Remember when much of Texas froze in the dark for days last winter because its power grid wasn’t up to the task? The Energy State! The fault lay with the state’s over-reliance on renewable energy sources, which failed miserably.
It was widely reported back then that the problem was renewable energy, but the explanation was not as informative and succinct as this brief video from PragerU. Enjoy and learn, amigos.
The state in which I live is now green on that stoplight thing, which means the Kung Flu situation is pretty much over. You can come out from under your bed now. What’s that? You like it under there? You feel safe and warm? From an affliction with almost a 99% survival rate, which in most cases is mild and you recover at home with Tylenol?
I don’t wear a mask anywhere unless it’s required, usually to enter a store. I put one on without a fuss, the thin, useless, homemade, cloth mask I’ve kept folded in my jeans pocket for months. It’s pure theater. That’s it to the left. It does squat aside from forcing me to recycle air my body is trying to eject.
The people in my mountaintop town are spectacularly addicted to masks, a phenomenon I watch and roll my eyeballs at whenever I’m downtown sitting at a sidewalk table enjoying a nice café Americano negro. Even toddlers are masked.
According to a government website, about 1.5% of our town of 98,000 people have had Kung Flu at any level, which is to say that 98.5% of us have not been infected, and now it’s going away. Boy, those are really frightening figures.
I wonder if we’ll be able to kick the mask habit or if we’ll continue flocking about the sidewalks like the sheep we’ve become. Stay tuned.
This video focuses on the mask obsession. I imagine it was taped in New York City, a heavily Democratic town and, of course, coronavirus is extremely political, Democrats being far more mask-addicted than we smarter conservatives.
AS WE BLAST further in the presidential campaign season, you’ll be seeing more conservative, political stuff hereabouts. If it’s too much for your sensibilities, I offer these three alternatives for blog posts about life south of the Rio Bravo.
One is Steve Cotton who lives occasionally on the sweltering Pacific coast at Barra de Navidad. You’ll get your doses of Mexican parades, sunsets, food and bugs.
Two is Babs, an old lady who lives in the Gringo-infested burg of San Miguel de Allende. There you’ll get lots of news and photos of her grandchildren because old ladies do that, but she offers fun stuff about Mexico too. You will encounter Trump Derangement Syndrome on occasion, however.
Last but hardly least is Al Lanier who lives outside San Miguel. His blog is very good but, once again, you’ll encounter Trump Derangement Syndrome at times. Al, like me, is a former newspaperman. He’s also a refugee from communist Cuba who now supports the Left in the United States. Latinos can be contradictory and amusing, eh?
As for The Moon, we’ll be back to normal after November 3. That’s not to say that we’re going completely political till then, but there will be plenty of politics due to the hilarious lineup of Democrat hopefuls and the endless fun of the Blond Bomber.
The hole is too deep and full of gold not to mine it.
The top video illustrates beautifully the hypocrisy of leading Democrats over the years on the issue of border control. Then they liked it, now they don’t.
Below is a great take on Democrat candidate Mayor Pete. That vlog is run by a house painter who lives in a mobile home he calls the Hobo Dojo in the Los Angeles cesspool.
It’s his, I believe, second appearance here. Let’s give him a hand!
BEING A FAN of President Trump automatically makes me a Nazi, a racist, yada-yada, according to many who vote these days for the Democrat Party. Many, but not all.
I put folks who still vote for Democrats* in one of two categories:
Nasty people, a loud and sometimes violent minority.
Well-meaning, naive people, the majority, calmer but out of touch.
I’m here to tell you a tale and, simultaneously, toot my own horn. Let us title what follows: Good Deeds by a Nazi. It will be fun.
In the late 1990s, I did volunteer work in Houston with two agencies. One was Meals on Wheels. Since I worked evenings at the newspaper, my days were free, so I delivered meals to the needy who, more often than not, were (egads!) black!
What was I thinking?
One in particular became my favorite, a 99-year-old woman who lived alone in a shotgun house in a ghetto abutting downtown. Even on days when I was not delivering her meal, I would sometimes stop by her house, and we would sit on the front porch a spell.
She enjoyed that a lot. She had virtually no visitors, having outlived all her friends, and her relatives were not worth warm spit.
At times I would buy her food on my own dime, and I’d wrap it in foil at her house, and put it into her freezer. Once the two of us went to a high-end seafood restaurant on the South Loop. It overwhelmed her, and most of her plate went home in a doggy bag.
I ate all mine, however. It was very good. I have a photo of her sitting in the passenger seat of my green Ford Ranger pickup on that very day. She dolled herself up for the occasion.
For her 100th birthday, I got a large number of my newspaper coworkers to send cards. Many included cash gifts. She received so many that she opened only a few. One wonders how much money she left in that pile of envelopes in her spare bedroom which was full of all manner of junk. She died soon after her 100th.
My other volunteer post was working at an agency that employed retarded people, oops, I mean mentally challenged. It gave them a purpose and maybe they earned some cash. I don’t remember.
What we did was cane chairs.
I was one of two or three normal people who did both caning — I had to learn — and supervising of the other people, the ones down a few steps on the ladder of mental acuity.
They were exceptionally nice people. Some were only slightly challenged. Others were severely disabled.
But they could all cane chairs.
We had a Christmas party in 1996, which is when the photo was shot at the top. The group includes both the retarded folks and the normal ones. I played Santa.
It was a good time, even for a Nazi.
* * * *
* I long did, but it was different back then.
(Note: One day, making my Meals on Wheels rounds, a guy ran a red light and creamed me in my Ford Ranger pickup. The truck was quite caved in on the driver’s side, but I was not hurt. The other driver was very contrite. A year after the accident, he phoned me and asked how everything had turned out, which I thought was very nice. Another of those damnable black people too! A Nazi can’t get a break.)