The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

The State of Washington just put out a call for interested owners of beachfront properties to take possession of the many dead grey whales that are washing up on shore this year, 70 or so to date. After hauling a couple onto Island County beaches, apparently they’ve run out of DNR land to dump the carcasses so they’re turning to us private citizens to accept the blubbered beasts. I know if I had a bit of shoreline to spare, first thing I’d want is a decaying whale about 40 feet long weighing tons of rotting fat. If you’ve ever been near one going to goo, you might think twice about letting the State haul one up to your beach home.

Course, if you maybe don’t live at your beach home and maybe if you got a few neighbors you don’t like much, then a dead whale for a high tide monument would send a serious message. Might even draw a few lawsuits from the adjacent property owners and forced removal of the seaside attraction, not, I suspect, a cheap solution. You adopt a rotting seal or sea lion or, god help you, a whale, trust me, you will live to regret it. Forty years ago a sea lion washed up down at our beach. First couple of days, me and my dog Dr. Gonzo studied the dead mammal out of idle curiosity, never having been that close to a sea lion back in Wisconsin where we had emigrated from.

But about the third day in the summer sun the smell became unbearable. Gonzo would wade out into the Sound to avoid getting anywhere near it and by the fourth of fifth day we decided to walk in the woods, just forget about gagging our way past the corpse oozing down on the beach. It is not something you want on your beach or just down the beach or maybe even within a quarter mile if the wind is blowing your way.

It’s good of the State to ask for volunteers to take these deceased cetaceans off their hands. Might even set an example for good citizenry. If it works, maybe we can ask folks with a little acreage if they would consider accepting garbage and save us hauling it to the overflowing landfills. A little here, a little there, spread it around, not pile it all up in one place. I know me and the mizzus could take a little back in the woods. We’re as patriotic as the next South Ender.

Okay, let’s have a show of hands. How many of us have read the Mueller Report? That’s what I thought. Kind of a slog to read, I can tell you first hand. Bob Mueller isn’t going to get a nomination for the Pulitzer in non-fiction, not with the prose in those 350 pages, not exactly a page turner. How many of you have read the summaries? Okay, a little better and probably all you need to get the gist of it. Unless you’re a Republican, in which case all you read was total exoneration, you know, without the caveat that Mueller put in there (more than a few times in the book’s entirety) that if he thought Trump deserved full exoneration he would so state. This is Bob’s straight-laced way of saying the investigation sure isn’t over, but as for his role, gotta wrap it up.

Course, now we have the administration and anybody within pissing distance declaring executive privilege and refusing to cooperate, turn over documents or sit for Congressional interviews. Trump himself, asked to answer a few questions from Mueller, said sure, welcomed the opportunity, but stonewalled for over a year and then finally submitted written answers to written questions. You can read the answers for yourself. But here in capsulated nutshell is what he said, maybe save you some time: Might’ve happened but I can’t recollect. Don’t remember that, other things were pressing. No memory of that, sorry, can’t help you.

What you learn from reading the report is that Mueller was stymied all along the way. He couldn’t prove collusion, but you’ll come away thinking there was plenty of smoke. Like Bob said, Trump sure wanted to collude, but he and the other 3 stooges just weren’t up to the task. As for the obstruction of justice, well, you don’t have to be a Philadelphia lawyer to find our boy guilty guilty guilty. He makes Nixon look honest. Total exoneration? If so, I would so state.

My question to the jury, meaning, the Senators and Representatives of this fine country, is the original one here, how many read the damn report? My guess is very few Republicans bothered themselves. Time to move on, nothing to see here, nothing to read here. Investigate where Mueller left off? See no evil, hear no evil, speak none either. If I were a reporter, my first question to Senator So-and-so would be, you read it? Show of hands, gentlemen, c’mon, put em up if you read it. I bet the Russians did.

Last week a storm front across the Midwest generated 50 plus tornadoes that tore through cities on a stretch of hundreds of miles. In one segment a radio reporter asked the mayor of an Indiana town that had been ravaged the night before if she thought the tornadoes were the result of climate change. This is what the news media considers a fair question these days, point to a hurricane or a flood or a snowstorm or a tornado and ask if we think these were the spawn of global warming. The mayor, probably expecting questions more on the line of emergency response, muttered something to the effect that the weather sure is changing.

Give me a break, hey. If liberal reporters keep asking Chicken Littles if the sky is falling, before long we’ll all start to push back. Was that thunderstorm last night another example of climate change??? Or is this question just the media’s way of making the point that yes, Virginia, climate change is real? It sure isn’t science and it sure isn’t any kind of proof. So why not just ask the mayor, who probably doesn’t have a degree in climatology or even meteorology, what her city is going to do to deal with the devastation on the ground and leave the genesis of tornadic mayhem to the experts.

But I do wonder why the fake news media doesn’t occasionally ask Trump if his tweetstorms might be related to rising temperatures. Not only the frequency but the volatility seem correlated to increasing investigations and accusations. Maybe political scientists don’t have a force rating, but lately they seem like F-5’s that wreak major violence across the internet. Global Warming? I think we know the answer to that.

Every day, every week, every month for the past 30 we’ve witnessed a growing frequency of tweets and rants and fist pounding that is record setting. And as you know, inconvenient truth or not, statistics don’t lie. The White House is heating up at an alarming rate, its own insular bubble of greenhouse toxic gases, spewing more venom than cows fart methane. Who knows when the place will blow sky high. Who knows if the walls will buckle and melt. We’re in uncharted territory and if the scientists are right, there’s very little time to turn this disaster around. Existential crisis? Oh yeah, go ask Chicken Little.

It’s the day after D-Day and social media is all abuzz about Melania’s disrespect for the 75th anniversary ceremonies by wearing shades. Judging by the uproar, you’d think she had flipped off the Queen. Or worn a swastika tattoo on her forehead. Sunglasses apparently need to be removed as a sign of respect. I don’t wear sunglasses so I wouldn’t know the Rule, but geez, she’s a model for cripesakes. Jackie Kennedy always wore sunglasses in half the photos back when but I guess we didn’t have Twitter to set her straight.

And now we got the Yuge controversy revolving around Trump saying the moon is a part of Mars. We’re parsing every little quote now, I suppose looking for faux pas, not faux news, maybe to prove the guy is an idiot and a moron. C’mon, people, stop this! Grow up! We know he’s an idiot and a moron, how much more proof do ya need??

It just seems like we’re taking this animosity to a new level of Low. We got high crimes and treason out there and we’re worrying about sunglass etiquette. Or the Trump boys drinking in the pubs. Or some goofy reference to the moon and Mars? Seriously?

Because seriously, we have a menace in the White House. We got a guy who goes overseas and criticizes his own folks on foreign land when he’s not busy mocking the mayor of the major city he’s holed up in. Where he thinks the moon’s orbit is doesn’t matter one whit to me, what matters is figuring out how to rid ourselves of this bull in the world’s china shop. Before he undermines our democracy and our government, our prestige and our honor. Maybe Melania thinks the future’s so bright she’s got to wear shades, but she’s one of the few….

So a duck walks into a drugstore, picks up a box of Trojans and walks to the counter with it under his wing. The pharmacist rings up his purchase and asks, ‘you want me to put this on your bill?’ The duck, aghast, quacks, ‘I’m not that kind of duck!!’

So I’m walking into my own local drugstore and this kid and his girlfriend are palavering in the aisle I’m walking by. She’s crowbarred into torn designer jeans that must cost a hundred bucks and he looks like he shops Goodwill. ‘How would I know where to find them?’ she asks the boy, ‘I don’t shop here.’ At which point I leave eavesdropping range, get what I came for and head back up to the checkout line. The girlfriend is waiting some ways away, but says, loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘I’m not going to stand there too. You can do it by yourself.’

I queue up with the lad who has a package of Trojan condoms in his mitt and we’re behind two elderly ladies who are waiting for their turn at the register. It becomes a long wait, but finally the two women move to their respective registers and finally I say to the kid, “ya know …

when I was about your age I went into a pharmacy to buy prophylactics for the first time. You had to ask the pharmacist for them back then, didn’t want to leave them out for the prurient public. I was a little nervous, being a kid, so I asked the druggist for Trojans, just like you got right there, and the guy asks, ‘what size?’ Geez, what size? Not something I counted on, I guess figuring one size fits all or something, but finally I mumble, ‘I don’t know, mediums, I guess.’ ‘Naw,’ he says, ‘what size box, a dozen or what?’

I’m sure the guy pulled that on every underage kid who bought his first condoms from that store, probably howled with his buddies every time too.” My kid gives out a nervous little chuckle, not quite sure what to make of this old geezer telling his story, but he’s saved when the counterguy says Next. On the way out of the store, reunited with his girlfriend, I’m wondering if he’ll maybe tell her he bought the condoms but forgot to check what size, see maybe if she’d fall for it. Naw, I think maybe he had other things on his mind….

Good show, what? The Yank wanker has brought his entourage to the Kingdom and to make certain the Brits understand who it is they’ve invited, he immediately weighs in on their Brexit malaise, insults the mayor of London as a ‘stone cold loser’ and calls one of the Royals ‘nasty’. Fleet Street might get away with calling a Royal names, but not so much a foreigner, it’s a family perk, you understand. Trump, despite a recording anyone with a computer can punch up for a corroborating visual, denies ever saying what he actually said. Fake news. Monty Python, where are you when you’re needed.

Welcome to the island, Guvner! As an ugly American, what better ambassador of ill will? What cringe-worthy moments for our emancipated colony? All that fuss over a tax on tea only to arrive two and a half centuries later with a fop for a president? A Shakespeare might do justice to this comedy, but us moderns, not so much. Maybe when the dust clears and the court jester sums up the insanity of these past years, we can find the humor and the pathos in a 5 season Netflix production: Trump Tower, loosely based on Fawlty Tower and actual people.

Trump the Lion Hearted, not so much an English king version, maybe more of a Wizard of Oz lion, the one nervously chewing his tail. The Queen refused to let the American couple sleep in Buckingham Palace, something about remodeling difficulties, more probably concerns about grabbing the privates of the Downstairs maid staff. The poor Brits, lost in the woods of a no deal exit from the EU, now host to Bannon’s boss with a penchant for lack of manners, morals and common sense. Stirs the national mood with a fork, not a teaspoon.

Oh King George, why did you surrender back in 1783? They were ragtag ignorant woodsmen and potato farmers, after all, rude and backward, now they’ve made a clown their prince. That shot heard round the world is become a string of petty nasty insults. Hail to the Fool! Long Live the King!

The vigilantes are at it again, those pesky little rifle-toting ruffians. They erected half a mile of border wall down there in New Mexico funded by donations and helped by good ol’ boy Stevie Bannon, no permits, no problem, just waited til a long Memorial Day weekend then slapped it up. Some of the same folks who feel called upon to patrol the desert regions with rifles and their own posse. Patriots.

Now, in full disclosure, I’ve been known to ignore building permits myself. In even fuller disclosure, mostly I try to ignore building permits and suchlike, not sure I have a real good reason other than plain orneriness, probably not much of a justification, but there you are. Course, I don’t build on other folks’ properties and I don’t take into my own hands to build walls where I’d like to see one even if others don’t. I mean, I could put up a border crossing barrier at the bridge onto the island, maybe keep the traffic down a bit and slow the population boom. Make me happy if not the realtors and the commuters trying to make it back home after work. Just saying.

I lived a couple years in Northern Wisconsin with the Posse Comitatus as neighbors. Nice folks, the Posse. Gun toting freedom lovers. They had some pretty hard notions what counted as patriotism. At least for white folks. And folks as religious as they claimed to be, which, between you and me, wasn’t much. Sure they wouldn’t like Mexicans. Or Muslims. Probably wouldn’t care to sit next to a Canadian either, but they might be fooled, thinking they were just ordinary folks, not snow-crazed liberals or whacky Francophiles. Truth is, they didn’t like hardly anybody who wasn’t them or close family. Some people just have poison running through their veins, I don’t pretend to know why.

These cowboys down in New Mexico, same breed. Full of piss and vinegar, full of themselves, full of anger, plenty full of righteousness. Scary folks, for sure, and nothing I’d care to tolerate. But if it’s a wall they want, I say let’s build one around the White House, hammer it up while Trump is watching Fox and Friends with the volume up loud, explain next morning we just wanted to keep his enemies out, not him in. I think that makes sense and I’m sure he will too. You want to help, I’m taking donations. Thanks for your help.

I’m probably a lot like you, hoping someday to climb Mt. Everest. Because it’s there…. Or maybe because I’m willing to risk my life to ascend to those heights others only dream about, willing to camp in veritable trash dumps down below before being guided by Sherpas carrying my oxygen and food and gear past the dead bodies of my fellow adventurers who didn’t quite achieve their goal. Danger is our middle name, mountaineering is our game.

Sure, I’ve been seeing those photos of a snaking line of colorful parkas clambering toward the summit of Everest toe to heel, looks like a movie line-up around the block to get into the last episode, the prequel to the sequel, of Star Wars playing in Antarctica, everybody roped together for that final Push, probably not much time to snap a photo or leave a flag, just turn around and try to slip past the others still climbing. ‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, coming through here.

I guess we’ll need some extra oxygen, maybe a few more packets of freeze dried food, probably another Sherpa. Kinda wish there was a Himalayan maître d we could tip to get a better spot in the line, something near the front preferably, slip a few grand into his fleece lined pocket, just one more expense on top of the tens of thousands already paid for climbing fees, tour guides, expedition expenses, etc. Next year we can hit the safari circuit, add a stuffed lion to our trophy case alongside the photo from the summit, great cocktail bragging rights. “Yeah, 11 dead climbers we had to step over to reach the peak, but nobody said it would be easy. Did it bother me? No, ma’am, kinda focused on the goal. Can I get you another martini? Brought the ice back from Nepal. What? No, just kidding. A little joke we mountaineers have for you Flatlanders. Wait, where you going?”

I must be the only person on the planet who hasn’t gotten addicted to Game of Thrones. I ask myself: what is wrong with me? Why can’t I dedicate a few hundred hours to a series about war and mayhem, rape and Dragons? Have I grown up? Is that the problem? Or do I just not know what I’m missing? If the season finale rates right up there in ‘news’ viewers’ interest with Trump’s odd little dealings with Deutsch Bank, who am I to be disdainful of the show. Ya gotta do something with those boring evenings.

I mean, if folks care as much as they do about a Starbuck’s coffee cup peeking out of the background and now a water bottle, for godsake, visible to the eagle-eyed viewers of this week’s final episode, and cry foul, foul! for such an egregious mistake on a show that costs about 15 million dollars an episode (equivalent to about 5 million Starbucks coffees as long as we’re immersed in trivia), then we might have a lot to worry about this coming election whether the star of The Apprentice gets fired or not. Just saying.

I admit, I never played Dungeons or Dragons. I gave up on Star Wars about episode 2 when it seemed like adolescent pulp. I couldn’t even watch the 3rd episode of the Lord of the Rings after about an hour of computer generated mayhem in the 2nd episode. I think my English major background ruined me, I really do. I like literature more than comic books. At least when I reached the ripe old age of 11 or 12. I think movies ought to be thought provoking, not just entertainment. I know, I should get counseling. I live in the wrong country. The wrong era. The wrong place and time. But would counseling really help?

That coffee cup misplaced in the Game, maybe I’m being too judgemental. Maybe I should write to the anal compulsive who gleaned that mistake from the midst of elaborate sets and thank him. He ruined the series for folks who wanted a break from their banal reality. He called their attention to it. He was the moral equivalent of a person who blabs the ending in an intentional spoiler. I may have to watch the Games on rerun. Just to see if I can spot the Starbucks. What else do I have to do that’s better?

We’re about a year and a half away from an election that will, no doubt about it, define where this country is headed for a very long time. Trump. Or not Trump. That is the question. For the GOP it’s an existential question. If Trump is soundly beaten, they can start writing the memoirs of the Republican Party, maybe try to salvage some small shred of lost pride when in truth they sold their collective souls to the man who would be king, kowtowed to a bully and a know-nothing, paid umbrage to a demagogue who promoted conspiracy theories and made a mockery of truth and facts. If Trump wins, they can continue to play the sycophants, lapdogs to a man who owes allegiance only to himself. Well played, gentlemen, well played.

If the term ‘constitutional crisis’ has been over-stated this past year, let me state it once more. We’re in a constitutional crisis. No need to recap the myriad ways this President has flouted the balance of power between the 3 branches of government. This week he sicced the Attorney General on the FBI and the CIA, while accusing their previous heads of treason without evidence. This from the guy who refuses to accept any evidence the Russians tampered with the last election. Putin told him they didn’t, that was plenty for Trump, better to go after the investigators. Better to stonewall the investigative committees. Better to accuse the accusers.

Not saying this isn’t an expedient tactic. A trapped animal will chew its leg off to escape the clamped jaws. Ugly stuff, politics. Uglier yet with a man who usually hires out his dirty work but only has the courage of name calling from a distance. But now we’re treated to accusing the intelligence community of this country of ‘spying’. Spying on Trump’s campaign committee. Sure they were offering deals to Russia to help Donald get his hotel in Moscow, sure they were playing fast and loose with the Ukrainians, of course they were in contact with WikiLeaks. Nothing to worry about there…

We’ve investigated this before. We’ve investigated Benghazi how many times? We spent years on Whitewater. Now we have the Attorney General, the man in charge of the FBI, investigating ‘spying’. Kind of a charged word, spying, to refer to an FISA authorized investigation. If you hang a cloud of suspicion over our federal law enforcement, if you call the news media the enemy of the people, if you think you won the last election’s popular votes because illegals voted, if you claim that there was no obstruction and no collusion and complete exoneration by Mueller’s spying, tell me why I should think if Donald Trump loses the 2020 election, he’ll concede and go peacefully into his Tower.