Basically how I start my day is sipping away that black and bitter, with a bit of sweet, from my french press brew, The Globe and Mail, maybe some Guardian, a YouTube vid, perhaps once in a while I hold my nose and watch Fox, well, rarely if I’m honest. Perusing the news before work. Digest it, jot down notes, maybe write about, eventually, think about it on the stoop. Ride my bike the 35 minutes to work, clear my head, and go and slog and lift, and turn around at the end of the day, and cycle back home. Rinse and repeat.
Wow, I’m a real fun gal. Which is really why I decided to go out the other night, just boredom, really, in a bit of a let’s get this party started sort of place the other night, as a friend had come over for a couple of beers, and ticktock went the clock after she had left, around 8. And well, hadn’t been out in close to a year, why the heck not? Or, that’s what I said to convince myself. Well, I found out why not, thank you kindly universe, message received.
And, I figured something out about how the shnoggin’ doggin’ escape artist got out, as I remember the weather-stripping on the bottom of the screen door is coming off, so it leaves the door ajar a bit. So she hits it with her paw, maybe accidentally, and noses out the door to go pee. Realizing she is footloose and fancy-free, she goes off on a sniffing excursion cross the parking lot, or maybe just out front, and gets nabbed by the animal control guy who peruses the village, and off to jail, she goes. No strange visitors in the night required. And simpler. Vera sort of simple.
Black with a little sweet was how one character on this British crime drama asked for her coffee to be, and I like that. See, not at all picky on the sort of sweet, really, just a dab though. I’ve been watching a couple of them lately, British crime dramas that is, so not sure if it was from Vera or Case Histories.
As a news geek, those shows just seem to offer this something different, with little if any politics, no Hollywood endings, beginnings, or otherwise, or any of that white bread pabulum generally offered this side of the great pond. So, I can lay back and be entertained kind of TV for, em, I guess maybe news geeks, and others I’m sure, you know, who appreciate a good British crime drama, for something else then maybe history docs, or serious lectures on historical events, or whatever else I do for “entertainment”.
Few guns, creative deaths, quirky characters, and a rather hot Scottish lad in the one (Case Histories, which is shot in Edinburgh), dark moody private eye, with big blue eyes that miss nothing, betray everything. Sometimes have no blawdy clue what the heck he is saying, but I muddle through.
The other, Vera, is this Northumberland DI, sort of female Columbo type, played by Brenda Blethyn, with the long trench, and the weirdly wonderful vehicle, but with a sidekick.
Both have some of the most beautiful and moody landscapes. Amazing scenery, and these beautiful limestone buildings, and the characters are interesting, good casting, dialogue, and I become lost in the story, and the twisting journey’s down many a hollow way. Divine; and rare.
The other cool thing about Vera, is this seamless integration of the community, the diverse people who make up modern Britain, second, third generation Brits, intermingled as they are, of all shades and originally from many far-flung places, and they do not even mention it, race rarely comes up, never part of the script, rarely a part of the mindset of the characters, and its fresh and open-minded, with characters that are not all dolled up and better than you or I, they are you or I. You almost know these people. Maybe a mosque in this episode, a Nunnery the next, with no judgement, no politics, no stereotype, but rather often the opposite.
It just has that something I need to turn off not the mind, but the need for my mind to find things out, know things, investigate things, read the news, watch lectures on history, documentaries on history, and so these shows are a great escape with some eye candy, and interesting stories, and places, engaging me away from the constant conflict and bad news that dominates.
Anywho, so black with a little sweet has also sort of becoming the style of my blog and its most recent contents.
You know, not masked with cream, but the real deal no whitewash, but with a little sweet. As honest as I can manage at any given time, maybe brutal, maybe I’m easy on myself, and on others. Straight up with nothing to mask the bitterness of the brew, giving it a nice sharp jolt to the system first thing, and acknowledging that is me in a nutshell – are you awake yet? How bout now? With pictures, if not mine than someones, for the days when I can’t be bothered to, say, clean off the counter to get a picture of a coffee, or a pot, or whatever.
They say the truth shall set you free, and fly where others fear to tread, to ask not what you can do for me, but what we can do for you.
That’s my head space more and more lately and reminds me of when I was very, very small and I found out about the foreign legion via Bug’s Bunny. Always kind of fantasized about running away to the wilds of some strange place to, well, do whatever they did. Vague sort of fuzzy thing, but leaving the world a better place sort of thinking has permeated my brain since I was young, in the shadow of a Grandma who was always on about Biafran children starving, and how lucky we were to have what we have, and to be thankful, and eat your peas.
So as an idealist, I see things, often, in one way, and only one way. Therefore over the years I have sought knowledge from other angles, in all places, from all places, waded into the vast and eternal sea of knowledge to combat the know-it-all mindset one could have over time. I believe that ideas must be shaken up and challenged, to see if they have any substance, any truth to them at all, and for them to grow and spread.
And, I’ve always been interested in American politics, well, no doubt cause I was born there, and it is a tad more interesting than Canadian.
Although, that said, not of late, as Trudeau has been flying around the G7 playing the role of the caped crusader against tariffs. Rather amusing to see such a shift on the Canadian stage, as politicians in Ottawa linked arms this week and sang Kumbaya. Well, fine, not exactly, but a rare bit of solidarity against the big bad rumptus to the south of us.
To be honest, generally, not exclusively, Canadians actually prefer their politics dull and boring, to be honest. Usually, that’s exactly what we get, with variations on a theme of diplomacy, humility, intelligence, and mandates.
And, then, you got the U.S. Not a lot of boring, not a whole lot of dull, where good looks and fancy suits win elections, and a tribe of personality and schmoozing wins the day almost every time, in storms the rumptus. Waltzes on down to Singapore, after ditching the democratic ninny’s back at the summit, as he doesn’t get diplomacy, certainly not humble, intelligence? That jury’s out. And mandates? Well, maybe mandates fedex’d direct from somewhere in Russia, and smoochy-smoochy with Un of North Korea he goes, a bowing and scraping to appease and legitimize a ruthless and murderous despot? Yeah, that’s where we are this week.
Aaaannnnd, what great things did the rumptus get in return? Nada, zilch, but promises and handshakes, photo-ops and, oh, well, one thing Kim Jong Un got, and the very thing that his father and grandfather before have asked for and been refused, repeatedly, by each and every successive American prez, he got the liar and chief to suspend U.S. military exercises that are staged in South Korea.
Now, and who else kinda likes that idea? Well, China, Russia sorta LOVE that idea, given that they both share a border with North Korea, albeit the Russian is much smaller, and both are not real big fans of the U.S.; or haven’t been since the U.S. became an economic force in the world.
Surprise, surprise, whattaya know. That’s a shock.
So let’s get this straight, a people who pride themselves on their great and noble freedom, freedom from the state, that great American ideal, squashed under the designer shoes of a man who would have the entire state underneath his control; which in effect, you know, is actually MORE state.
Think about it, the Oval Office would prefer it has it’s grubby little fingers in every corner of government, controlling what the DOJ does, what the EPA does, even what the journalists say or do not say, and loyalty from everyone, as they gaze lovingly at attention in full dress regalia? Really?
Oh dear, but of course those are all manufactured deep state lies, therefore complete bull, just lefty propaganda to appease the snowflakes.
And that’s the American way, or at least it would seem so of late.
And I imagine that statue that stands in New York harbour, lantern raised to see into that dark night of the soul, weeping for the children imprisoned at her southern border, for the crime of seeking asylum.
So I go out seeking more Vera, in her frumpy clothes, and keen mind.
I go seeking the landscapes and stories, the questions, the answers, the clues, to escape the raging storm infecting the airwaves, the hearts and minds. To escape the anger at what people say, what they do, and what they do not do. The lies, the stab in the back with bible quotes, the cult of personality that floats around the 45th like debris from a tornado, swirling and whirling, raising a cacophony of noise, confusing the narrative, and spinning as one lie replaces another, and day by day, it continues and continues and continues on, and I can not turn away, or at least not for long.
It just will not be ignored. It creeps in unannounced, at some point, by someone, and some way, racist comment here, foul language across the southern states and granny and grandpa in a nursery homes curse each other out over games of gin-rummy, whilst officials explain away cruelty with bible quotes, and bots raid your Facebook feed, and chaos tweets on and on, and it spreads like a wildfire on a dry prairie, raging through, dividing the place that I was born, and it is so hard to look away, not at least have my say, for freedom, and all those ideals that seem to have been lost somewhere along the way.