My Cheatin 'Heart?

As to Ashley, I am innocent.

As to my public internet writing, I must be judged, I guess, against Department of Homeland Security rules. They permit their snoops to use the taxpayers' computer for "limited" personal browsing but forbid visiting sites...


 ...that are "obscene, hateful, harmful, malicious, hostile, threatening, abusive, vulgar, defamatory, profane, or racially, sexually, or ethnically objectionable."

Looks to me like  the TMR is 13 out of 13. A perfect score. Thank you mommiedotguv for all your inspiration.

Iowa Caucuses Interim Report

Iowa, where we decide who you get to vote for:

Clinton is still above 50 per cent, though barely. Bernie, the cutie version of Eugene V. Debs, is second, about 20 points behind. The other are seesawing. Including Jim Webb at 1 per cent, which is a damned shame if you ask me.

Explanation: Clinton leads because --  no matter what the evidence of her lies, crimes or near-crimes, --  the unwashed left has but one answer: "Why are you picking on this poor woman?"*  Bernie is doing pretty well because even here we have a mass which believes the fairies can  go to Washington and bring us back a free lunch.

In the GOP, Trump still leads but may be fading. Walker and the traditional GOPers trail him. Rand Paul, the semi-libertarian, has faded to 5 per cent or less.

Explanation:  Trump struts because the general electorate loves -- and often understands only  -- trash talk. Paul is down for several reasons, among them the diseased liberty movement here. It stems from sleaze bags, at least one them indicted, who helped operate his dad's race four years ago. Another reason is the general media focus on the dramatic moments (Gore in!? More secrets on Hillary's server? Joe Biden surges!).

But, in all, both fields are so packed than no poll number makes much sense as a predictor.  It is usually like that six months before the caucuses; the uncertainty is elevated by the population explosion of wannabes this time around.

They're almost all at the state fair this  week. And if you hope that at least half of them chomp a fatally tainted corn dog, you are guilty of unChristian thought.


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*Credit  for phrasing  to BC.

The noble legacy of Ferguson, Missouri.

I missed it, dang it, and the current Ferguson news keeps reminding me of my cultural loss.  It happened this way:

Just 19 nights ago,  terrified in my more dependable truck with Texsun camper in the box,  I found myself  among the fleas of the giant unwashed armpit usually known  as the St. Louis, Missouri standard metropolitan statistical area. ("Fleas" is metaphorical, of course. The reference is to eight lanes of frantic 10 p.m. westbound traffic,  fleaing, so to speak, the area.)

I can handle such motorized riots and have for years, in fact, when my own bad judgment leads me to the world's great Gothams. But this was a little worse because a new trans-Mississippi bridge project had hurled me into a detour under the superhighway mixmaster, down into the bowels of the city.  Berlin in June of 1945, but with less charm and security. I locked the doors and blundered through the abandoned warehouses and grimy brick row houses, actually thankful that the street lights were burned out. Or turned off. Or shot out. I undoubtedly would have been more disheartened if I could actually have seen the cultural environment most famously documented by The National Lampoon  report on its 1983 vacation.

I re-entered the upper world in due course, hugging the right lane when possible. Shortly I spied one of those earthy white-on-brown exit signs our government erects to guide us to special attractions.  I always associate them with sylvan settings where I might see Yogi chuckling good-naturedly  as he totes off his latest pilfered pik-a-nik basket.

Wrong, this time, Jim.  It said , "Historic Downtown Ferguson."

I mourn having rejected the invitation. The only bright spot is that if I return to the area I can visit an even more historic Ferguson. I certainly hope I live long enough to accomplish this dream.

The Softer Side

A no-mow zone in the front yard for many years has become about 2,000 square feet of "evolving prairie" or something like that. This creates a lot of trees some consider junk,  mainly cottonwood and willow, but I like them.

You also get some impressive wildflowers when the weather is lush.  I love the kind of flowers I don't have to plant, water, weed, pick, or put in fussy-cute vases.