I don't get it

Make this clear from the start-

For too many years I was an angry man, angry at myself, the people around me and the world in general. This anger was something I chose. It was created by me, instilled in me and nurtured by me. No one else.

No one can make mad except me. No one can make you mad except yourself.

It is easy, too easy, to point fingers and say "THIS! This is why I am angry." This being an external source. It's also a lie. I chose to be angry and I chose to let that spill out into other areas of my life. I let other people push my buttons.

I've come to know these buttons too well. A few people can still push them. That old rage bubbles and I have to back off and remind myself -

I ain't that person any more.
What happens now is a good thing.
This will make me better and stronger.

2 AM

And yet despite that seething resentment, because that is all anger is, I have 2 a.m. friends. I have people in my life who are loyal to me as I am to them. I have people I can call at any time, day or night, and we pick up a conversation as if it was interrupted by one of us going to the bathroom. 

Yes. I have people in my life who are not blood kin but are closer than that. These people will ... nuf said. I have done for them and they will do for me. 

Why?

I don't get it.

TRUTH AND PAIN

My daughter Susan asked Robin how she can work for me. 

Damn. That hurts. If the truth hurts, yer living wrong. I have to change. Reality will not adapt to me, I must change to flow with it.

I asked Robin the same thing.

"Well, you do your thing and I do mine. It works," she said.

wow.

I have run other people away from working for me, literally. One lady, a preacher's wife, came to interview for a job. I talked to her. Then, I said as I always do to people who think they can work here, "I'm gonna leave. You talk to (whoever is in the office). Ask what I am like to work for. You decide if you can work for and with me. I do not want to know what you talk about or what is said."

I went for a walk. I came back and the lady was rushing out the door, nearly at a run. She said something about not being able to work with and for me. A few others tried to work here and could not.

That's on me.

Other people worked for me. They left for better jobs and better pay. They told me that except for the pay, they would stay. They told me, "You need me, call. I'll come help."

REGRET

I sit here thinking back on the days when I was a walking bucket of toxicity, a ball of rage, a flamethrower hosing everything.

And yet, there are people who saw this and stood by me. They still do.

I don't get it.

And that is my regret - that I hurt too many people without just cause. That I drove away too many people because I refused to control myself. That I chose to be someone I now look on with sadness and regret.

I cannot undo that damage. If I could, I would. No sacrifice is too big to erase, not just heal for that leaves a scar, but to erase as if it had never been. I would do it.

Maybe.

Then again, erasing will leave a hole, an empty place, a lacunae. What will fill it? Damfino. Would that hole even be noticed? Damfino.

I also wonder about that these people I hurt without cause, will they look at it as a beneficial experience? Will they say, "That too was a good thing."? Will they look on what happened and believe they came out better and stronger for it?

I hope so. I do not know. Still, I wish it had not happened.

BIZARRE

Even more bizarre, sometimes I meet people. We spend a few hours together and they are a 2 a.m. friend.

Why? I don't get it.

Other people I meet, we spend a while together and they walk away never wanting to see me again. That, whether I get it or not, is something I'm used to. 

But those people who hang around, want to come back and so on, I don't get it.

She Who Must Not Be Named is one of those who met me and took an instant liking. Over the decades she has defended me to those who attacked me in her presence. Did not ask her to do this. She did.

"Ben Baker has integrity," she said. "You can tell him something [in private] and it stays there."

Well, yeah. That's the way it is supposed to be. Nothing unusual there, to me anyway. <shrugs>

But why? 

What do other people see in me that I cannot see?

Some of these people say I am a good man.

I am not. I am trying and frequently failing to be better. Don't they see all the pain, hurt and misery I caused in others and suffered my own self?

I don't get it.

Dreams I'll see

My dreams can head off the deep end and start swimming down. I'm too old to believe I'm unique in this, but some times I do wake up and wonder if anyone else is quite as weird.

People who know me are now saying, "Yeah. Gonna have to find people in an mental ward to find weirder dreams than yours."

I also have dreams about people, places and events. I have situations that recur, regularly, with people and places that made a real impact on me. These dreams reflect what happened and how it shaped me into the person I am today.

Not all of these dreams are welcome.

OUT WEST

Spent a year out west living in Henderson, NV., the second biggest city in the state. It shares a City Limits sign with Vegas. It was my first professional job as a journalist. I'd freelanced for the papers in Troy, AL., and worked on the college newspaper. The Henderson Home News and its sister papers the Boulder City News and Green Valley News were the first papers where I made all my living as a writer.

It was good. I learned a lot. I made from friends. Out there I learned the real power of the media for the first time. That was also the first time someone tried to get me to run for office, namely the Henderson City Council.

I did not know while living out there, but I missed the South. I missed trees. I missed being able to grab my canoe and hit a pond for an evening of fishing. I missed being able to grab a gun and step into the woods to get something for supper. I missed so much more.

I really did not know how much I missed. I got the first idea of it when we (wife) and I crossed into Texas. We stopped at The Big Texan in Amarillo, home of the 72 ounce steak. The waitress took our order. She spoke with a Southern accent. I wanted to hug her. It reminded me of a Tennessee family I saw at The Hush Puppy restaurant in Vegas. I heard their accent and it was hard to not run up and hug them.

I got catfish. Real catfish. Real deep fried catfish. I could almost hear the gas burner under the pot holding the hot grease.

I was so happy to get back to the South.

DREAMS I'LL SEE

For years I dreamed of living out there again. It is much less now. For a long time, I dreamt I was back out west either working for or looking for a job with a newspaper. I'd wake up and be angry. Yes. I know I am the only person who can make me mad. These were (are) my dreams and I do not like them. I got angry because my brain apparently feels I need to go back out there. 

Yes. They are just dreams. I do not get angry any more, but I do not like these dreams. I wish they would stop

No. Just no. For years I swore I'd never go back, never go too far past the Mississippi River. Texas, certainly. Past that? Noooooo.

I have visited the northeast part of New Mexico for a freelance job twice and I will go back more, at least as long as I keep the freelance job. It is wonderful there. Live there full time? Don't think I could do it.

Also been to eastern Washington State to hunt with Jesse. I do not consider that to be out west, event though it is geographically. Don't want to live there full time either, but go back to visit and hunt or fish? Absolutely.

FLORIDA

Got into an argument with an editor at the Georgia paper I worked at after returning from Nevada. He was the editor and I was a reporter. Moved to Florida.

Spent 2.5 years working for John F. Lee at the Apalachicola Times and the Carrabelle Times. Unlike the erstwhile Georgia newspaper editor, I have kept in touch with John. 

John Fred Lee taught me A LOT about how work at a newspaper, how to be a boss (both good and bad) and how to do a lot more. I checked with him before writing this. He was an ass at times. Yes, I have his permission to state these things.

Shari actually told him once, "I wish you had lupus."

I. Was. Floored. She told me she'd never wish that disease on anyone. And yet, in a moment of pique, she did. John Fred Lee could do that to people. He was the most divisive person in Franklin County when he ran the newspaper.

JFL shows up sometimes when the Sandman comes. We talk about me going back to work for him. Except as of this writing, he's not at the paper any more and has not been there for years. Still, impressions.

Yes, I met a lot of people there, people who took me and Shari in, protected us, fed us, helped us and even helped pay some of our bills when she had to quit work because of her lupus and the need for a hip replacement. To all of you, thank you. I wish I could tell you how much it meant.

Anyway, yes I dream about being back on the Gulf of MEXICO coast and working at the paper with JFL. Sometimes the dreams are good, sometimes bad. When I recall people who were there for us, wow. Too many to name, but three must be. The Miller Clan, led by Xuripha and the Pennycuff clan led by Charles. They did so much.

Then Jesse. He came up mean and nasty. Drinkin', Fightin'. Womanizing. He'd go to work, get done and spend money on chasing those three things. 

Then he found a Savior. He lived for his Risen God.

For a while anyway. He's gone to his reward.

He found out he had lung cancer. No insurance. He could not afford the expensive treatments. His only work was what he could get there in Franklin County before development exploded the place. He knew his time here was limited.

And yet, he paid to have a telephone installed in the house where we lived. Shari was fresh off a hip replacement and needed a way to call for help. We couldn't afford a phone at the time and this was well before cell phones were affordable and available in rural Florida.

You find a person friend like that, you have something worth more than Elon Musk's empire.

When Jesse comes around in the middle of my snoring, I'm so glad to see him again.

CANADA

Sometimes home is a place you've never seen before. Think of the song Beulah Land.

I could not live there full time. I am allergic to snow. It makes me break out in urges to move to the Equator. Some days I still think I could manage that. I know I could manage it if my beloved South ceased to be.

Will and Maggie.

I frequently dream of going to Canada. I wake up happy and full of joy that I was in the Great White North and then as I wake more, I realize it was just a dream. It has, a time or two, brought me to crying because I was not truly there.

Here's also a place where my dreams derail from reality. One time, I was dreaming about being there and coming back to the US. We rode a golf cart through the border checkpoint which looked exactly like a flea market. Booths, stalls, tables, people lined up on both sides selling about anything you can imagine and some things that defy imagination.

Customs had a small office just a few yards part, the US on the south side and Canada on the north side.

Bizarre.

Of skewers and hot pokers

 In a continuing effort to poke holes in stuffed shirts and run hot pokers through some eyes, a great friend has lent a hand.

He bought the domain name for the place I live. Being deliberately obfuscatory here because some of this needs to remain confidential until the Great Debut.

This is after an elected board attempted to buy that domain and failed.

Skewer 1.

My friend further bought other domains with different endings for this community. He is fully on board with my plans and is laughing out loud right now.

Skewer 2.

AZGal who is conspirator 3 in this massive eye-poking adventure, is coding the pages. She too is laughing, hard.

Skewer 3.

The pages will support my local business endeavors. Some elected officials have attempted to deliberately sabotage my business endeavors and stop others.

Skewer 4.

The pages will also reflect the above elected board has refused to consider me for post of CEO despite being eminently qualified and having only 1 other applicant *AND* more qualified than some who previously held the post. Would I take the job if offered? Irrelevant.

Skewer 5.

One of the elected board members self-styles as a digital creator. This person now does not have the chance to create the person's grand online vision.

Skewer 6.

Another elected official was alerted to the purchase, but is not privy to the specific details. This person was only told an overseas corporation bought the domains.

Skewer 7.

When this purchase is mentioned, we shall have splodey heads among the elected officials.

Skewer 8.

When the project has its Grand Debut, the splodey heads will be on the level of Fat Boy (some of you will get that) with fallout being far, wide, toxic and noxious.

Skewer 8.

The Short Pain Life of Norah Vincent - Part II

 Norah Vincent is dead.

Who is Norah Vincent? A better question is "Who wasn't Noah Vincent?"

Think John Howard Griffin. Think Ralph Ellison.

Please leave your arguments about gender constructs at the door. How you choose to identify yourself is not my business. I do not want it to be my business. Please do not make it my business.

Argue the idea behind this blog if you like. Cut loose! I like it.

TO READ OR NOT READ

To read or not to read. That is the question. Whether tis more idiotic to remain unread and look down upon those who cannot read, while being exactly same, or read and by reading realize one's own shortcomings and by realizing, end them. Yeah. Shakespeare is gonna have Words for me when I get to the next realm of existence.

Ennyhoo.

I have not read Mr. Griffin's work. I probably should. I did read Mr. Ellison's work at the prompting of a HS English teacher. She said I would really like the book.

I read it. The only reason I read it is because she suggested it. Were it a class assignment or even an individual assignment from her to me, the book would remain forever unread. It's how I roll.

I told her I did not like it. And yet, it has stuck with me. I vividly remember passages. With 40+ years of experience now behind me I can still say I did not like the book. Today, I appreciate the book. Like, well ... maybe. Need? Without question. That book was a shot of verbal nutrients to an embryonic philosophy that continues to grow today.

Mebbe I do like it after all.

LEARN MORE

Until today - 10 March 2025 Gregorian - I had no idea the person Norah Vincent existed. Now I do. Now, I must learn more. Why?

Read this.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2006/mar/18/gender.bookextracts

Norah's literary work is the experience men have. 

Someone is going to insist this is a hasty generalization, perhaps a bandwagon fallacy or some other kind of flawed logic. G'head.

Norah said the 18-month experience living as a man so transformed her, that her only release was the final option. Sad, sad, sad. It is also reflected the reality of being a male Homo sapiens. Men account for 80% of suicides. Men also commit somewhere around 90% of violent crimes.

Causation is not correlation? Then you explain it. We'll get to a statement on reality in a moment.

What Norah reports in her book is what heterosexual male Homo sapiens in the United States and likely the modern world experiences. Is that experience universal? It is for every heterosexual male Homo sapiens I've come across. It is in the anthropological studies and books I've read.

(Unless you are an anthropologist or sociologist, I'm willing to bet I've read more of the studies than you have.)

If you are that person who says this is so much fertilizer, I'm willing to bet you are not a heterosexual male Homo sapiens.

Remember, reality is under no obligation to conform itself to your expectations. Nor does it have to be warped to my preconceived notions. Arg. Complicated. Lemme simplify.

If the truth hurts, yer living wrong.

Can't make it any clearer than that.

IT'S TOUGH

Norah said that time she lived as a man, it was tough. Ellison wrote the same thing. Griffin wrote the same thing. Quibble semantics if you wish, the base premise is the same; live as someone else to experience what they have to go through. It is fucking HARD.

The difference? Norah died by assisted suicide in Switzerland in 2022. 

It is tough being a man. Women have a hard go of it too, but in today's modern societies - Taliban ruled Afghanistan, Iran and other places ain't modern - they have it easier than men.

You ain't gotta believe me. Norah did not want to believe it. Rather than stand on a belief without empirical evidence, she lived it. Well, she lived it for as long as she could and then she quit living altogether.

Do you have the kind of stamina to prove me wrong? Are you willing to risk the kind of breakdown she had to prove me wrong? Reality is, a lot of men don't have what it takes to live as a man in today's world. Some men are so shredded by it they resort to violence. Norah writes about that too.

Norah was also a lesbian and a feminist.

Ooooo. I just heard the wind go out of a LOT of sails. Truth and pain, truth and pain.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Men have to live up to a higher level of expectations than women. We are expected to earn more. We are not supposed to cry or show reactions to pain. So many things are required that are not required of women. 

If a woman defeats us at anything, we are ridiculed. If we defeat a woman, we get, "Ooo. So you beat a woman" with as much sarcasm as can be packed into that small statement. A tie? "What, you ain't man enough?"

A woman defeats a man? "She got lucky." A woman loses to a man. "Yep. That's what happens."

We have to be macho!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZ1glxX1BiQ 

The standards are not the same. As evidenced by suicides, violence and etc, male standards are harder than those for women.

Part II? Is there a Part I. Yes. Ain't ready to share it yet.

What do they see?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOAjAWToYMI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhEHB0a7Uyg

Both of these songs speak of a daddy's hands.

I posted about my own arm enders in a thread in another social media outlet. I wondered if the scars scare or intimidate people who look to close. I have plenty, on both hands.

Some scars came from being in idiot, the left index finger being one. That scar is a reminder of a cut that went to the bone. Wrapped it with a paper towel and electrical tape and went right back to being an idiot.

The oldest one is sort of a scar. Ya gotta look really hard to see it. It's a black dot under the skin. In second grade, I was bouncing a pencil and slammed the point into my hand. The graphite hung around for the 50-something years.

The left hand has 2 sets of scars from surgery. The right hand has one scar, but a second will be joining it before much longer. Carpal tunnel is annoying, but the fix is amazing.

Lots of scars from working on stuff and farming. Cabbage knives don't play. Sure wish I could get a case of 'em like we had back in the 70s and 80s. Dirt cheap, sharpen with a file and they could CUT. I only semi-joke when I say if you went to the Radio Ranch without a weapon, they'd issue you a cabbage knife at the door.

Ahhh. These hands stripped threads off a 1.5-inch bolt; yes, I used a cheater bar. Howard Morton and I stripped the threads off a 2-inch harrow axel bar. "Two monkeys on a 2-foot cheater bar," Howard said as Dad put heat to the bolt with the cutting torch.

Don't know how many nuts, bolts and screws these hands have tried to remove. Got no clue how many carcasses went under a knife in my hands. That meat fed so many families across 3 states.

These hands have removed a bullet, from my own finger. These hands have cut, intentionally and accidentally, other people. Intentional cuts were to remove hooks, warts, bits of metal, etc. I've never cut anyone out of anger.

These hands have punched things, but never in anger into another human. Doors, trees, cars, brick walls are another matter. A door here at the office bears witness to redneck rage. Working on that. These hands have also been the rock someone needed to steady themselves. Working on that, too, to get better at it.

These hands held the most precious things ever presented to them, my kids. I still recall what it felt like to hold Jesse and Susan moments after they were born. For weeks after Jesse was born, I felt the hospital bracelet on my wrist, despite it being discarded when we got home.

These hands dealt with both kids when they'd done something badly wrong. Not from anger, though. When I was done, well, if you are a real parent, you know what I went through. If you are not a real parent, you cannot understand.

These hands have wiped away every liquid substance the human body produces from other people and myself. Cerebrospinal fluid? Yep. Not many of you can say that.

These hands have reached out to lift people up, almost never to hold someone down and never to hold someone down once I became a professional journalist. Someone will argue that point. Well, if the truth hurts, yer living wrong.

These hands have written articles, stories and tales. Some news stories crashed the careers of some very important people. Some stories lifted people up. As best I know, these hands never wrote a story that caused someone to commit suicide. Can't say that about some brothers and sisters in ink.

These hands wrote stories that made people laugh. That's easy. These hands wrote stories that made people cuss - easy enough- and vow revenge on the hands and the rest of the body they are attached too. These hands wrote stories that made people cry, in a good way and a bad way.

I remember looking at my Dad's hands. I marveled at the size of his fingers. "You'll get there one day," he said. I did. I did not comment on his scars. I still marvel at the memory of Dad's hands. As Holly Dunn sings:

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'
Daddy's hands were hard as steel when I'd done wrong
Daddy's hands weren't always gentle but I've come to understand
There was always love in daddy's hands

Gonna just leave that right there.

These hands have plenty of scars, but not all are visible. Some are only visible if you were there to see how these hands managed the moment. Some of those stories created physical scars physical and invisible scars.

Today, I think I can see some of the fingers beginning to warp. I know Arthritis is settling in for a long-term stay. I can see invisible scars, even though I often wish I could not. But, I need to see the invisible-to-others scars because they are reminders of who I used to be and how I am not that person any more.

Today, I wonder what people see when they see these hands of mine. Do they see the scars? Do they even look at my hands? What would they think if they could see all the scars?

Doesn't matter. These are my hands. I am responsible for them.

More scars are on the way. May lessons that create those scars make me a better person. If so, I will proudly wear each and every one, visible and invisible.

Breaking an arm to pat myself on the back

The Chamber of Commerce annual banquet is a venue to announce community awards. I have one of them and share the second with the awesome people who work at the paper. I'm only eligible for one more.

As I exited the 2025 event, Sarah came up to me. She asked if I had a minute. Yes, always, always, yes.

"I just want you to know you were nominated for Citizen of the Year," she said. "You are (something - have now forgotten the exact word) at the Mastrario house." 

Damn allergies.

As I continued to back out and then head out, I remembered something else Sarah told me. When Wyatt was a munchkin, one day he ran through the house screaming "Ben Baker! Ben Baker!" "Kids," she added.

This week I found out I've been nominated for COY every year for about 10 years, possibly more.

whoa.

The selection committee is made from previous years' recipients. A few of the past recipients were/are hell bent on making damn sure I never get the award. 

I get that. When you tell the truth, people get upset. Some people get violently upset. One person, in 2012, got upset enough to try to have me killed. Yeah.

Lemme tell you this again - If the truth hurts, yer living wrong.

A few are almost equally determined to make sure I do get it. To those, thank you. I will try ever harder to live up to who I need to be, You inspire me.

The Hurt Locker

Anyway, part of me is living wrong. I have parked part of myself in the hurt locker. Part of me wants that award. Part of me wants to scream - HEY. LOOK AT EVERYTHING I DO! WHAT THE ARE YOU DOING THAT COMPARES?

I look over the list of past recipients and consider what they did to received the award.

Because I am flawed, imperfect and yet corrupt, I think about everything some of them did. I wonder why they got the award. I know it is a matter of politics, jealously and hatred.

In other words, the reasons excuses decisions the awards committee has are exactly the same reactions I had when I left the annual event irked that I did not get the award yet again.

That's wrong. I should not be doing this for the attention and praises of man. I should be doing it because it needs to be done. Period. Who gets the credit is irrelevant. Well, to God be the glory and thanks to the Great Maker. I'm just doing what Jesus said we should do.

I should celebrate those who did receive awards, regardless.

I'm trying. I really am. I will do so from now on. 

When things like this begin to grind on me, I go back to the Stoics (thanks Mike!) and the Bible to find peace. Both remind me these things are not something I need. Whatever it is, is not something I can control. Instead of marinating in my own bile stew, I should take a breath, look around and find something that needs to be done. Then, go and do it.

That is who I want to be.

Hulk Smash

A while back I went to Canada and visited the White Clan. The visit made a fundamental change in who I am. Wrote a book about it (email for the link if you want one).

Among those lessons from the Great White North is that I can do a better job of appreciating what I have and letting go of what I do not have.

Up there when I started to turn back to thoughts of what the future would bring, I recalled the Incredible Hulk, the strongest being in the MCU. Hulk has no upper limit on his strength. I imagined my own Hulk taking those thoughts and Hulk Smash! them into oblivion.

It works for me. I need to use that more often.

Unexpected Messenger

Yesterday (today being Tuesday, Feb. 4), I was attending business. I got out of my truck and a gent in a car pulled up next to me. He wanted to talk. This itself is not unusual; being the newspaper editor I get this frequently.

His message was most unusual.

"Thank you," said this man who is also church pastor. (I forget his name and church, if I ever knew it. He did not give me his name.) "Thank you," he said, "for what you do for this community." He said my work makes a major difference in the lives of so many people.

Damn allergies.

Then, he did his own Hulk Smash and brought me right back to the ground.

"You will get your reward there," he said, pointing skyward. The conversation continued in that vein for a few more minutes. With each of his comments, I stood a little taller & straighter and bowed & knelt a little more.

By the time we parted, I was both immoveable and a vapor on the wind.

It took me a while to grasp exactly what this unexpected messenger did.

He gave me exactly what I needed and exactly what I wanted and exactly what I asked for. Literally. Since the banquet, I was asking for something to remove the resentment I harbored. I cried out from my soul that my foolish and idiotic fascination with someone's opinion of me would be removed.

His words have done that. He brought me peace. 

I needed it. I have again closed the hurt locker and embraced the truth. Now, I just gotta hang on to that.

Good Job

To those who have received awards of whatever kind, good job! I am proud of and happy for you. Honestly. It is good to be recognized for what you do. People, me included, need positive reinforcement. Take that award and use it as a base to grow and do better things.

You can do it.

As for me? If I ever get the COY award, it will not be me getting it. I'll just be the person holding the plaque.

The real award will go first to God and then to the people who pushed me, lifted me, carried me, inspired me, worked next to me and helped me.

Without God and these people, I could not. Could not what? Pick something, anything. I couldn't do it.

If I ever get the award, yes, I'll hang it somewhere. I will use it as a reminder that I have so much more to do. It will be a marker to tell me, every time I look at it, that I cannot stand on the past. I must live in the present and prepare for the future.

It will be a goal I will work toward, not for the accolades, but because I want to make where I am a better place for everyone. That work has to start with me.

Carpe Diem. Amor Fati. Memento Mori.

UPDATE

5 Feb 2025. I just officiated the marriage of William to Eunice. William is the pastor above.

Confirmation.

Speechificationing

 Whose speech should be protected? 

Seriously.

Then, why should it be protected?

Whose speech should not be protected? Why?

Whose speech should be banned? Why?

I ain't in favor of protecting or banning anyone's speech. 

Protecting means safeguards for that speech. I object to that. If you have something to say, then say it and be prepared to deal with the repercussions.

If you say something and you get physically attacked, that is not OK. The attacker needs a suitable reply because that person's actions also have repercussions.

If you say something and get shouted down, oh well. Find somewhere that wants to hear what you have to say.

It is a nothing

This thought came to me as I was driving somewhere. I may be wrong.

Those who support abortion rights should be delighted by the SCOTUS decision to hand abortion decisions over to the states. The SCOTUS decision has effectively rendered an unborn fetus parasite person collection-of-cells nothing. 

Not exactly "nothing" in reality but nothing as far as the federal government (FG) goes. If the FG does not regulate it or is barred from regulating it, then it does not exist.

The SCOTUS decision says that whatever may be growing in a woman's womb is not a person. Whatever is growing is now, under federal definition, nothing.

This runs to the Interstate Commerce Clause of the Constitution. Follow the link and come back once you understand the ICC.

In order for the federal government to have a say in anything, that decision has to be rooted in the Constitution. Over the decades, the ICC has been warped out of all logic as it is used to say Congress has powers well beyond the original scope of the Constitution and the Amendments. That is a blog for another day.

MOVE FROM ONE STATE

People are free to move from one state to another. Generally. People on parole or probation are special cases.

When some "thing" crosses a state line, the feds can get involved. They do get involved. 

A pregnant woman crosses a state line, state A to B. The feds cannot do anything about this, see the Right to Travel in the Constitution (and disregard what sovereign citidiots tell you about driver's licenses, insurance and tags).

The woman has an abortion in state B. She returns to state A no longer pregnant.

2 REQUIREMENTS

The feds cannot do anything about this. If the feds could do something about that, it requires one of 2 things:

1) The feds recognize what the woman was carrying in her womb was a human being. Abortion is then murder.

2) The feds recognize that what the woman was carrying was a thing. As she crossed a state line and left said unborn fetus parasite person collection-of-cells in State B, this is interstate commerce and subject to federal regulation. The ICC says if something (not humans) can cross a state line, it is subject to federal regulation.

Important note here: The unborn fetus parasite person collection-of-cells has the potential to be left in State B. That is enough for ICC regulation, IF those cells are a thing. Leaving that unborn fetus parasite person collection-of-cells in another state is no different than leaving behind some hair, the skin cells we constantly shed, a gall bladder after surgery, etc.

SCOTUS effectively said what is/was in the womb is not subject to federal regulation, ergo it is a nothing.

Really. Pollution can cross a state line (and does), hence the volumes of federal environmental regulations. Lots of other stuff crosses state lines and is subject to the feds.

But not whatever is in a woman's womb. It is outside the purview of federal regulation, despite crossing state lines one way and not coming back on the return trip.

Tell me about daffodils

As one of his last official acts, President Joe Biden pardoned some people.

These people were not convicted of a crime. Yet.

These people were the target of President Donald Trump. Trump famously said he was gonna use the Justice Department to go after his political enemies. https://www.npr.org/2024/10/21/nx-s1-5134924/trump-election-2024-kamala-harris-elizabeth-cheney-threat-civil-liberties

I do not expect Trumpers to believe this, despite plenty of evidence, even though it appeared on Fox News as well. https://www.foxnews.com/video/6355810503112

Anyone really doubt that? Do you honestly think he would not try to use the federal government to go after those people?

Sadly, someone out there is exactly that delusional.

Y'all keep them rose colored glasses on. Better yet, get you some Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses.

Daffodils

We, or I at least, shall apply daffodils.

The Cantservatives are having mental breakdowns over this pardoning. As I write this, I am stuck at home as my driveway is ice. The Cantservative breakdown has flooded my yard, town, county, state and the Southeast in a literal storm of Cantservatie snowflake tears.

Yes, I blame them for the snow flake storm that shut everything down.

How am I then applying daffodils?

Because Trump did the exact same thing, with the same exact result (just less of the frozen stuff in my yard because I live in a very Cantservative community). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_people_granted_executive_clemency_by_Donald_Trump

Trump pardoned political allies, some of them anyway, to let them escape the long arm of the law. Liarberals freaked out and went on the same rampage the Right is doing now.

What is the different between Trump and Biden? The spelling. What is the difference between their actions? The names of the people pardoned and when it took place.

Lest ye forget, pre-emptive pardons are not new. Gerald Ford pardoned Richard Nixon. They were a Cantservative administration.

Furthermore

Furthermore, this is not new. Cantservatives are crying this has never happened before. When Trump did it Liarberals cried it had never happened before.

Y'all are the textbook example of "those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it.

Pre-emptive presidential pardons date back to George Washington. https://www.whitehousehistory.org/the-history-of-the-pardon-power

It has happened repeatedly throughout this nation's history. It has also engendered the same ballistic response from the opposition.

It's gonna happen again. It will get the same response.

How you feelin?

H: Are you happy?
M: Yes.
H: <mutters> I'm not.

D: She was a bitch to you.
M: At times, yes.

Still happy. Happier, in fact.

Moanday Moaning Musings

Sometime tomorrow, Stefan and Nicole will head back to Switzerland. Switzerland is in the middle of Europe and has the Alps, cheese, chocolate and watches. Sweden is a Nordic country on the Atlantic Ocean and has surstromming, a world-famous bikini team and an immunity to snow.

They came to Ashburn at my request, extending a business trip stay in the US. I am so glad they did. I love meeting people from other countries and dearly wish I could visit where they are from.

Mark Twain famously said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." If you can't travel, you can read books about other places. If you can't travel and you have the chance to meet people from other countries, do it.

Travel has changed many people's lives. The late comedian Richard Pryor changed his routine after a visit to Africa. He no longer used a certain word in his stories and jokes because of how African changed him.

You will find we are all people. Our governments, whatever they may be, do not fully represent who we are, what we believe and what we do. On the person-to-person level, hate is hard to come by. On the nation-to-nation level, well, hate sometimes seems to be the default mode.

Talking with Stefan and Nicole online and with text messages, we discovered we have so much in common. We're pretty much the same, just living in different countries. Stefan says they are the Swiss version of rednecks. Yep. They would, if they chose, fit right into South Georgia if they moved here.

My (our, this, depending on where you read this missive) little community has welcomed people from around the world regularly. Our visitors are overwhelmed by the Southern Hospitality. They leave with memories and friendships to last a lifetime. 

In Stefan & Nicole's case, they are coming back for the Fire Ant Festival, bringing their daughter Victoria with them. If you are at the FAF, I hope you get to meet them.

Saturday is the Christmas parade. After the parade, lunch is served in my office. All are welcome. Bring a dish if you like.

I am bringing my famous, or infamous, chili. Every year it has a secret ingredient, which I announce after people eat. I do not remember every secret ingredient from over the years. A few are: rattlesnake, gator, bison, fallow deer, buffalo and black ants. Staple ingredients are ground deer, ground wild hog and ground beef. Some years I add bacon, some years I don't.

The exact spice and herb mixture changes every year.

The only thing I promise with my Christmas Parade chili is, it is not hot. I bring peppers so those of us who want to feel the burn can. Aside from the physical temperature, the hottest thing in the Parade chili is black pepper and not much of that.