The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

“My goal today is to convince you that this court is not comprised of a bunch of partisan hacks,” said Justice Barrett in a speech at the Mitch McConnell Center in Kentucky last winter. Oh boy, that was before the leaked Roe v Wade draft that would overturn 50 years of precedent, something most Justices declared would be settled law. After the leak whatever trust folks had in the non-partisan court was pretty much shredded. Can you spell Dred Scott?

At this point in American history, at least the one we’re still allowed to teach without the stuff that might make students feel uncomfortable with, you know, native genocide, Japanese forced incarceration, slavery, KKK, lynchings, minor embarrassments like that, the last institution of capitol D democracy was the Supreme Court. Above the fray, unbiased judicial readings of the law, considered opinions unclouded by partisan politics, right? Right?

The Court was made a political pawn when McConnell refused to consider Obama’s nominee Merrick Garland because it was too close to the presidential election. The Democrats rolled over for this, always the pillow fighters in a political knife fight, but when Barrett was rammed through just prior to the next presidential election, well, it doesn’t take a Philadelphia lawyer to understand what court packing is all about. McConnell is a liar and a hypocrite, but then, all’s fair in love, war and politics, I guess.

So, Amy, to answer your assertion you made in a very partisan setting that the Court is not a bunch of partisan hacks, c’mon, who’s going to believe that now? You folks sold us a used car without the brakes and the wheels about to come off. Nice work if you can get it.

So you think ending a pregnancy is baby killing. Pure and simple like most things in life, right? No room for compromise on this, I guess, too bad for the victim of rape or the mother whose life is endangered if the embryo is carried to term. Tough luck, will of God, the Bible tells you so, whatever. A doctor who performs an abortion, they’re a murderer. Someone who helps, they’re an accomplice to infanticide. A pharmaceutical company that makes and sells an abortion pill, well, they’re selling poison and they’re killers. Pure and simple.

I wish I could think like this, all blacks and whites, no greys, no ambiguities, nothing that would keep me awake at night. Just read my religious text, Christian, Moslem, Dr. Seuss and find the answers spelled out. Women need to cover their bodies and their faces, music is evil, blasphemers should be punished. Says so in the Quaran. Says so in the Bible. Says so by the cat with the hat. Even when I refuse to believe science or the news, I can believe in that. And I have a hat.

The trouble is we need to all come to some kind of accommodation on what is right and what is wrong and what falls in between. What you call murder, most people in this country – and I literally mean most – consider this a woman’s health issue, a women’s rights issue, a question of who controls her own body, you or her. We could agree to make having a child less burdensome for the poor, we could make contraceptives and sex education available to more of us, we could make abortion something other than a desperate solution. But no, we aren’t really a very baby friendly nation, us Americans. Poor health care, high infant mortality rates, high mother mortality rates, poor parental leave programs, high daycare rates, do I need to go on?

If abortion is killing, what is selling handguns or semi-automatic rifles? Where’s your outrage? Where’s your consistency? Guns don’t kill, outlaws do? I will tell you, as warning, you may think you can tell women what to do but those days are long gone with Ozzie and Harriet and the Beaver. They’re not going to wear the burqa and they’re not going to turn back the clock to the Eisenhower Era. You may think this is making America great again, but you will reap the whirlwind of women’s rage. Be careful what you wish for….

The Southendomish Casino celebrated its Grand Opening last week. The ‘Big Hearted Little Casino” advertised itself as the gambling emporium with the most generous sluts in Puget Sound. Unfortunately, a typo in the Gazette brought unwanted scrutiny from the Sheriff’s department and the gambling commissioner, but the next issue’s correction cleared the air. SLOTS. Probably a lot of disappointed johns … but it IS a gambling joint, not a brothel.

Even so a small group from the Little Chapel in the Ravine, led by Pastor Paul, picketed noisily in the parking lot until Casino Security asked them to protest somewhere NOT on their private property. Trudy Hawkins and her husband Bobby lobbied to stand their ground against the Devil’s Playground, but Pastor Paul argued for setting up at the highway where their placards would be just as effective where cars turned in to the casino’s fresh blacktop entry. WOULD JESUS GAMBLE HIS PAYCHECK??? DON’T BET AGAINST HELL! An hour of marching in circles on the shoulder, Trudy needed to use a restroom and so did Wanda Jenkins, but damned if they were going to go into the casino to relieve themselves. Pastor Paul, always the mediator, reckoned they’d made their point anyway so the little band of righteous warriors broke for a potty stop. By then the Casino parking lot was crammed with their neighbors and friends hoping to cash in on generous slots and inexpensive bar specials.

The South End doesn’t have a patent on Sin, but we sure welcomed a place to house it. At least the first few days….. Generous or not, the casino always won over time, although plenty of folks happily tell me they’re lucky at the tables. The Laws of Probability don’t apply apparently, or else their bookkeeping is sloppy. I don’t think the Southendomish are going to get rich, not so far from the freeway. But I’m betting they’ll do okay even WITH the folks who never lose.

It’s not uncommon down here on the South End to be at the leading edge of the breaking wave. So far ahead, actually, that those trailing behind misunderstand us. And of course misunderstanding leads to mistrust and mistrust leads to avoidance and avoidance leads to contempt and contempt leads to fear and fear leads to hatred. We artists understand this implicitly. Or at least we like to say that is why our work is reviewed with such negative criticism. We’re just ahead of the Curve. We’re misunderstood. We’re too sensitive for this world.

Just recently the Institute of Medicine called for a review of a malady we South Enders have lived with most of our lives, one that heretofore was considered, not a disease, but a psychosomatic condition. Those who have never known its symptoms easily viewed us as whiners and misfits, slaggards and sloths. We were treated as psychological lepers, shunned by our newly arrived neighbors and subjected to their silent scorn, just as those with depression and anxiety were once similarly abused before science substantiated the underlying root cause. We suffered silently, secure in the knowledge that we were victims of a disease little understood or studied by the medical community.

Until now. What previously was diagnosed by our decidedly non-medical neighbors to the north as chronic laziness or chronic fatigue syndrome has now been deemed a true physiologic pathology deserving of a proper name: Systemic Exertion Intolerance Disease (SEID), a crippling affliction most of my buddies and me have lived with for years with little sympathy from our mizzuses. Well, guess who’s going to have to apologize now, eh, little Miss Critical?? And, with a kinder gentler healthcare system in place, maybe now we can get the care and treatment we need … and even a sizeable disability check to help us cope with our difficult lives.

So next time you see a South Ender balking at work or employment, maybe you’ll show a bit of compassion. All I can say is you better hope this isn’t contagious.

House GOP Leader Kevin McCarthy received a standing ovation from House Republicans during a meeting on Wednesday after he addressed leaked audio from a phone call he made days after the January 6 Capitol riot.

Just to recount the events that led up to this standing ovation from the Grand Old Party, Rep. McCarthy denied he ever made disparaging remarks about m’lord Trump, going so far in those comments where he stated he would ask His Majesty to step down, things had gone too far, insurrection had been incited and encouraged without condemning the storming of the halls of government. He didn’t say that, he told reporters, but of course … then came the transcripts and audio of the phone call where he had said all those things and more.

Honesty these days is a devalued value for the Republicans, obviously. Caught in a bald faced lie, some folks might be chagrined, some might apologize, some might ask forgiveness. But not the GOP leader. And not the House Republicans. Truth? YOU COULDN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!! Now, if this was just cutting down the Washington family cherry tree, we might shake our head and tsk tsk a bit. Trying to overthrow the election and the government, calling for the head of Mike Pence, sacking the Capitol, planning the revolt, I don’t know, call me Pollyannish, but geez, this is a bridge slightly too far. And what I fear here is that these folks would gladly do it again, just doing a little less texting and phoning in case the press got hold of the evidence.

Remorse? No sir, no remorse. Apology? Get real. A standing ovation? C’mon now, have you no shame, sirs and ladies? Make America Great Again? What kind of America is this? Because I don’t think our parents would recognize it. My old man who fought in World War 2 might. It would look more like the country he fought than the one he fought for. Zieg Heil!

Well, it’s a sad day down here on the South End for many of the faithful congregation who worshipped every Sunday with the man we called Father
Freddy. Father Freddy was summoned home far too early to the Halls of Heaven this week and his sudden departure was a terrible shock to his many followers, many of whom have held vigil at the make-shift church that once was the Tyee Grocery. Candles flickered in the old concrete block store, giving a mournful reminder to traffic out on the highway that one of our own has passed.

Father Freddy died the way he lived, doing what he loved. He was what the press called — with so little real understanding — a Nettle Handler, one of those men who believed that the Word of God could be divined through manipulation of the dangerous weed. Every Sunday, as his congregation held their collective breaths, Father Freddy would grab those eight foot stalks of Itching Torment and squeeze Testimony from each and every one as the congregation moaned and swayed and sang and prayed. Every Sunday, until this last, Father Freddy would wrassle those stinging stalks to their Rightful Place, prone against the homemade pulpit of stacked Coca-Cola crates left over from Tyee Grocery’s halcyon days.

“Get thee BACK, you poisonous serpents,” he’d yell, wrapped in their toxic embrace. “You hold no fear for those assembled here!” he’d holler, soon to be victorious. And as One, the entire flock, exhausted from exhortation, would wail their Hosannahs on High, their faith once more confirmed and restored.

Last Sunday, Father Freddy succumbed to the hideous stings of a 10 foot monster he’d grown under halogens in the nettlearium behind his trailer, a greenhouse filled with stingers of every size and variety. Parishioners wanted to call 911, but Fred avowed that his faith would sustain him. Horrified, they watched him slowly scratch himself to death. Services will be held this coming Saturday in Father Fred’s special grove of wild nettles back in the ravine behind the church. Gloves are recommended. Donations can be made to the Nettle Survivor Network in the name of the Nettlecostal Church. Father Fred, I know, will be Sorely missed!!

I don’t have a Twitter account. I don’t stick my hand in electric sockets or lick frozen playground posts with my tongue either. Life is tough enough these days without self-inflicted torture. But I do take notice that there are plenty of folks running around with their hair on fire over Elon Musk buying the company for 50 billion bucks and some spare change, fearing, I guess, that the Tesla Man will be good to his word that the social media platform will be open to any and all whackjobs, right wingers, MAGA nuts and conspiracy theorists. Free speech, he calls it. And to some degree, it is.

But gee, somehow I feel like we passed that Rubicon years ago. Sure, Twitter kicked the President off, tired of his lies finally, but last time I looked, the guy had plenty of outlets for his Big Lie, TV and radio, the entire Republican Party. No problem getting the word out that he was not a Loser, he was a Victim, the election was stolen from him.

I remember back when news programs were required to air both sides of a story. Fair practices, I think it was called. Simpler times, I guess. Fox News arrived on the scene, calling themselves the Fair and Balanced network, implying that CBS, NBC, ABC and PBS were biased. Give the listeners what they wanted to hear, don’t worry too much about the facts. Pretty soon the talking heads were presenting the ‘news’ without much filter between opinion and old school reporting. Walter Cronkite must have rolled over in his grave and turned his head face down.

Hot talk radio rolled in, pretty much the only ‘news’ source in most of the nation beyond the urban centers, Rush Limbaugh and the brothers stirring up grievances, giving vent to the anxieties of a rural decline. Facebook and its imitators followed, not claiming to be a news source but a news source for most of its subcribers anyway, loaded with fake bots, misinformation, a veritable National Enquirer on the virtual newsstand, muddying the water between truth and fiction, alien abductions and political dirty tricks.

Free speech. Sounds good, doesn’t it? The genie is out of the lamp now and if you think you get three wishes, wise up if you think one of them will be to return to the lamp.

I hear rumors to the effect that Kool-Aid is served from 55 gallon oil drums down in the palace at Mar-a-Lago where the president-in-exile holds court. The steady stream of Republicans in more than name only drink directly from the drums, ignoring the oil slicks on the surface while Mr. Big Pants nods approvingly. Or, in a few instances, hilariously screams You’re Fired! before summoning the next contestant. All the right wing power brokers line up at the front gate, waiting their turn, terrified they might offend His Mightiness and lose an endorsement.

This is the state of politics in America. Thank god we can be diverted by the Russian onslaught of Ukraine, a war that makes Sherman’s march through Georgia look like a Boy Scout outing. Oh my, the bad bad Putin is threatening the democratic institutions of Europe! What can be done! What can be done? Or inflation, what about inflation, why doesn’t Sleepy Joe do something about inflation???

Meanwhile, in hearings, in courtrooms, in the mainstream press, His Importance is being sued, litigated, investigated and probably eventually indicted. No matter to the legions who Believe, who think the fat man behind the curtain is really Oz the Magnificent, who would vote for him a third time despite two impeachments and an endless stream of tax evasions, incitements for insurrection and plenty of testimony from his sexual abuse victims. Parse it, explain it, hypothesize, draw your own conclusions, the sad sorry truth is a goodly part of our population, our neighbors and relatives, believe the lies and mumbo-jumbo they read in Facebook.

I don’t like to say it too loud, sure don’t want to irritate the already irritated masses, but … the Deplorables are winning. The Republican Party thinks they can ride this tiger, play on their fears and their anger, and still maintain control of their agenda, whatever that is these days other than obstructionism. They forget all too soon that the mob in the Capitol January 6th was calling for Pence to be hanged. The guillotines might be coming back….

When you read in your newsfeeds that the Russian people are under the impression that the so-called war in Ukraine is really an intervention to save the Ukrainians from the Nazi government that subjugates them, you might wonder how it is, in this Information Age, how misinformed they can be. Granted, the Russians pretty much control the news outlets and if you were to say the intervention was really an invasion, well, good luck to you, Comrade, in your new home at the gulag. The internet still works, the truth is actually out there, available at the click of a computer, a little curiosity might uncover the facts.

But no, the Russians are like us, intellectually lazy, gullible as folks who send money to help Nigerian princes and altogether more interested in stories that feed their gripes and grievances. Those damn Ukrainians, discriminating against Russian speaking citizens, preventing them from rejoining the Soviet Union. One of the tenets of democracy we used to be taught in grade school was that we all have the right to express our opinion. So be it. But let’s agree that not all opinions are equal and some are undeserving of respect.

Bill Gates gave a speech the other day saying he was surprised, surprised!, that people would accuse him of creating vaccines that are dangerous and deadly. He argued that his vaccines had saved countless thousands of lives. What the ….? he wondered. You can still hear folks out there in the hinterlands of talk radio screaming for Fauci to be locked him. Or worse. If the mobs can call for the heads of people who have dedicated a goodly part of their lives and money toward helping mankind, what do you think they would do to you when they come looking for new culprits, fresh scapegoats and more targets for their rage.

Ignorance might be bliss, but not to those around the ones whose beliefs are based on mumbo jumbo and hot meat politics. Keep an eye on them, they’re arming themselves with pitchforks and AK-47’s. And one of our political parties seems to be encouraging them….

Some of the boyz down at the Marina got to talking about that Ma Day Studio Art Tour that’s been building steam since before the turn of the century, hauling traffic in for 14 years and now has expanded not just to 3 days instead of the original 2, but 2 weekends instead of 1. Before long, Cap’n Jack worried, it’ll become the Mother’s Day to Father’s Day Art Tour, an entire month of traffic backed up from the South End Diner to the Stanwoodopolis freeway exit, all those art lovers and their U-Hauls for carrying back their purchases to Bellevue, Seattle and beyond. They remember when the Tulip Festival was just a small bulb in the imagination of the growers …. before cars eventually outnumbered the flowers. And it makes em nervous.

It should! The South End Economic Development Council holds secret meetings at ReFlux Realty, scheming to sell properties to art aficionados who, in turn, will become artists themselves in the primordial paint soup of the South End, buy easels and brushes, learn raku, break glass and build stained glass panels, sculpt auto wreckage and ultimately double, triple, who knows, the size of the Tour. It’s a self-replicating Beast. And when they all begin to starve through overpopulation, they’ll still need to pay those mortgages on their dream studios. The only other ‘jobs’ here, of course, are real estate agents. So the vicious circle completes itself. More artists, more art, more wannabees, more starvation, more real estate agents, more sales, prices rise, properties subdivide, underwater mortgages swell …. and so the bubble becomes bigger than the egoes of the artists who planned this Tour back in the 90’s.

Some of the Marina layabouts wanted to stop this in its tracks before there was no turning back. Keep the missuz from going studio to studio Mother’s Day weekend. Course, the Tour was planned from the Get-Go to be their default escape from marital duties. Let Ma go traipsing through the art while they’d watch some ballgames. And now, 14 years later, they’re only starting to realize the true price of their mistake. Too late, guyz!! Way too late now!