BLOG THIS! Highly Suspect Wisdom for the Widely Disinterested Masses
As we mark the day in 1621 when Americans welcomed a wave of hungry immigrants to Plymouth with a three-day harvest celebration, let us give thanks that four centuries later we have learned well the lessons of humility, altruism, kindness, and the inexhaustibility of our abundance. The immigrants, a hearty but somewhat over-zealous lot, had just made it through a difficult winter. 78% of the women amongst them died of hunger and disease that first year. Some fifty immigrants, almost entirely men and children, attended the feast. The Wampanoag and their leader Massasoit provided five deer, as well as fruits and vegetables, cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, leeks, lettuce, parsnips, pumpkins, walnuts and chestnuts. He also agreed to return soon to teach the immigrants how to effectively plant corn. As word of this benevolence spread, more immigrants came to avail themselves of the great bounty of the new land, to make a humble peace with the Americans and begin a harmonic partnership which continues to this day, only momentarily dissuaded by the Mexican-funded wall hastily constructed around Plymouth Rock.
Friends, have a great Thanksgiving in this strangest of all years, either alone, somewhat together, or over Zoom.
On ABC this morning, Chris Christie ripped President Trump's legal team as "a national embarrassment." He said Sydney Powell accusing hard-right Georgia governor Brian Kemp of crimes without evidence was "outrageous conduct by any lawyer." What she alleged, with threatened evidence "that will be biblical" once revealed, includes (and this isn't a joke, I watched the entire interview) a plot by the Biden campaign to pay off Kemp to help switch votes using poll workers "trained in Venezuela," a massive fraud which was put into place by Hugo Chavez (who died in 2013). "Notice they won't allege fraud inside the courtroom," Christie said. "Only to the media." Hey, if you thought Giuliani was not only senile but leaking, this woman makes Nurse Ratched seem balanced and rational. "It is time to admit that Biden won," Christie finished, but not before Sydney Powell admitted the real evidence she's been holding onto is that Archemedes developed the fundamentals of math in 288 B.C. as a long-range plot to influence vote tallying in the greater Atlanta area (back then known as Lower Mammon) since the toga-clad traitor was aware, three centuries before Christ first emerged from a Nazarene tent, that the only way to stop the future ascension of Donald J. Trump was by craftily making basic addition, and thereby ballot counting, unprovable in court. Leave it to the sneaky Greeks to destroy the MAGA dream. So, time to give up, time to give in. Trump won in a landslide. Moving on.
Okay, which of these four lyrics, through sheer radio repetition over long mid-80’s nights, when you would immediately reach out and snap the dial in anger because you preferred a blast of static to the ear-worm to follow, came closest to ruining your teenage years?
You may only choose one. And please, no wagering.
1. Robert Palmer "Bad Case Of Lovin' You"
"A hot summer night, fell like a net, I've gotta find my baby yet, I need you to soothe my head, and turn my blue heart to red. Doctor Doctor, gimme the news, I got a bad case of lovin' you, no pill's gonna cure my ill, got a bad case of lovin' you."
(No, but a shot of penicillin will probably do the trick, Bob. Okay, next in line on this Twofer Tuesday, Robert Palmer with "Addicted To Love.")
2. Steve Miller "Abracadaba"
"I heat up, I can't cool down, you got me spinning 'round and 'round, round and 'round and 'round it goes, where it stops nobody knows. Abra, abra-cadabra, I wanna reach out and grab ya."
3. Van Hagar “Higher And Higher”
“Run, run, run away, like a train runnin’ off the track, the truth gets left behind, falls between the cracks, standing on broken dreams, never losin' sight, spread your wings, we'll get higher and higher, straight up we'll climb, we'll get higher and higher, leave it all behind.”
(Trains/tracks/cracks. Dreams, broken or otherwise. 'Nuff said.)
4. Sting “Russians”
“Mister Krushchev said, ‘We will bury you’, I don't subscribe to this point of view, It'd be such an ignorant thing to do, if the Russians love their children too, how can I save my little boy from Oppenheimer's deadly toy? We share the same biology, regardless of ideology, believe me when I say to you, I hope the Russians love their children too.”
(Nope, Mr. Weapons-Grade Pretension, turns out all Ruskies hate their kids. Ah, well, we tried. What do you do with a nation full of child-haters? Negotiate? Mass-adopt? Write an album full of equally insightful songs in protest?)