The McCullough Peaks on one of the more “clear” days in early August
What has happened to my favorite time of the year, summer?
In a word, “smoke.” That is, smoke from forest fires has ruined the season of summer.
I remember growing up in Ohio during the months of July and August, sometimes the sun would get very orange or red as it was setting. Often the overtly orange or red sunsets were attributed to “fires in the West” by various individuals who may have known or not about such atmospheric conditions. At times I wasn’t convinced because I knew high humidity had a hand in the warm-colored sunsets too. Whatever the case was, I certainly could never smell it.
I know there have been forest fires nearly every summer, but I don’t remember them being so “present” before… say, around 2010. By present I mean, you can smell it and you can’t see more than five miles.
Today as I looked around, the horizon offered nothing but smoggy endlessness. Nevermind that the Big Horn and Beartooth mountains—stalwart landmarks of this area—are hidden. Along with that, the much closer Heart Mountain, McCullough Peaks and Polecat Bench (home of the Powell airport) also vanished in the toxic haze.
Whatever I’m allergic to these days, causing my eyes to water profusely, I’m confident that the smoke is—at the least—exacerbating my condition.
At 66-years of age, my tolerance for heat isn’t what it used to be, but I’d never downgrade summer because of that. But with anywhere from a month to two months of debilitating smoke, the seasons of spring and autumn are looking better all the time.
Greenland is melting, the west is on fire, But don’t ever stop praying for rain. It’s a curious place between hope and desire Different gods, but the prayer is the same.
As disturbing as everything to do with President Trump can be, there is a certain consolation when it comes to his utter incompetence, deceit, cruelty, and narcissism—to name only a few. I suspect that is how the late-night talk shows and other comedians must see it. There’s so much rich material when it comes to his stupidity and public speaking appearances, one doesn’t have to work very hard to make a joke of him, and often those jokes are the plain truth.
All of this certainly applies to his “illustrious” staff as well. I mean, really, just pick any one of them and there’s an entire new chapter of satire to be written.
Of those staff members, it’s hard to overlook Secretary of Defense… I mean War, Pete Hegseth (a.k.a., Warlord Hegseth). You could say he’s been my latest political muse since the United States attacked Iran. The excitement he has for the war and reporting on the war is akin to a high school girl that made the cheerleading squad. If I didn’t know better, this might be the most sexual thing that’s ever happened to him. Not that I would want to witness it, but I would bet his most profound erections in life have “emerged” with the commencement of this “war.” It’s possible that his wife is one of the most sexually frustrated married women in America right now. Consider it safe to say that Hegseth must have been deprived of playing “Army” as an adolescent.
OK, that’s about as low as I’ll go here, but there’s more to discuss.
The Trump administration has often reminded me of a quote I learned long ago that starts out like this: “He who knows not, and knows not he knows not, he is a fool. Shun him.” I mean, that is Pete Hegseth in a nutshell. When I think of Hegseth, I’m reminded of that great Disney classic, Fantasia. Hegseth is Mickey Mouse as the “Sorcerer’s Apprentice,”incompetent, foolish, and totally in over his head. Worst of all, Hegseth appears to have no clue regarding the consequences of his actions. He’s intoxicated by the power that has been given to him as he pours gasoline on the fires he and Trump have started. However, in this version, the sorcerer is nowhere to be found to arrest the developing disaster.
A former ROTC commander of Hegseth’s alma mater, Princeton, once said of Hegseth, “His nomination (as Secretary of Defense) is an embarrassment and a disgrace to all who have served, or will serve.” One doesn’t have to know about war, or national defense, or military tactics to know that Hegseth is in way over his head.
Recently, I heard him bragging about the sinking of an Iranian ship (IRIS Dena) in the Indian Ocean—nowhere near war-torn Iran. Hegseth quipped in a press conference about the sinking of various Iranian ships, “The Iranian Navy rests at the bottom of the Persian Gulf. Combat ineffective, decimated, destroyed, defeated. Pick your adjective.” In the case of the Dena, it was a destroyer-size ship that was in route back to Iran following the ceremonial 2026 Fleet Review in India. Along with that, the crew participated in other events including the Indian Ocean Naval Symposium—hardly events associated with preparing for battle. The Dena could have been sunk anywhere and at any time if it had posed any kind of real threat. This was just a case of low-hanging fruit for Hegseth and his goons in the “War” Department—very much akin to their comrades at ICE and the bullying, injuring, and killing of unarmed American citizens.
There’s been a formidable amount of conflicting information for why this war was started by the United States. In the days leading up to the war, Trump’s “special envoy” Steve Witkoff claimed that Iran was “probably a week away” from having nuclear bomb-making material. Then during his rambling State of the Union address, Trump said Iran would soon have the ability to strike the United States with an intercontinental ballistic missile. All of this, of course, contradicted his own claims eight months earlier that Iran’s nuclear capabilities were “obliterated.” Following military action, Secretary of State Marco Rubio claimed that Iran posed an imminent threat as a result of imminent attacks from Israel—making it sound as if Israel was dictating the conditions of military action for the United States. Finally Trump went on record to say that Iran was going to launch preemptive strikes against the US on its own. One can’t help but to be reminded of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and Colin Powell’s false alarms regarding Iraq’s “weapons of mass destruction.” Does the United States really need to repeat that huge cluster-fuck… and so soon?
I have another theory about the rationale behind this war that is as good as the buffoon in charge: This war is sponsored by all the weapons manufacturers to “test” their products in a nearly risk-free environment—given that Iran is hardly a challenge when it comes to their military prowess. Again, another case of going after low-hanging fruit—a hallmark of this administration.
A Trumper Truck in Powell, Wyoming with a custom tailgate of Shitler and White Jesus.
I’ve never claimed to be a scholar of The Christian Bible, but I do know a few of its lessons. One of the things that has always stood out to me are the various passages regarding idolatry—which, to be clear, is a bad thing. So, just what is idolatry? Most definitions I’ve looked up are of the following:
An extreme admiration, love, or reverence for something or someone. Immoderate (as in: not sensible or not restrained), excessive attachment or devotion to something.
So with that definition in mind, what does the Bible say about idolatry? According to one source, there are at least 10 passages that address why idolatry is wrong or sinful. One of the references that stand out to me is from Galatians: 5:19–21…
Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.
You have to admit, idolatry is lumped in there with a pretty impressive list of vile attributes that should keep anyone from entering the kingdom of God should they stray into these “works of the flesh.” And for the record here, I think the Bible has it right in demonizing idolatry, even if I’d be down for some innocent, Harry-Potteresque sorcery if the opportunity came along.
Based on this definition, it’s safe to say idolatry is not a scarce resource when it comes to this “Christian” nation or ours—starting with the obsession (dare I say “idolatry”) of President-former President-and-again-President Donald J. Trump. Go ahead and try to convince me otherwise that his persona isn’t front and center when it comes to being a textbook illustration of idolatry. Are not those Christians who follow (and adore) Trump especially aware of these passages, or are they simply ignoring them for the sake of convenience?
There was a time not too long ago that the political campaign season was pretty short and limited. Short in that it went from early autumn to the first week in November when the elections were held. Limited in that it mostly consisted of campaign signs in yards, campaign buttons on clothes (i.e., “I like Ike.”), campaign bumper stickers, and spotty television commercials. While most still practice the above, today there is a growing contingency that is active year-round with displays for at least one candidate that go way beyond the traditional campaign season and mediums—think red MAGA hats being worn all the time, Trump flags flown year-round from homes and vehicles, and even businesses blatantly professing their allegiance to Trump, but never for any other Presidents in past years.
There is this pick-up truck driving around in my community with a custom paint job of Trump and Jesus on the tailgate. It’s quite impressive regardless of how one might feel about the subject-matter. I always wonder how Jesus feels being idolized next to Trump with the same emphasis. Perhaps the Holy Trinity will be updated to the Holy Quadrinity with the addition of Trump. That should keep Bible scholars going for years.
Whatever the case, it all smacks of idolatry from my perspective, and best of all, being the narcissist he is, Trump can’t get enough of it.
So, where does this idolatry for Trump come from? Is it the need to rub it in the face of those who didn’t vote for Trump? Is it a delayed response to having a Black President for eight years? Surely Trump himself has never demanded such overt loyalty from his supporters (although he certainly expects loyalty when it comes to those working under him). When Trump is finally gone (I hope to be around for that!), will this idolatry vanish, will it carry on over to another like him, or will it just be the norm for all candidates running for national offices whether Republican, Democrat, or other?
More than just Trump
Cleveland Browns fans. Photo courtesy of Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
Such idolatry goes far beyond Trump, and anything political as well. Look no further than the ridiculous behavior of sports fans (fans: an abbreviated word for “fanatics”). Might it be a fine, thin line between fandom and idolatry, or maybe they are the same?
Most puzzling to me is the intensity of fans when it comes to their favorite professional football teams. I find this energy peculiar in that the members of any given team are typically not from the city/state/region that is represented in the team name. For example: how many players on the roster of the Los Angeles Rams are actually from Southern California (i.e., played high school football in the region)? College teams are guilty of this as well, but not as outstanding as the professional ranks. I could almost understand the fans and their dedication to a college team. For example, look at the roster for the newly crowned national champions Ohio State football team… many are from Ohio (51 of 122, nearly 42%), while the remainder come from various locations in the country.
Fan or fanatic? It’s a fine line. A fan, according to the American Heritage College Dictionary, is “an ardent devotee, an enthusiast.” Fanatic is defined as “a person marked by an extreme unreasoning enthusiasm, as for a cause.” The distinction, then, apparently rests on whether the enthusiasm is ardent or unreasoning. No matter how you dress it up, fandom looks like the twin brother of idolatry.
Social media narcissism…no matter what top they wear, no men seem to want them.
Lastly, there is the matter of self-idolatry (a.k.a., narcissism) which has infected our society to the extent that it isn’t questioned, rather accepted, to the point of encouraged. Go no further than the social media settings of Instagram or TicTok and look at the ridiculous numbers of “selfies.” Some accounts are nothing but selfies. My favorites are of the well-endowed women (yeah, yeah, I can just hear the responses to that given I’m pretty much an old geezer) who say they can’t find anyone to date or meet, yet they have over 20,000 followers. Is there a more illustrated example of self-idolatry than this?
I know my accusation here is beyond the look-at-me-self-idolatry because there is money to be made with a large number of followers on social media, but it’s still comes down to, “look-at-me”—making for a fine line between promoting oneself and idolizing oneself.
As for me, I’ve never been that much of an enthusiast for anyone or anything. I may have voted for Biden or Obama, but I’ll never be a fanatic/fan for any former or future Presidential candidate no matter how high they are rated by the experts or the dullards at Fox News. Oh sure, I have some favorite sports teams, but my world doesn’t revolve around them losing or winning. And, I certainly won’t be posting selfies in my speedos… imagine a 64-year-old geezer with an Instagram feed with nothing but selfies? Talk about giving people a reason to “unfollow.” Whatever became of humility and modesty?
Former Powell, Wyoming residents Harriet and Richard Wilson with their Biden/Make-Racism-Wrong campaign sign.
Years ago during the campaign of Senator Barack Obama, I made a huge mistake; I gave money to his crusade for the White House and included my personal email when it came to contact information. And just to make sure that mistake cursed me until the present day, I did the same for his second term, and Hilary Clinton’s campaign (I think), and yes, even for Joe when he threw his hat in the ring to take down Trump.
It was probably some time during Obama’s second run that I realized the gravity of that mistake which has only become more acute since then.
As a result of my carelessness in including my email address, I get a steady supply of emails from any Democratic campaign—anywhere in the country—every day… and I do mean EVERY DAY. It seems to really pick up during an election year (like right now) when today, for example, I received five emails from the Harris/Walz campaign—not including other congressional campaign races elsewhere.
You’d think that once you send a contribution in, the emails would cease, but if anything, they just become more frequent. It’s as if I never sent in a dime. I hate it.
Another worn-out campaign email from the Harris/Walz camp.
If I knew of a way, I’d have my name smitten from every data base regarding political campaigns. Yet, when I do things like “unsubscribe” or say “STOP” in text messages (oh yeah, this whole concept of inundating voters to contribute to any given campaign has overflowed into text messages on my phone too), I have yet to see a decrease in volume of these political campaign emails. I absolutely hate it.
I don’t suspect it’s any different if a person has done the same for any Trump/Republican-related campaign either. The bloodsuckers are in both camps. It’s as if you’ve been bitten by a zombie and now you’re one of them.
The only solution I can think of at this point in time is to shut down my personal email account—and start a new one with a new handle and perhaps a different domain just to be safe. And whatever I do, I’m not going to contribute any money unless I can do it without including my email or phone number. I suspect that will be next to impossible in this day and age, short of walking into an actual campaign office and handing them cash while not relinquishing any of my personal contact information.
I wonder if I can make it to November. Even if I do, it’s not like all of this campaigning bullshit will suddenly stop. I fucking hate it.
Standing in the U.S. Customs and Border Protection line at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport (MSP) after my flight back from Paris, I couldn’t help but think of Donald Trump’s consistent message about mass deportation of immigrants if he is elected again.
Upon arrival, the passengers of all international flights were funneled into one big room where their passports (and visas?) were processed. But, it wasn’t one giant line for all as we were immediately separated by the type of passport we possessed. If you had a U.S. Passport, you queued up in one line, if you held a passport from another country, you queued up in a different line. It’s worth noting here that the U.S. Passport line had at least four agents processing passports while the “other passports” line had only one, which struck me as a bad look from a public relations standpoint.
At some point in the hour-plus wait to have my passport processed with all the other passengers, I found myself looking around the room (as anyone would do) and suddenly became aware of the similarities between the two separate lines. As anyone would expect, the “other passports” line had a great diversity of characters—people of color, different religions based on their clothing, and probably even a diversity when it comes to socio-economic status. But, here’s the thing… the line I was standing in was every bit as diverse—so much, you truly couldn’t tell the two apart.
I wanted to snap a photo of the room and send it to those like Donald Trump or his running mate, J.D. Vance, but didn’t want to give the security folk in such a no-nonsense area of the airport a reason to pull me aside as a suspicious person. With that photo, I would have simply included some wise-crack message like, “You’re too late, they’re already citizens.”
In short, our country has always been about being a great melting pot—that has always been one of its strengths. So, why in the hell are some of us cheering on Trump when he says he wants to implement the country’s largest deportation program this country has ever seen?
Looking around the room at the variety of people present—especially in the U.S. Passports line—I had an overwhelming sense of pride. Yet, if Trump or Vance had been standing next to me, they would have been disgusted. And, there are few things more un-American than that.
Following the conclusion of the 2023 college football season, there are now 43 college bowl games scheduled to play out. The first game of the post-season was December 16 when Ohio University defeated Georgia Southern in the Myrtle Beach Bowl. The post-season extravaganza will conclude on January 8 with the College Football Playoff National Championship game. And, if 43 bowl games seems like a saturated market, consider that many of these teams are a shadow of what they were during the regular season thanks to the NFL Draft and the transfer portal.
Anyone who has followed BCS college football throughout the year will barely recognize these college football teams playing in the various post-season bowls due to the numerous “opt outs” by many of the better players. Good thing the uniforms haven’t changed because in this bowl line-up, many of these post-season teams come across as imposters of the regular-season teams—something akin to a football version of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
With the exception of the two BCS semi-final games of Alabama/Michigan and Washington/Texas, along with the line-up of playoff games at the FCS level, many of these non-important bowl games will be missing several key players that heavily contributed throughout the regular season thanks to them either opting out because they are about to declare themselves as NFL prospects (these players are all starters), or they are transferring to another school for next year via the transfer portal (a combination of starters and non-starters).
Because The Ohio State is only playing in the Cotton Bowl against lowly Missouri, starting quarterback Kyle McCord and Heisman Trophy finalist Marvin Harrison are staying home—McCord transferring via the portal to mighty Syracuse while Harrison is opting out for the NFL draft. You can be sure if the Buckeyes had made the top four and propelled into the official playoffs, those two would still be on the roster. Nevertheless, I was delighted to hear that OSU was held to only one field goal in their demoralizing loss to the Tigers.
Speaking of the Heisman Trophy, this year’s winner, Jayden Daniels of LSU will sit out the ReliaQuest Bowl (to enter the NFL Draft) when the 9-3 Tigers meet 7-4 Wisconsin on January 1. Meanwhile, thirteen players from USC are opting out of their appearance in the Holiday Bowl against Louisville including last year’s Heisman Trophy winner Caleb Williams.
As long as players are opting out for the NFL Draft or to transfer before their teams’ seasons are completed, my question is, what’s the point in having all these other bowl games if the starting line-ups are fractured and the games have no consequence other than just another “W” or “L” for their season record?
I see two possible solutions.
First, given that college football players at this level of collegiate play receive lucrative college scholarship, they should be required to sign a yearly contract that stipulates they will play in every game of the season and post-season barring any kind of injury. If they opt out for any games for whatever reason—including the post-season—they have to pay back their scholarships in full for that year. For those that are hedging their bets on an NFL career, given the money they will likely make in the NFL, that reimbursement of funds for the year will be a drop in the bucket. Those wishing to enter the transfer portal, can’t do so until college football’s last game of the year has concluded (i.e., the BCS title game).
The other possible solution is to simply eliminate the quagmire of insignificant bowl games that are essentially consolation prizes for teams that had a better than average year (never mind there are some .500 teams in this year’s bowl games). Instead of having 43 bowl games where only three have any real meaning (the two semi-finals and the title game), whittle it down to 31 bowl games that are all part of a 32-team playoff where any team could claim the national title.
Until one of these things happen, college football’s BCS will continue to be badly broken. So, bring on the FCS championship game in Frisco, Texas between the Jackrabbits of South Dakota State and the Grizzlies of Montana.
Sometimes I simply love to hate. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve caught myself saying this regarding various subjects in my life. The latest resurrection of the phrase likely came about because I traveled to Las Vegas with a couple of friends for the SEMA car show, and Vegas is certainly a place that I love to hate. In fact, I love hating it so much, I couldn’t wait to get there.
Lots of Towels
Barry & Chairs
Airport Art
Leaving Las Vegas
Drift Fans & Smart Phones
Convention Center Backside
Drift Fans
Airport Advert
CircusCircus Jumper
Convention Room Dregs
Zen Society Jumper
LV Lite Rail Patrons
Convention Goers
On the Way2SEMA Fest
There’s much to hate about Vegas if one just thinks about it—especially from my rural setting of Wyoming. So, I always look forward to the newest Las Vegas particulars to hate that I never expected or considered. So, beyond the usual overcrowded and loud casinos, overpriced tickets for washed-up entertainment icons, and the ubiquitous, supersized LED displays, I was pleasantly surprised to add a couple of new things to what I love to hate about Las Vegas—all on the last full day of my stay there.
SEMA Fest On the second day of SEMA Fest not long after the gates opened, I was turned back at the entrance by security personnel because I had a “professional grade” camera with me—a modest Yashica Electro 35 (mm) film camera. At first, I thought they were just having me on because I had a camera that was built in the early 1970s. But, when I realized the security staffer was not joking, I reached around in my back pocket and pulled out my iPhone X and said, “You should be more worried about this camera.” The staffer didn’t budge only to tell me that the iPhone was permitted, while assuring me that I could not enter with my threatening 50-some-year-old 35mm, f1.7 fixed 45mm lens rangefinder camera.
I was sure there was some mistake, but once I realized they weren’t going to relent, I gave up and walked back to a friend’s car to squirrel away my humble Yashica. During that long walk back to the car, all I could think about was how ignorant the organizers of SEMA Fest must be when it comes to cameras and photography. I felt like I had been transported back to the entrance gates of Northeast Ohio’s Blossom Music Center in the 1970s. And so, it was during that walk back to the car and once more to the SEMA Fest entrance that my love to hate Vegas came screaming back like a Tom Brady, game-winning offensive drive in the final seconds.
With my film camera receiving a red-card by the SEMA Fest photography police, I realized that whatever photography I would attempt that day would be limited to my iPhone. Now I had a new mission thanks to SEMA Fest’s draconian photography policy—I would shoot to my heart’s content with my iPhone and eventually submit images from the day to whatever paying, professional publications I could find while making sure that the SEMA Fest photo nazis get notified of my supplemental income from that day—with my iPhone!
I’m never very confident when it comes to my own photography, but spite can be a powerful thing, changing a person’s outlook in any given situation.
Circus Circus It’s not a stretch to predict that the next major casino to be razed on the Las Vegas Strip will be Circus Circus. It was a dump 20 years ago. Today, it is nothing more than an ugly and smelly eyesore on the life support of desperate, low-stake gamblers.
Because SEMA Fest was in the shadows of the crumbling 35-story Circus Circus, we walked over to the 50-some-year-old rundown infestation in search of a modest lunch. What a mistake that was as I was reminded of shopping at a crowded Walmart on Black Friday—not to mention the healthy menagerie of trashy and gloomy patrons filling up its corridors, restaurants, and gambling locations.
Further, while walking around in Circus Circus, I was certain that its dystopian interior and unhealthy-looking patrons was surely the place I would contract a bad case of COVID-19.
Lastly, like most of the other casinos in Vegas, Circus Circus is no different in its tolerance and accommodating environment for smokers. Say what you want about the casino high-tech ventilation systems, when I returned to my room that evening, I felt as if I had been walking through the smoke-filled 1970s all over again. It’s been a long time since my clothes smelled like a crowded bar full of smokers.
Sadly, Nancy Mace is the best South Carolina can do.
The following was sent to U.S. Representative Nancy Mace of South Carolina:
I just listened to your interview on NPR, and I was struck by how rude you were to the journalist interviewing you—noting how many times you interrupted her before she could even complete her question to you. I just sat there shaking my head in disbelief. Your interview seems especially cringe-worthy knowing you have a master’s degree in journalism and mass media. Obviously it must have been a “participation degree” instead of anything associated with earning the degree.
Further, you indicated how almost every problem in this country is on the current President’s lap. It was ridiculous and all I could think was, “Yeah, she must represent all those dumbed-down, knuckle-dragging racist of South Carolina. All you accomplished in the interview was throwing out the usual red meat like Donald Trump and the nightly Fox News line-up.
In short, you are what’s wrong with this country… full of yourself arrogance, disrespectful toward other professionals, self-centeredness, and unquestionable stupidity.
It was a typical coffee gathering for us “old/retired guys.” A nice Wyoming spring day outside with another semester and another school year coming to an end. It’s difficult not to feel optimistic about the world when the stars align like this every year in early May.
Yet, in this moment of everyday euphoria, it all came crashing down when a 30-some stranger (I’d never seen before) walked into the coffee shop with a gun strapped to his hip like he was walking out of a 1950s Hollywood Western movie set—I don’t doubt that’s how he saw himself too.
This has happened to me before when I was in a Rock Springs Loaf & Jug store; another time at a Walmart in Riverton. Each time, my reaction is the same—just leave. Whatever I’m doing at that moment, I’m not doing any longer, I am simply getting out of that setting as quickly as I can without causing others to panic.
It’s one thing if a police officer is in the same space as me knowing they are armed. Although there are no guarantees even with armed police officers, at least I know they are thoroughly vetted when it comes to their line of work and carrying a weapon. With “Joe Cowboy” walking into a public space with a gun, I have zero knowledge of the rationale behind his self-appointed armed status.
In such instances I’m not going to stick around to find out whether he’s simply some paranoid, insecure White dude who needs to announce to the world that he is carrying a gun and is here to save us all, or he is some insecure White dude with a chip on his shoulder and has intentions of using the gun indiscriminately in the form of a mass shooting. If all I have is one’s appearance to go on, I’ll always error to the latter.
Hanging around to discern the intentions of an armed stranger is just another version of Russian roulette in my book.
And unless you’re a fool or have had your head in the sand lately, my reaction shouldn’t seem too extreme giving the frequency of mass shootings in the U.S.
And, while I’m here… fuck the N.R.A. and fuck the 2nd Amendment, period.
