February 18, 2019--Seething Sort of Muted Rage

A great friend, Jill Davenport, sent the following note late last week. 

She attached a posting from the Daily Kos blog which, as you can see, brought her to a calmer place when thinking about the state of our politics and nation.

It did the same for me and I thought it might do so for you. So here it is--

Morning, Steven . . . 

This piece from Kos made me think about you and Rona and your Bristol Diner breakfasts.  I sincerely hope that this is not a piece of fiction designed to give some respite to those of us who are weary from the constant whiplash of hope risen and hope dashed.  And it gives something of a pass to the MAGA-hats who were duped and who now seem redeemable.  No passes given out for the vultures sitting in Congress, though, nor to those who profit from the sweat of others.   

Sorry to press this upon you.  It’s an easy read and well-written despite the author’s insistence that he can’t write "too good."  He writes good.  The piece has put me into a calmer place where I can look upon the impending "National Emergency” as a “go ahead and do it” proposition.  Any touchstone for hope will work for me--

--We the 99% got money issues to worry about.

So yeah I’m not usually a dairist here, and my writing skills leave something to be desired. I’m analog and not very digital and fat fingers can produce interesting grammatical errors that leave the more gifted wincing, not to mention spelling. My mind out races my fingers frequently and I rarely think to edit.  Consider this your warning about wondering narrative ahead. It’s tax time, and Trump time, and valentines night out for a lot of people isn’t happening this year. Trigger warning: I am going to give you some actual conversation as verbatim as I can.

Some might find this offensive.

So I have finally gotten all the snow cleared from where I didn’t want it, cleared a space for the danger doofus doggo to do her business without freezing tender areas and was very hungry and did not want to cook and wanted biscuits and gravy with two over-easy on top. So off to the local greasy spoon I went. The place was packed with guys like me 40+ white working class/farmers, hey it’s rural Wisconsin, and they were all bitching about one thing. Taxes. 

It wasn’t the quietly disgruntled sort of mildly irritated bitching. It was a seething sort of muted rage that comes from people who are seriously pissed and are looking for someone to blame kind of bitching.

Then ol’ Chuck Grassley appears on the TV pontificating about taxes. Ho Boy. Spark meet gasoline. Even the owner and waitresses lost their shit. I think “Bald faced fucking liar” was the mildest term I heard used and that was a waitress.

Could be wrong though. It was loud. 

Everyone and I do mean every single person in that establishment started comparing just what they had to cough up in taxes or just how small their return was going to be if they got one compared to last years. People were going to be short 5k minimum on their refunds. Others were in the hole to the IRS up to 12k. Vacations were being canceled. Repairs and purchases are being postponed. Vehicles are not going to be purchased. 

Then the farmers started bitching about who they were going to sell soybeans to. What should they plant? Corn? Soybeans? It’s time to order seed you know. How can I make a profit if I can’t sell what I grow? Is this China shit going to be sorted out soon? Who gives a fuck about a border wall I need fucking laborers. Does that fat orange bastard really know what the fuck he’s doing? 50% of these people voted for Trump. Now granted there were some MAGA hat wearing folks in there and a couple spouted off about staying the course and talking points. My did that go over well. Not.

Long story short they eventually brought up her e-mails. Whoopsie. An older farmer who could probably buy the place stood up and said his piece.

“You voted for Republicans in 2016 because you were angry about a black man being president for eight years and there was no damned way you were going to have a woman, let alone that woman be president. You got what you wanted. It wasn’t just that shitbag Trump. It was Republicans in the House of Representatives and Republicans in the Senate that drafted these tax laws you’re all cryin’ about. You’re stupid. You never learned nothing. You don’t look at history.

Republicans ALWAYS do what really rich people tell’em to. It ain’t about fags, blacks, Jesus, God, her emails, abortions, guns, or any of that other shit they holler about. Religious freedom don’t need no special laws it’s right there in that Constitution they keep spittin’ on. It’s about the money. It’s about how they can take your money and give it to people who flat don’t fucking need it. All of you need to grow up and take responsibility for your damned government. 2018 was a damned fine year. Democrats in charge of Congress again.”

Then Mr. MAGA Major bigmouth just had to say it, “What about that Pelosi bitch and all them (n----r) women in congress? They’re going to wreck it!”

Farmer: “Son you’d best be grateful that Pelosi bitch is a mean ol’ bitch and those women are serious about government. They’re the ones going to save your stupid ass from yourself. How you going to cover that tax bill you owe Bill? You need a loan? Maybe next year this time we’ll have us a real honest set of tax laws. Then again maybe you like paying this much in taxes every year? No? Thought not.”

Exit the farmer. A badass first class taking no shit from anyone farmer. 

It got real quiet for about 30 seconds as the man paid his tab and left. Then a new kind of hum started building in the place. the kind that made me grin and made the MAGA boys nervous. And to think what that farmer would have said about Mueller? Now there, yes there is something I’d like to have a sit down and listen to. Maybe I can have that after I go see him about what he’ll be asking for half a beef.

Jill too writes good. 

September 1, 2015--TRUMP: Read My Lips--Yes, New Taxes

With Donald TRUMP continuing to surge in the polls--state-by-state and nationally--Republicans are beginning to panic. Not just about the possibility that he might win the nomination but that he might, just might become president.

We know he'd build a "great, great" fence (his description) and deport 10 million illegal immigrants (they love that red meat), but now members of the GOP corporate establishment are worried about what else he might do if he were elected.

And they are not liking what they are hearing and fearing.

He's talking about Republicans' favorite subject--taxes. But he's not talking about cutting them further for rich folks such as himself (that really hits home), but raising them significantly for people who make money by manipulating the system and who take advantage of all the loopholes that enable the least productive capitalists to earn more than those who, like TRUMP, actually do and build things. And have their own money, their own skin in the game.

This to them is truly dangerous stuff. Would he be, like Franklin Roosevelt, a traitor to his class?

Here's are some of the tax increases he has been talking about--

He says he would institute stiff tariffs on American companies that build factories in other countries. He has threatened to increase taxes on hedge fund managers' compensation. People he rightly says are "getting away with murder." And he has said he would change the laws that enable American firms to pay much less in taxes by merging with companies based overseas in order to benefit from their cheaper rates.

None of this is music to the one-percenter's ears.

And let's recall that he opposed the war in Iraq before it was launched (not so either Hillary Clinton or Joe Biden) and his heath care views are more Bernie Sanders than Jeb Bush or the current Republican flavor of the month, Doctor Ben Carson.

So TRUMP continues not only to be amusing and provocative but seriously uncatagorical and interesting.

September 26, 2014--Best of Behind: Et Tu, U2?

This piece of hypocrisy hassling is from October 17, 2006--

For years I’ve stifled my aversion to Bono’s sunglass fetish, thinking that, though I hate all those pretentious shades, if they contribute to his image and fame and he in turn uses that fame to promote good causes such as AIDS research and treatment, so be it. If he can live with them, then so can I. Anyone who could get George Bush’s Treasury Secretary, whichever one it was, to spend two weeks in Africa experiencing poverty first hand can’t be all that bad.

Well, maybe.

Did you catch the report in today’s International Herald Tribune about U2 moving its music publishing business from Ireland to the Netherlands?  Sounds benign enough since both countries are a part of the borderless European Union.

But when we learn they did this to avoid Irish taxes, which for royalty income is twice that of Holland’s, their decision deserves a closer look. Especially since Bono and other members of the band have been excoriating the Prime Minister of Ireland for spending only 0.5 percent of the country’s budget on foreign aid.

Where does Bono think the money to do that would come from? From taxes don’t you think? And with U2, which earns about $110 million a year, avoiding Irish taxes that of course means less is available for the beleaguered Irish government to contribute to African aid.

Bono refused to comment about their tax moves and so there was only U2’s guitarist The Edge available to speak for them. He said, “Of course we’re trying to be tax-efficient. Who doesn’t want to be tax-efficient?” Maybe those folks who would like to see more of their taxes directed to the alleviation of poverty.

Hypocrisy is not one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Perhaps it’s too modern a concept to have been included when the list was originally composed. In those days Lust and Greed and Envy better suited the times. I, though, vote to modernize it by adding Hypocrisy. If you are a purist and want to keep the sins to seven. I’m sure Ingmar Bergman, for example, doesn’t want to change the title of his remarkable film to The Eight Deadly Sins. I suggest dropping Gluttony—leave it to McDonald’s and others to deal with that one. 

But we need to elevate Hypocrisy. It’s too important not to be considered deadly.

Bono's net worth, if you're interested, is estimated to be $600 million.

July 7, 2014--Midcoast: Free Air

The only place in the area, or, these days, maybe anywhere, where you can get air for your car tires without paying for it is in New Harbor at Hanna's gas station and general store.

They don't have one of those machines that you have to feed with quarters to get five minutes of metered compressed air. Five minutes being barely enough time to get to all four tires, check their pressure, and then inflate them to the manufacturer's suggested specs.

Actually, that's not enough time unless you have someone with you to assist in the process. Otherwise, you'd better have another 75 cents ready.

So Rona and I approach tire checks, where you have to pay for air, as a team.

We pull up to the hose wrapped around one of those compressors or lying in a pool of spilled oil and Rona, pit-crew style, races around the car taking off all four valve caps. I follow right behind with my pressure tester and if any tire has below 35 pounds of pressure she leaves the cap off indicating it needs air.

We then get the pump going by inserting three quarters and I hurry to complete my part of the team's work--pumping in a few bursts of air (usually too much), letting the excess out (again usually too much), hoping to get it all done before the air pump kicks off.

Half the time I do fine and half the time I don't, which causes more than a little tension between us since, at this time in my life, Rona has taken to suggesting that we switch roles--I would remove the caps and she would do the tire topping-off. But, you know how it is--about this there's a genetic man-woman thing. OK, it's cultural. And so we do the best we can to maintain harmony and I try to ignore the grumbling in the background.

Generally all four tires need air. Driving the kind of broken roads that are common here--including right up to our house--causes air to leak out so invariably tire pressures range from 30 to 32 pounds per square inch. Low enough to lead to uneven tire wear and lower miles per gallon. Both to be avoided.

So we're willing to shell out the 75 cents if we can't get to Hanna's.

But Hanna's is our go-to place when in the area.

Free Air the sign above the hose says that dangles casually from the side of Hanna's general store where you can also get basic groceries, cold and hot drinks, fishing tackle, and even guns and ammo.

I can go there on my own as I did yesterday to check out the tire situation without having to race from tire to tire; or, if we go together, I can take care of the tires while Rona roams around inside, maybe buying a bottle of water or checking out who's buying ammo this time of year, months before hunting season. I've suggested that while doing that she doesn't do too much staring.

"'Bout the only thing that's still free these days," the other day said a grizzled man of about 80 as I was stooped beside the right front tire, trying to get the pressure to exactly 35 pounds.

In truth, I'd prefer Rona didn't know that working at ground level for me has become a bit of a problem--the getting up part--so I just grunted in reply, wanting to get done quickly and move on the the right rear, just where it seemed he had settled in.

"Nice of 'em Hannas to let you get it for free. Like I've been sayin' for more years than I'd like to count, the next thing you know they'll tax the air we breathe. Taxin' everything else. So why not air? We gotta pay for water. It used to be free. They sell it in bottles inside." He waved contemptuously toward the store, "Costs 'bout as much as a Coke. But it's just plain water. And if you get town water they make you pay for that too. They get it for free so I don't see chargin' us for it."

By then, still not saying anything, I was working on the right rear tire. Its pressure had dipped to 31 and after the first pulse of air I pumped in it shot up to 37. I let some out and it plunged back down to 33. Then up to 36, which I felt was close enough. So, holding onto the car, I struggled to get up and moved around it to the left rear.  He followed me, shuffling on his one good leg.

I can't move around much better than him, I muttered to myself. And he's a lot older than me. I was not having a good time and wanted to shake him off by pretending to ignore him.

"Tell you the truth I don't have much good to say 'bout most everything these days. You see things any different?" He was trying to draw me in, but, not wanting to, I continued to stare at my pressure gauge.

"Now they want to take our freedom away. What-id we fight all 'em wars for?" He was no longer waiting for a response. He was on a roll. "Lost my kid brother in Nam and then a nephew three years ago in I-raq. That they have money for. Git it from them Chinese 'cause we've 'bout run out. Next thing you know we'll be fightin' 'em again. Like I say, we shoulda finished 'em off in Korea when we had the chance. That was my war. My unit was sent all the way up by that Yalu River. In a winter worse than the one we had here last winter. Froze half my toes of and saw six a my buddies shot up. I still have handful of Chinese shell casing in my chest. Like my son says, if I ever was to try to get on an airplane I'd set off all sorts of sirens. They'd think I'm one of them terrorists. Maybe I'll do that one day, just for the heck of it, to remind everyone what we boys in the service went through. Sheeeet."

He liked that and laughed to himself.

By then Rona was back outside and had walked over toward him. She had overheard his story. "Sorry to learn about your brother and nephew. But," she said with understandable hesitation, "in my view we shouldn't have been involved in either of those wars. What a . . ."

I cleared my throat loud enough for her to hear as a signal that this was not a good place to go.

"Can't say I disagree with that ma'am. We got 'nouh problems right here in the U. S. of A.--even in this town--not to be stickin' our noses into other people's business. Never did them or us no good."

"I'm inclined that way myself," Rona nodded. "We should take care of our own and . . ."

"Sometimes," he said, "takin' care of our own means we gotta fight for what we believe in."

"I'm OK with that but only when we really do have to fight and have tried everything else we could to solve our problems without fighting. I'm no pacifist but . . ."

"Sounds then like maybe we're on the same wavelength."

He laughed toothlessly, looking down at me. "How's that fella of yours doing with his tires?"

"I'm just about done," I said still crouching at the left front. I try to get the exact pressure in the front two. For safety's sake. But I'm having trouble with this one. I can't get it to 35."

"Good thing," he said, "they still got free air here. So you can take all the time you want." He continued laughing while he turned and limped toward the store.

"I'm gonna get me some water," he said over his shoulder, "There's a cooler in the back where they don't charge nothin' for it."