Whew, what a week. Sorry for being mostly absent, but I have a week-long commitment with a social-media client that is kinda tapping my energy, although today I got to watch this YouTube clip as part of it, and it cheered me right up and I bet it’ll do the same for you. Watch the whole thing; it just keeps getting better.

I’m mostly cheered up on a lot of fronts. As we’ve been discussing in comments for the last month, it’s been…a fucking month. A lot, as the kids say. But now, things are looking up and I can feel my energy and optimism returning, although I’m not taking a goddamn thing for granted this time. If Kamala can appear appropriately presidential in coming weeks — or at least present as a credible alternative to angry grandpa — we have a real shot.

Also, I sent her $100. I’m sure that’ll make the difference.

“Are you worried it might come back to bite you?” Alan asked of this donation. Journalists aren’t supposed to make political donations, but hell, I’m barely a journalist anymore, and who the fuck cares. This is life or death. I’m on the side of life.

Also, I once donated to a couple of Jennifer Brunner’s campaigns in Ohio, and no one cared. So pfft.

As I imagine you’ve been doing, I’m mainly just absorbing the news, trying to synthesize it and get through the day and into the night without lying awake half of it, thinking about whether to stay and become a fighter for democracy or check out and find a nice cheap property in the Italian countryside. In between, I watched the latest adaptation of “Presumed Innocent” and came away thinking man, what a piece of crap.

How about you?

As Lloyd Bridges once said, I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.

Enough with a chatty, breezy blog today. We went for a bike ride on a hot day on the Detroit riverwalk, and somehow, I left my phone at home. On the drive, we listened to a new mix CD Jeff Borden sent us last week. As we pulled back into the garage and my watch reconnected with it, it was nonstop ping-ping-ping and I knew something was up, and it was.

I simply cannot keep up with the news today. So it’s up to you. Have at it.

I suspect those of you on social media have already heard the news that President Biden called the widow of the man killed at the Trump rally, but she wouldn’t take it. Her husband, “a devout Republican,” wouldn’t have wanted her to, she said. As for Trump, he hasn’t called yet. He played golf the following day.

Meanwhile, I looked up the dead guy, Corey Comperatore, on his socials. He was mostly a reply person on Twitter. And many of them were like this:

OK, then.

This really, really has been a shit couple of weeks, hasn’t it? The most terrible people appear to be winning. I’m starting to think they are winning. I’ll still vote, with my optimism fading. But as Neil Steinberg says, anything is possible. I fear the “anything” isn’t the good thing, however. I’ve lost faith in the Democratic Party to respond to this in any meaningful way. I may be wrong — I was certainly wrong to think this country was too decent to sink as far as we have, so consider that — but at this point, I feel more right than wrong.

I’m struck by a phrase in Steinberg’s column: “… this was a lucky wound, another stroke of good fortune for a man born with a horseshoe up his ass.” Perfect. I tend to believe that luck goes in both directions, and I feel like we’ve not had a win for a long while. I’m not a believer in conventional Christian versions of God, so I can’t be comforted by the idea of Trump & Co. in hell. But I do think the universe has a sense of humor, and I want to know when we get to see a little evening of the scales.

Yeah, yeah, tell that to the Jews at Auschwitz.

OK, I’ll stop now. One thing I learned in the newspaper business: Never say “it can’t get worse,” because it always can.

And if you’re a cyclist, be careful out there. Some people hate your guts just for existing.

Friends, as if this last fortnight couldn’t get any worse, apparently we’ve lost another member of the commenting community. Connie Ozinga, whose contributions here were always sane, intelligent and high-quality, died Sunday at her home.

Here’s the obituary, if you’d like to know more about her.

She was a library director, mostly in Michigan and Indiana, with one stop-off in Rochester, Minn. Her preferred memorial is to any Friends of the Library of your choice.

Given that libraries are currently under assault by some truly hideous individuals currently enjoying a moment, I can’t think of a better cause.

I’m very sorry to hear this.

Well.

Well well well.

Honestly, I don’t have the heart to read all the comments on the last post. I’ve been sitting here draped in Glum all day. It’s been very hot this weekend, and I went to a friend’s house yesterday for poolside dips and cocktails, and came home to see the big news. I had about one wine spritzer too many, and all I could think was: Shit. He’s gonna win. Mother. Fucker.

I know, I know, don’t lose heart. It’s still three-plus months until November, but lately I’m thinking of Biden as hopeless. He reminds me of a man I used to work for, who believed in this mythical past where we all sat down at the table of brotherhood and hammered out compromises that none of us were totally happy with, but were best for the country. It’d be one thing if he were just old, but old and out of touch is unforgivable.

I know, I know: Everything could change, etc. And it’s not like there weren’t glimmers of humor in the day. Take this utter horseshit:

There’s a longer statement, which you can find on the web; it’s just as ridiculous as this snippet. Like, oh…

A monster who recognized my husband as an inhuman political machine attempted to ring out Donald’s passion – his laughter, ingenuity, love of music, and inspiration. The core facets of my husband’s life – his human side – were buried below the political machine. Donald, the generous and caring man who I have been with through the best of times and the worst of times.

I feel like we’re living in two realities. Or else she is as diseased as he is – a strong possibility, actually a certainty – and is simply reacting in kind.

Oy. I need to feel bad for a while. But here’s a new thread.

Raining here. Raining raining raining for hours and hours and hours, the remnants of Beryl sweeping up the continent. Fine with me; I love a rainy day. Just watched two grackles livin’ it up in the birdbath on the one day you wouldn’t think they’d need it, but I’m not a grackle. You do you, grackles! Live your best life. I’m just glad it’s not 90 degrees and sunny.

It is 74 degrees, with one million percent humidity. I’m inside, and staying here.

I read this Substack note by a writer I kinda vaguely follow, Sarah Kendzior:

Point 4 is the one that intrigues me, and isn’t something I’d considered. “Collapse the U.S. and strip it and sell it for parts” is, as she notes, precisely what happened in the Soviet Union, post-collapse. Whole industries were stolen by those with the daring to try it. Think what would be possible in a United States where Project 2025 has succeeded in driving the dismantling of large portions of the federal system. It’s not hard to see it. One thing living near a city many wrote off years ago taught me is just how much meat remains on the bones of a carcass. I just reserved “Hiding in Plain Sight” at the library.

Meanwhile, here’s the GOP platform.

Still raining.

Columbus was fine, if you’re wondering. Every so often I think I should swing home via Newark and check in with Jeff Gill, but I don’t. I go straight up U.S. 23 because I want to get home, and then, three hours later, I am home.

But it was a good trip, weaving family with friends in just about the right proportions. I even had time to swing past my childhood home. You might recall it from this post, which found it, in 2022, seemingly at the end of an extensive renovation. It looked like this:

I said at the time I hoped it would be mellowed with landscaping and shutters and all that. It appears to be done. And now? This:

Um. OK. They’ve added landscaping. And shutters. And whatever the hell that thing is sticking out over the front door, but what do I know? The trend today is MODERN FARMHOUSE, and if your AMERICAN COLONIAL won’t play ball, you make it so.

I drove away reflecting on this passage in Elmore Leonard’s “City Primeval,” which I’ve been carrying around in my head for a while:

Bottom line: Don’t get sentimental about cars, or real estate. It’s a house, not Tara. Your family hasn’t been there for 29 years. Let it go. Houses are for keeping the rain off your head and hosting the Thanksgiving dinner. And when you sign the papers, they’re for someone else’s Thanksgiving dinner.

I came home and told Alan about this, who happened to have spent that very day in his hometown of Defiance, Ohio, helping his recently moved-in sister with some things in her new condo. He said his family’s old house, also sold years ago, is now “easily the worst one on the street,” with all kinds of shit like trampolines and recreational garbage in the front yard, not the back. “And there’s a sign nailed — NAILED — to my father’s ash tree,” he reported, horrified. “It says ‘No Trespassing.'”

Like anyone would want to. That nail hole will have bad juju down the road, but one day we’ll all be gone from the earth, and it won’t matter.

No, I’m not depressed. Just taking the long view.

I tried to disconnect from the news, to the extent I was able to, this weekend. It was easy, in the sense that it was all about Will Biden Drop Out, and in the sense I have no control over that, it was easy to do.

What do you think? Oh, and happy week ahead.

Well, the Supreme Court really stuck it in and broke it off, didn’t it? Clarence Thomas even went so far as to agree with Trump’s lawyers’ “far-fetched” (according to The Washington Post) claim that special prosecutors require Senate confirmation, signaling to the vast right-wing legal conspiracy what their next move should be.

It hasn’t been a very good week, has it? And Independence Day is in two days. Might be our last one. Next year’s could feature a military parade, with Commander in Chief Lumpy-Ass saluting throughout.

But let’s not get too depressed, for there is comic relief aplenty.

Today’s provider is Rep. Victoria Spartz, R-Bumfuck Indiana, only the latest in a lengthening line of Republican politicians caught by airport security with a handgun in her carryon. The MAGA darling — they’re all MAGA darlings — claims she forgot it was in there, the same excuse used by former Michigan Rep. Lee Chatfield and Sen. Jeff Wilson of Washington’s state legislature. Also, Madison Cawthorn, post-his failed re-election bid.

I might point out that all of these people are pro-gun, or “pro-2A,” as they like to style themselves. And one thing pro-gun people will tell you is that we must not penalize “responsible” gun ownership. Call me crazy, but I believe responsible gun ownership starts with knowing where your goddamn gun is. Also, they all represent rural, or semi-rural areas. What the hell are they so afraid of that they have to carry firearms in their luggage? Probably the dusky hoardes at the airports they have to fly through, although Chatfield was nabbed at Petoskey’s little puddle-jumper airfield, hardly a place any sensible person needs to fear.

So: Comic relief.

I’m preparing to head out of town for the Fourth; catch me on the road to Columbus, where I’ll be visiting family and maybe a few haunts. This will likely be my last post for the week. Have a pleasant-enough holiday weekend, wherever it is and wherever it takes you. Party like it’s 2024, with all that implies.

I’m thinking of going limp. What can I do to fend off the disaster bearing down on us in November? Vote, of course. That’s easy. Speak up. No shortage of that going on. But otherwise, I think I have to disengage, at least a little, from the doomscrolling. It’s not good for me, or anyone else.

Sunday morning is a good example of why. Almost the whole NYT op-ed section is full of Doom, so I turned to a reliable quality read, M.L. Elrick in the Free Press. His column today is about Kwame Kilpatrick, the disgraced former Detroit mayor granted clemency by Donald Trump in the final hours of his presidency. He’s up to his old tricks, needless to say. In the last four years he’s married, gone into “ministry,” and is living large — very large — while ignoring the money he owes to the city and to the IRS. He’s accomplishing this via a number of tried-and-true strategies — putting things in his wife’s name, or a company name — and doesn’t care what anyone thinks, because there’s a sucker born every minute.

Now he’s working to repay the only debt he feels obligated by, to Trump, in this case, an appearance at an event called “Let Us Reason Together: Our Faith, Our Values, Our Politics.” Elrick attended. The column is paywalled, but I’ll quote a few snippets beyond my three-paragraph limit here:

I’ve said for years that Trump and Kilpatrick are white and Black versions of the same person: charismatic, compelling, energetic, engaging, egotistical, materialistic, vain, thin-skinned, utterly untethered to the truth, quick to blame others — especially the media — for their self-inflicted wounds and, yes, horny. And now they share convictions, ranging from the kind juries hand down after a trial to a belief that Trump should be returned to the White House.

…As I left Monday’s event, after participating in a convivial but unanticipated photo op with Kilpatrick, I couldn’t stop thinking: Trump gave Kilpatrick his freedom, but if Hizzoner helps persuade enough Black voters to abandon the Democratic Party, Kilpatrick could help give Trump the world.

More:

…Kilpatrick told his audience there are many reasons he supports Trump. Like Apostle Ellis Smith, the evening’s co-host, Kilpatrick hit on conservative flashpoints like gender identity. He said the Democratic Party he helped lead while serving in the Michigan House of Representatives from 1997 to 2002 “doesn’t exist anymore” and that he was shocked Democrats supported laws that said children don’t have to talk to their parents before seeking a sex change. He said he never would have let such a law pass when he was a legislator, adding, “we have come to a transformational time.”

Kilpatrick said style is another reason young Black men are turning to an old white man (Trump is 78).

“Because people like somebody to be real,” he said, adding that Trump “is saying it in a way like we’re in the back of the house talking.”

Kilpatrick said he met with Trump and, “he’s a real cool guy for sure. Real cool, real comfortable. But he’s smart.”

And how was this speech landing?

Aeisha Reeves, of Clinton Township, said she is preparing to become more active and outspoken.

“I really loved his honesty today,” she said of Kilpatrick. Even though she didn’t vote for Trump in 2016 or 2020, Reeves said: “I plan on voting for him this time.”

Jimmy Lee Tillman II, who said he is the son of civil rights activist and longtime Democratic Chicago Alderwoman Dorothy Tillman, told me he came from Chicago to hear Kilpatrick.

“We’re here on the ground and we’re trying to bring the victory home for Trump. And Detroit is going to play a key role,” Tillman said. “When you got a voice like Kilpatrick and a base, that’s all you need.”

I really don’t worry if black people vote for Trump in ones and twos, and I really don’t think Kilpatrick will swing all that many. But I believe far more will stay home, and that’s the dangerous cohort.

I should add that there is a case to be made that Kilpatrick was over-sentenced for his crimes. Public-official corruption, in the federal system, generally carries far shorter sentences than the 27-year bid Kilpatrick was doing, but now Kilpatrick joins Rod Blagojevich in owing his freedom to a fellow criminal. And like Blago, he’s saying thank-you in a way a fellow criminal will understand.

You can see maybe why I need to disengage from some of this. Here’s another picture of those pretty radishes. I’ll see you later this week.

Haven’t done one of these in a while. I couldn’t resist the colors. They cheered me up. I bought some carrots.