendiary signs, and discovered that everybody had their own thing they were outraged about, from climate change to bastardry, from  deliberate ignorance to Ukraine, from dishonesty to billionaires being in charge, from racism to Trump being a literal pile of shit, from criminality to climate change denial.

But the issue that the most people were up in arms about was the immigration policy.  The thing is, every single one of us, unless you're a Navajo or Shoshone or Ute, is an immigrant, or descended from one.  Because of the pioneer heritage of many around here, there were signs that pointed out that, if you're white, it's a legacy, but if you're brown, it's an invasion.  And "No One Is Illegal On Stolen Land," read two or three of the signs.

And man, the signs.  They ranged from barely-legible to artistically impressive, funny ("They're Eating The Checks!  They're Eating The Balances!") to heartbreaking (I saw two different Anne Frank quotations, prompting my niece to ask what I thought of Frank***).  There were several signs with scriptural reference on them, which kind of blew my mind because I--naively, apparently--simply assumed that all religious folks blindly pretended that Donald Trump was one of them, and were perfectly content with the ungodly things he does each and every day.

I saw a couple of signs that said "I have friends everywhere" on them, which I recognized as a line from "Andor," and probably means that I should edit the podcast where Marshal and I talk about it . . . soonish.

There were also many signs (and sign-holders) there in support of LGBT causes, which included drag queens and unicorns.  Somehow, in my lifetime, the pink flamingo has been displaced as the gayest of all animals . . . and that too makes me sad.

My favorite one simply said, "Chinga La Migra," which is a lyrical, rhymey way of saying "Eff the Immigration Police."

The elderly lady beside us had a sign she was waving that was probably the most decent and benign thing I saw that day, and I did my best Trump impression of him saying, "One nasty woman was waving a nasty sign that said 'Peace and Dignity For All' on, can you believe that?"

The crowd, despite being dangerously large, was calm and well-behaved, and there were (ring)leaders walking up and down the sidewalk with megaphones, telling us what to chant, and having us sing This Land Is Your Land, the National Anthem, America The Beautiful, and the theme song to Cheers.  Okay, not that last one, but it would've been very welcome.  Oh, and very out-of-keeping with what we were protesting against, there were people walking through the crowd offering free water, flag stickers, and (in one dude's case) Oreo cookies.

Any time someone heckled, gave us the finger, or threatened to make America great again, we were instructed to chant "We are peaceful, We are peaceful, We are peaceful," either to reassure the cops that were walking up and down the street, keeping an eye on everything.

It was a hot day, and my niece was trying her best not to roast in the sun (she vowed to make a sign that said, "It must be bad to make a ginger go outside and protest!" for next time), but people were accommodating and arranged themselves so everyone could get some shade that wanted it.  I saw a girl I work with at the library, but she never acknowledged me, so some things haven't changed.  Even so, it was great to be part of a community, and around so many people passionate about something.

When we were done, we walked around the whole gathering so we could see the signs we had missed (someone had brought a giant Very Hungry Caterpillar that said "Eat the Rich" on it), and then drove around the block so we could honk and wave at the folks just getting there.  In the end, it won't amount to much--those in power are just too powerful, and the groups powerful enough to actually make a difference are either apathetic or complicit.  But it felt good to stand next to others, to sing and shout and not feel alone, not feel like the outrage belonged to few, but to many.

See ya out there.

*Of course I don't mean that everybody hates what he's doing.  There are thousands--if not millions--of people out there all too eager to play Charlie McCarthy to Trump's Edgar Bergen . . . a reference so dated, only his supporters could be old enough to understand it.  And believe me, the crueler he and his policies get, the harder they become.

**Something like "I like presidents without felony convictions."

***"I love Anne Frank," I said, which seemed comprehensive enough.

The Bad Humor Man

The other day, my nephew went with me to the store.  He never goes, so as a bribe, I told him I'd buy him something.  Strangely, he chose a huge, oversized tennis ball which would put you in the hospital if you ever hit it with a racket.  But I discovered later that he was using it to play basketball.  I saw it in the basket, and thought, "There's a joke in this somewhere."

So, I took a picture of it, and while I was mowing the lawn, I pondered on it.*

In the end, I came up with this post on Facebook:

If you can't read it, I said "Warning: This is what will happen if Hillary is elected in 2016."

Now, whether you think that's funny or not is both relative and open to debate, but my niece posted on it almost immediately, saying, "This is very Gen Z humor, I'm impressed.  10/10."  That pleased me.  But why is it funny, exactly . . . if it IS funny?

Is it the nonsensical nature of the post?  Is it the fact that I'm warning you about something that has already not happened?  Is it that it's a parody of the garbage we used to see on the Far Right, trying to stir up fear in old people already terrified of change?  Or is it that I, a city-loving Liberal with at least one (?) gay friend, would post that kind of propaganda?  Or is it just that the idea of a tennis ball in a basketball hoop is weird?

My cousin, who is Gen X like me, replied to my niece, "low key I don’t get it no cap"

I guess I was aping an image I saw online a few years ago that I thought was both hilarious and totally effed-up, where there was some kind of baffling human/monster hybrid on a jungle gym, along with the caption: Athiests, if God doesn't exist, then how do you explain this?

I tried to find it just now, but couldn't.  The best I could do was this (which is sort of the same thing):

I found a couple more, both pretty good:

There's admittedly a law of diminishing returns with this sort of thing.

Here, I'll try one myself:

Anyway, enjoying my time in the sun, I created another hopefully-funny non sequitur, and posted it on Facebook.

Appropriately twisted?  Maybe.  Funny because of it?  Well, maybe not.  Nobody else seemed to think it was funny (or appreciate that I gave the tomato and angry look).

Somebody immediately got on there to defend the Bible verse, and explain what it actually means.  And that's pretty close to the opposite of funny.

I don't know why certain things are funny, and I don't know why certain things don't work.  I remember Han Solo getting a big laugh in RETURN OF THE JEDI when he says, "I dunno, fly casual," and it's been exactly forty years and two days, and I still don't get the joke.

My pal Jeff really loves this animated Wes Anderson film called THE FANTASTIC MR. FOX, and he sat me down to watch it.  And I was in Hell, the whole time.  I have never had a more negative experience with a movie (and we're including WEST SIDE STORY), and I'd liken the way I felt throughout to how I felt the second-to-last time I got food poisoning.

I hated the movie so much, it made me wonder if Jeff and I could even be friends anymore.  And after I stabbed him in the neck with a letter opener during the end titles, he wondered the same thing.

I find the words "chunder," "C.H.U.D.," "Chima," "chalupa," "Temecula," and "chingazo" extremely funny, and use nearly all of them multiple times a day.  My guess is, you don't feel the same.

And there was that lovely Jake From State Farm commercial, where the husband is on the phone with his insurance company (although they make it look like he's talking to a prostitute (or even more likely, a Slovenian underage prostitute), and his wife, suspicious, comes downstairs and says, "Dennis, who the f**k are you talking to?" (it was a pretty progressive commercial for its time, pun intended) 

And the poor hapless henpecked husband says, "I'm on the phone with Jake from State Farm."  The wife goes, "Jake from State Farm, at three in the morning?" and takes the phone away and says into it, "What are you wearing, 'Jake From State Farm'?" with eye-rolling sarcasm.  They cut to the shlubby guy at the insurance company, and he says, "Uh, khakis."  The wife hands the phone back and says, "She sounds hideous."

Funniest commercial of the year.  Sure to win the prize for--

But then the commercial continues, and the husband says, "Well, she's a guy, so..."  And that's not only the end of the commercial, but the end of humor everywhere.  All the good will and energy created by this almost-perfect commercial is destroyed by that last line.  It's like when you were a child and you were so excited for Christmas, listing off everything you hoped you'd get, and your Uncle Ali shouted at you, "YOUR GRANDMOTHER DIED OF SYPHILLUS!"  Remember that?

Now, I don't know if you agree that that final line ruined the humor (I know that the trans community took issue with it, for some reason that was probably NOT about killing any residual comedy), but if you don't, how about this?

Okay, I was editing audio for ten minutes, and dedicated forty-one minutes to this blog post, so now I feel shame.  But while I'm at it, let me say that I watched the 2011 Jake From State Farm commercial again just now, and there is literally .2731 seconds between the wife saying "She sounds hideous" and the husband saying "Well, she's a guy so," so I suppose it is possible that it's only me.  But I don't care.  I'm right on this one.  Don't make me post another Kinison.

*My favorite of the late night talk shows is Seth Meyers, and often, his writers will come up with more than one joke that he runs for a given image, and he'll sometimes present two or three of them, occasionally even mentioning which writer came up with which one (ESPECIALLY if they bomb).  And this makes me wish I were writing bad jokes for a living.

Donald Trump Indicated/Indicted

I'm not usually very political on my blog.  Sure, I make exceptions, but there's just so much of that stuff out there that I have nothing unique or particularly savvy to say about our political landscape.  But that much-delayed Trump indictment came out today (presumably the first of many), and the ex-President did his usual scream-tweeting about how this is an attack on our country the likes of which have never been seen before (his words, not mine*).  

While I doubt that the man will do any jail time, and even suspect the numerous other investigations will never lead to anything, I guess this is a bit of a momentous occasion, since no President has ever been brought up on charges in the history of our country.

So, I guess this is noteworthy enough to say something political.  But what?  

I guess I'll just mention that, Donald Trump is the most blatantly corrupt person ever to hold high office in the United States, and while it's pretty fun to see supervillains in comic books get away with their crimes in issue after issue (or episode after episode), if someone made a movie about this guy a hundred years from now, nobody would ever believe it.

*He also said he had been "indicated" instead of indicted, but ah well.

January Sweeps - Day 354

Joe Biden was just sworn in as President of the United States, and it feels like a turning point in the life of this country.  Opinions have varied over the last five years concerning the man who's been the face of America, ranging from "the greatest man ever to be born of woma--ngggggh!" and "the most evil person we've ever had in politics, much less as President."

History will, of course, decide how Trump is remembered, but I have never cared so much about who our leader was and the ripples his actions created as I have been the last year.  It's been such a lie and hate-filled last four years, that I must admit I have given into despair and unthinking hatred.

It's not you I hate, Cardassian.  I hate what I became because of you.

It was with admiration and hope that I watched Joe Biden's inauguration ceremony this morning, and listened to his words optimism and desires for unity, in a country that feels more divided than we've been since Lincoln's day.

Watching the man urge us to embrace our better angels made me want to be a better person, and put away the disgust and resentment I've carried with me these past twelve months, if I can.

And yet, the anger creeps back in when I hear people say that both sides are just the same, and encounter people in my own family that embrace the conspiracy theories and venomous rhetoric that has been chanted with the gusto of torch-wielding villagers since Obama was in the White House.

My mom once told me that she wanted me to be a leader of the people, that she hoped I would stand out and be a strong individual that other people could get behind.  And of course, I continue to be a great disappointment, to her and pretty much anybody I've ever interacted with.  But on days like today, I want to stand tall and do what's right, even if it's the harder path to take, and fulfill the potential that was within me long, long ago, before I became mired in despair and embraced cowardice in the face of minor adversity.

I saw in that recently-elected old man, his white hair blowing in the January breeze, the potential of us all to find the strength within to stand up and make changes in the world, not for greed, self-aggrandizement, or intimidate our enemies, but so that, in a few short years, when our time on Earth is up, it's a better place than it was because we were on it, for our oh-so-brief time in the spotlight.

Of course, those are just words.  And now it's time to sit down, in this hour and five minutes before the library closes, to write something down and get some words chalked up, on the three hundred and fiftieth day in a row of writing.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In January: 2339

Push-ups Today: 60
Push-ups In January: 1747

I asked Gino if he'd do another cover for me--I really take advantage of the dude more than I ought to--this one for "podcatcher," which I've decided is going to have a lowercase title.  I took five to ten minutes to sketch out what I wanted, trying my best to translate what I had in my head to a pencil and paper.  I wanted it to be a rough black and white image like Edward Gorey or Tim Burton would do, where most of the detail was hidden by shadow (or pencil strokes).

But I just couldn't get it to look like what it was in my head.  I initially had it naked, then tried to draw a trenchcoat (too small) on it.  Then I erased the legs and made them longer, trying to convey that they bend the wrong way.  This was the best I could manage:

Almost immediately (despite him living so far in the future that he can tell you about the Downey cameo in BLACK WIDOW), Gino did his own version, just as a proof of concept:

It's great that Gino will do this stuff for me, over and over (and over and over) again.  Cue Jane from THE NAKED GUN.

Words Today: 637
Words In January: 13,753

*I get why those that hate him would want him to fail.  I really do.  I didn't want Trump to build his wall or to kick the Muslims out of the country or drill for oil wherever he wanted or appoint sleazeballs, toadies, thugs, and fratboys to high government positions or to be able to have intercourse with his daughter.  But when Biden says he wants us to unite, regardless of our race or political affiliation, to eradicate the Coronavirus, to improve the quality of life for the poor and middle class, and see if we can't do the same for our planet . . . well, there's a certain self-destructiveness in longing for him to fail.  Of course, there are many (too many) that don't see a difference.

January Sweeps Day 340

I did go to the library today, eager to make up for yesterday's (and really, the last few days') lack of writing focus.  It was very difficult to want to write, despite having gone to the place where my brain has been trained is for writing.

Wow, "The New Model," the Natalie Whitmore-centric D&B story I wrote in the summer is over 23K words.  That's double what I would've guessed it was.  Meanwhile, I have managed 68 words today.

Today, as you may remember, was the day that the election was to be certified in Washington DC, and Joe Biden finally "officially" proclaimed the next president of these United States.  And so, our current president, Donald J. Trump, held a rally of his die-hard supporters, and encouraged them to storm the Capital . . . which they did, breaking in, smashing windows, defacing property, and taking selfies the whole time, while members of Congress hid in underground shelters.

Here in the library, it's hard not to want to watch (though wincing throughout) at what is happening in our country.  We have become, in just four short years, one of those far-off lands where mobs hold sway and violence is a constant thing.

This was a dark, dark day in America . . . but I can't really say how it was any darker than the last few weeks, and if I want to really get depressed, I might extend that to the last few years.

I recall sitting on the subway in Chicago (this would've been 2018) and seeing a sticker on the back of one of the seats that said "Such Tiny Hands, So Much Blood."

The world has been watching.  That was never more evident than today, when I hear from my friend in Germany and my friend in New Zealand, who of course know what's going on.  The world is watching . . . and it's us at our worst.

Makes writing a story about ghosts or superhuman teens feel less than vital, you know?

Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In January: 513

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In January: 703

My little sister had a long shift at work tonight, and my big sister is still sick with COVID, so I was chosen to take my nephew to his basketball game.  It was at the rec center, which I hadn't been to in several months, and I have the lovely memory of someone calling the police on me at a couple of years ago (the cops were friendly and apologized, but it wasn't extremely pleasant.  Guess that'll teach me to grow a beard).

The rec center was absolutely loaded with people, many of whom were there to work out . . . in leggings.  Up on the second floor, there were exercise bikes, and I could see them cycling away as I sat there watching my sister's kid's team get humiliated for an hour.  Well, at least we were wearing masks.

Anyway, my nephew was on a team of kids, playing against a team of, well, whatever you are when you're between kid and men.  These boys were all taller, a couple of them were quite muscular, and even though they couldn't make a basket for shit, they could still play b-ball better than my nephew's team.  It would have been funny, if I were the kind of person that enjoyed seeing elderly people fall down stairs or motorcyclists get hit by trucks (there are plenty of people like that out there--my uncle regularly "Shares" videos of people violently impacting walls, vehicles, or the ground--and let's not even mention 4-Chan).  Before my nephew even got off the bench, the score was ten to zero.

He got into the game, and I watched him run up and down the court, but it was unpleasant to say the least.  Soon, it was 21 to 2.  23 to 2.  25 to 2.  26 to 2.  29 to 4.  Finally, as they reached halftime, somebody decided to turn off the scoreboard, which I vaguely remembered was a rule in these sort of things, but was still surprising to see.  And the thing that was most disheartening, in my view, wasn't the score, but that the opposing team could simply not sink a basket: they would shoot and miss, then get the rebound, then shoot again and miss, then grab the rebound, then shoot again, and rebound, and shoot until it finally went in.  Kayden's team was just incapable of getting the ball until it was handed to them after a basket was eventually made.

I had brought a book with me, and I hardly ever read, despite wanting to, so I must admit that I spent most of the last half with my head buried in it.

Words Today: 557
Words In January: 3542

November Sweeps 11-7 (day 280)

So, the numbers told at last: Joe Biden has defeated Donald Trump to be our next president.  It took an extra few days, during which everyone experienced stress and worry and frustration and uncertainty.  My niece texted me this morning, “I’M SO HAPPY!” a couple of times . . . to which I thought she was either responding to this photo I sent her, with the caption “I’m finally tall!”

or, I thought she might be referring to the new song Danny Elfman released last week, called “Happy,” where he chants, “I’m so happy” over and over.

But no, it was that the election prevaricating has finally come to an end, and she was, understandably, so happy. And she was not alone. There was celebration throughout not only America, but the world. In many cities--pandemic or no pandemic--the atmosphere was not unlike this:

And gosh, that is not at all discouraging.

I really ought to spend a few minutes expressing my own relief and hope with this outcome, but let me just sum it up in a conversation I had with my cousin yesterday, where our endless talk of Star Wars and Marvel movies has been replaced with seemingly-endless talk of Donald Trump and his daily outrages, and “Did you see the debate” or “read this tweet” or “hear him refuse to denounce white supremacy,” etc.. 

My cousin has never been even remotely political, and our hope was that we could start talking about the stuff that really matters again, like whether the “Stand by Ion Control” woman in EMPIRE made it off of Hoth, or whether Reed Richards’/Kamala Khan’s body makes a sound when it stretches.

“The first thing I hope Biden does when elected,” I said last night, “is to say, Okay, this has been hard and everybody’s angry, but let’s put all of that division behind us and move forward as one nation from this point forward.  Whether you voted for me or not, let’s ignore what came before and agree we’re on the same side now, we’re all Americans, and we are unified in our love for this country.”  Of course, I wasn’t that eloquent when I was saying it last night, but that was my hope for this all-but-broken nation, standing on a brink of not one, but possibly several new Civil Wars.

Well, Joe Biden gave a statement today that was particularly welcome, and surprisingly moving to see.  I’ll quote it here:

 I am honored and humbled by the trust the American people have placed in me and in Vice President-elect Harris.

In the face of unprecedented obstacles, a record number of Americans voted. Proving once again, that democracy beats deep in the heart of America.

With the campaign over, it’s time to put the anger and the harsh rhetoric behind us and come together as a nation.  It’s time for America to unite. And to heal. We are the United States of America.

And there’s nothing we can’t do, if we do it together.

That gives me a feeling of optimism and peace, that must be close to what my niece is feeling, what my buddy Jeff is feeling in Germany, and what it seems like my Kiwi pal Gino Moretto is feeling way down in New Zealand.  That so many people were emotionally invested in this election, whether American or not, surprised me . . . but it’s a small world, and we all have to share it, and policies, behavior, and attitudes trickle down from the top (namely the POTUS) and affect everybody far and wide.

Gosh, I hope that the hatred can settle down, if not stop completely.  I hope that people will stop accusing science and education of being less valuable than all-caps ignorance.  I hope we can gather together to stop the spread of both COVID-19 and violence, and that intelligence, restraint, and kindness can have a place of honor in our national (and global) mindset once again.

R.B.O.

So, I’ve gotten no writing, exercise, or whatever the third thing is I’m supposed to do done today.  But I’m at the library now—the librarian finally recognized me and asked if I wanted my usual spot—and I’m going to write three hundred words right now before I go.  If I can do it, you could do it too.

Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In November: 883

Push-ups Today: 0 (damn, forgot it again.  I did my run in the rain, but I blew the push-ups)

Well, I did end up writing, continuing the conversation between Beth and Will, and introducing her to his best friend Marcellus.  These three--and maybe his Uncle Armin--will form the little lost and found business (which I need to come up with a clever name for).  I still don't know where the story is going (boy, you'll be sick of hearing that this month), but it's really progressing well.

Words Today: 1823
Words In November: 6752

November Sweeps - Day 277

 It's Day 275's double-sized anniversary issue!*

So, the election didn't get resolved last night.  I guess that's obvious--it's all ancient history to you, right?  

I watched the states get called for Trump or Biden with baited breath, but moving very, very slowly now.  I have to admit that I felt guilty going to the cabin with this unresolved, but there's actually cellphone service in the area where the lake receded (and up on the dam), so I figured I could see the numbers there.  It's been strange to be this emotionally invested in the election--more so even than the Reagan/Mondale one in '84 where our whole class was supposed to monitor it and do a report on what we felt about the electoral process.

It's not just me, kids, because as of this morning, Joe Biden had received more votes than any other candidate in U.S. history.  I think there were people galvanized, motivated to get out and vote this year, that would've sat it out in previous years.

My cousin and I meet on Tuesday nights at Taco Bell and have dinner before we go to his house, and it's been a tradition long enough the employees know our names.  But when we got there this Tuesday, they had already locked their doors.  One of the employees came to tell us that they've gone to winter hours since November started, and we'd have to do the drive-thru.

So we did, and had a frustrating experience.  First off, Ryan didn't get all of his order, even though he was charged for it.  And me, I handed the employee (who was someone we didn't know) my cash, and then waited for the change, which never came.  We got our food, and I said, "What about my change?"  "Change?"  "I gave you six dollars.  Don't I get any change?"  And she simply said, "No," and closed the window.  Ryan and I sat there for a minute, waiting for her come back, but she walked away, willing to be elsewhere until someone new showed up to make an order.

My cousin said that maybe we could go back there and talk to a manager, show him or her our receipts and explain that we weren't given . . . but then we realized neither of us had gotten receipts.

So, we eventually drove off.  Now, normal people would just say, "Eff these guys.  Let's never go to Taco Bell again."  But it's something we do, every week, before we watch "Seinfeld" and now, "The Mandalorian" again.  It might be hard for me to end the tradition.

It was a nice enough night (perhaps the last one) that we drove over to a Mexican restaurant by the freeway, where they close early and have outdoor dining.  We tend to go there a couple of nights a month and hope not to be told to go to hell by the employees going home for the night.  But while we were eating, we heard an big engine revving, and watched an oversized pick-up truck vroom down the street, do a U-turn, honk his horn (at us?), and then head back up the road.  He had a TRUMP 2020 flag waving from the truck's bed.

My niece had texted me earlier in the day, saying that there were trucks driving around with flags and looking for fights, but I had dismissed it.  Now, though, I had to think about what exactly was going on there.  While a certain president would no doubt call this guy "a very good person showing off his fine patriotism," it did appear that he was looking for trouble, hoping to find somebody who took umbrage with his display, which would totally make his night.

This isn't what we need, guys.  It reminds me of the guys who would drive up and down Main Street in the rival town of our high school every single weekend, looking for fights.  So in a way, not much has changed.

Anyway, it's supposed to get really cold next week, with rain and snow and I dunno, spontaneous human combustion, so I felt like I HAD to come to the cabin this week, in case it's the last time.  That makes me wonder what to do with the metric ton of garbage I took out of my car last week so I could get it worked on this week, only to find out the soonest they could work on the car is next Tuesday.  If I leave the food and toys and books and boxes and suitcase and jackets and junk here . . . they may be stuck here until 2021.  Or, I can come up in a couple of weeks and just use the ground as my toilet, like I did last year around this time.

I got my exercise--the squats were fairly easy on Monday, so today I got the metal milkcan and used it as an extra weight while I did them (a hundred), and it was harder/better.

Sit-ups Today: 250

Sit-ups In November: 572

So, I really like this werewolf idea I had, and I sort of spoke it through during my drive up here, at least hitting the main points and trying to figure out where it would go.  I'm enthusiastic, because it's a fun idea, but it'll probably never get written, because in my head, it's a screenplay, not a story, and you know the drill, I don't bother with those.  Humongous waste of time, screenplays.  I wrote down a couple more paragraphs, and could set aside an hour to jot down everything I have so far, including the final shot, which is of the Now Leaving ____ town sign, and the cute pun they have written there.  

So, I've worked quite a bit on that . . . but it doesn't count as a single bloody word.  Not one.

The only thing I can count as writing is the bit I've written on the third Will Choner story--the one I'd imagined writing for years now, and talked about in the (infamous to me) Rish Outcast that I released before people had read the story.  It's not nearly enough writing today, but it's all I'm going to get done.

And I can't beat myself up too badly.  If this is my last trip to the cabin, then I want to make the most of it--but still have a good time.

Words Today: 1074

Words In November: 2465

*Originally, I fell two days behind in my numbering, so I thought this was 275, but it's either actually 277 or 278.