Oh, you think the moon is real?

 

The last 4 years have seen a resurgence in people believing conspiracy theories, especially when their so-called leaders promote and encourage such asinine theories that have been disproven by science and in-depth investigation.  But it's very hard to argue with a "faith based" argument that is devoid of any scientific proof, acceptance, or knowledge.  So I propose a new tactic in dealing with willfully ignorant folks who embrace and defend their baseless conspiracy theories:  One Up them.

When someone tells you that the moon landings were faked, don't argue.  Laugh, and dismiss them with "oh, you're one of those people who think the moon is real?"  Double down on something even more ridiculous.  

Flat earthers?  "Oh, you're one of those people who believe we're on a planet called Earth?"

Lizard people, disguised as world leaders, who run our government?  (a Q-anon, aka Q-inane believes) "Oh, you think they're lizard people?  Everyone knows they're actually otters underneath those human looking suits."

Satan worshiping pedophiles who run a ring of human trafficking out of the basement of a Washington DC pizza restaurant frequented by Leon Panetta?  (another Q-inane core belief)  "Oh you think Satan worshippers eat pizza? Don't you know they're all lactose intolerant? That's why they rejected christ."

Don't argue with these devoted disciples.  Push them deeper into doubt.  Present a more ludicrous position that even the dullest knife in the drawer who abhors science and peer reviewed facts would have difficulty grappling with and trying to understand.

The 2020 election was stolen, and was actually a landslide victory for T****!  "Oh, you believe there was an actual national election last November?  All they did was have the NSA gather everyone's DNA and retina scans while they THOUGHT they were voting!  The otters controlled who won!!"

What If It Was "Red Lives Matter" Instead?

As a son of European immigrants, and a white male who was born and raised in Northern Indiana, lived & worked in IN, SC, AZ and now California, and who has lived more than 1/2 a century, I've seen many parts of the United States, Europe, Asia, and Australia.  I've had countless civil conversations with men and women of various economic groups, ethnicities, ages, religions, and political affiliations, and usually I've learned something from each of those interactions.

When some of my high school friends embraced right wing politics during or after college, I did not follow them, and scratched my head as to what led them down that path?  When some of my high school friends embraced progressive, socialist, left wing or anarchistic ideologies in college or thereafter, I was busy raising a toddler and being the sole bread winner in my new family's household.  I could relate to the empathy my left leaning friends had for the under-dog, the little guy, the disadvantaged, forgotten, and under-class of society, since I grew up fairly poor myself.

My maternal grandmother would get government cheese at the Senior Center.

At one time in my childhood, my parents applied for food stamps when my father was laid off from Rand McNally as they closed their Hammond IN book printing facility, and dad could not find gainful employment to support the family.  We didn't get it, because we owned a home (with a substantial mortgage) and an old high mileage Pontiac Bonneville that dad used to get to work and then look for jobs when I was in Jr High School. But I understood what it was like to be poor, eat saltines for lunch at school, wear only hand-me-downs, and rely upon my maternal grandparents for food.  I never got an allowance, and didn't understand why any parent would just give their child money that was un-earned.  I had a paper route in 6th and 7th grades, delivering Chicago Tribune, Sun Times, and WSJ to a 8 square block area every morning, rain or shine, on my Schwinn banana seat bike - the Sunday edition of the Tribune was MASSIVE.  So I have first-hand experience with pulling myself up by my "boot straps", having had nothing handed to me or my family from the state or federal government.  But my father was able to get a loan for his house in a majority blue collar suburb of Chicago, where lots of Poles, Slavs, Germans, Hungarians, Irish, Hispanic, Italians, and Scandinavians lived.  He got a unionized job in a book bindery before I was born, and for most of my childhood, we were in pretty good shape.

Just a few miles away, in Gary IN, most of the city was not in very good shape economically.  The steel mills all began to close in the 1980s, and the tax revenues dried up in Gary, Easy Chicago, Hammond, and Whiting.  Street lights, traffic signals, and general infrastructure broke down and didn't get repaired.  The majority of Gary entered an economic malaise from which they've never really recovered.  The majority of Gary was also African American.  But what if the majority of Gary's citizens, instead of being African American, were caucasian and all had red hair?  I know this might sound silly or absurd, but give me a minute or two to explain.

Since Memorial Day 2020, when George Floyd was publicly murdered by Minneapolis police and recorded by civilians as it happened, all 50 states in the US, and many countries around the world, have seen widespread public protests against racism and police brutality against black and brown people.  What if George Floyd, instead of being a large man who was a former NCAA basketball playing African American, was a large red haired caucasian?  And what if every black and brown person who have been beaten or killed or wrongly convicted by the legal system had red hair and white (probably freckled) skin?


Hold that thought in your head for a moment.  Replace "black skin" with "red hair and white skin".  You can certainly SEE that someone has red hair, up-close, or from far away.  Many of them are originally from Scotland, Ireland, or Scandinavian countries, where the genes for red hair are not rare.  Red haired folks are no different than brown haired, black haired, blond haired, or gray haired folks, but you can immediately see that they've got red hair.  Take off a red haired person's hat, and there is no ambiguity that they are indeed red haired.  Many red haired men often grow beards, which show off their red hair even more.

As I kept hearing "all lives matter", and "blue lives matter" and white folks call in to shows on the radio (NPR) say "you have to first acknowledge there's discrimination AGAINST white people, before we can talk about black lives matter" it began to become very clear to me.  Many white people have a BIG problem with the word "black" because of the systemic racism within their narrow view of society in which they were raised and have been living their whole lives, racism that Most of them are not consciously aware that they are practicing.  So imagine a world for a moment, where there were NO BLACK PEOPLE, whatsoever, and probably no brown people either, for this analogy to work and make sense for the white people who read it.  Instead of African Americans being the most discriminated and disadvantaged folks in the United States, RED HAIRED folks took their place.

Think about that, for minute, especially if you're white.

Say that all red haired folks couldn't get VA loans when they left the military, because of the color of their hair.  They couldn't live in nice neighborhoods, without the KKK burning crosses in their lawns, throwing bricks through their windows, and hanging nooses from their trees.  Red haired folks were denied job interviews, jobs, home loans, entry into the best schools, entry into non-red-haired "christian" churches in the Southern United States. They were severely beaten and hospitalized when walking their girl friend home at 3am in Charleston by 5 blond and brown haired guys wearing College of Charleston shirts. Imagine that Red haired folks had been brought to the US in chains from Scotland and Ireland and Scandinavia and forced to work as slaves on cotton, tobacco, rice, and sugar plantations, mostly in the South, but some in the rest of the country as well.  When red haired kids tried to enter segregated public schools in Alabama, Arkansas and Mississippi they had police dogs set on them, were fire hosed, and beaten, all because of the color of their hair.

What if red haired folks created better music, more meaningful and soulful and powerful lyrics and rhythms, that they called blues, jazz, gospel and many other genres that blond and brown and black haired artists appropriated, imitated, and played for blond and brown and black and gray haired crowds in bars and concert halls and churches, where red haired folks were not allowed to enter?  What if blond and brown and black haired daughters liked red haired boys, but were forbidden to hang out with or date those red haired boys?  What if the N word was replaced with the G word (ginger)?  And one red haired person could call another red haired person the G word, but no one else was allowed to use it in conversation, in a tweet, on-air broadcasts, in social media, or anywhere else without repercussions?

What if, in the Fortune 500 companies, there were only 4 red haired CEOs, even though red haired folks comprised more than 10% of the US population?  What if red haired folks were 2.5X more likely to die from Covid-19 infections than their blond, black, brown, and gray haired counterparts?  Because of the systemic fear, structural racism, and discrimination against red haired folks, a large percentage of them worked in lower paying service professions, like security guard, bus driver, janitor, short haul truck driver, and health care assistants, and during periods of economic downturns, they were impacted disproportionately to their size in the general population?  What if the relatively few economically successful red haired folks who were judges, US senators, plant managers, or PhD scholars were routinely hassled and scrutinized, delayed by police, security guards, TSA, and retail store loss prevention personnel? "Why is a red haired person like you driving this really nice car?"

If you were a police officer (city or county) in this all white society where red haired folks were routinely discriminated against, you might be fearful of those citizens with red hair.  They have "fiery tempers" after all, and everyone knows "red haired women are trouble" while all non-red haired men know that many red haired women are "crazy".  Broken tail light, failure to use a turn signal, "fitting the description" of a red haired suspect... all of these would be opportunities to pull over a red haired driver, interrogate them - often rudely and with excessive force - and take them in for further questioning when the red haired driver, who was minding their own business and usually did nothing wrong, began to get irritated that they're being hassled for no reason whatsoever... oh... wait... yeah, they have Red Hair.  In the eyes of many of the blond, brown, black, and gray haired officers, most red haired folks "all look alike".

What if in Tulsa OK on Memorial Day 1921, the most prosperous part of the city, known as "Red Wall Street", 35 square blocks, was looted and then burnt down by non-red haired people, while Army Air Corp biplanes dropped petrol bombs on the district, with more than 400 red haired men, women, and children, massacred?  (without a single prosecution, and with zero insurance claims paid)  What if in Chicago Illinois, on the Lake Michigan lake-front beach in 1919, a red haired teenager swam over to the non-red-haired beach, across an imaginary line, that got him stoned to death by all the non-red swimmers?  And then the non-red swimmers went on a rampage killing 150 red haired citizens, and burnt down 1.1 billion dollars worth of red-haired owned homes and businesses in Chicago?  What if all red haired men were called "boy" or "uncle", instead of "mister" or "sir" when they were spoken to by someone with blond, brown, or black hair.

So if you personally have a problem with the phrase "Black Lives Matter", as I first did many years ago the first few times I heard it in my 40s, where I kept telling myself "no, all lives matter, not just black ones" ... then you really should stop for a moment, replace "Black" with "Red" and remember this context.  Think about the analogy I make here, about a country where everyone is white (no black or brown people whatsoever), but the red haired citizens consistently the short end of the stick, a raw deal, a violent and forceful shove back down the ladder of success by all the other citizens who don't have red hair.  Even if they have boot straps, the systematic barriers non-red society has repeatedly placed in their way have made it remarkably hard for the vast majority of red haired folks to succeed, prosper, and be on equal footing under the US Constitution, after the 13th Amendment was passed in December 1865, just 155 years ago.

If reading this has changed even one person's mind or opened their eyes to the reality that the majority of African Americans live in the United States are subject to just because of the color of their skin, then it was worth writing.

Note:  I have many red haired friends, former class mates, colleagues, acquaintances and neighbors.  All of whom are nice people.  I hope such discrimination and anti-red-haired hatred is never focused upon them, as stated in this analogy.  I was going to try "blue eyes" or "bald" or "left handed" but none of those aspects are instantly recognizable, from afar or by law enforcement officers, so I kept coming back to red hair in my mind.

I just have some extra lemons...

There's a local neighborhood social media platform called Next-door.com, which I renamed "complaining-neighbors.com" since the vast majority of posts on it in here in Southern California has traditionally been neighbors complaining about:

- dogs owners letting their dogs poop in other people's yards

- dog owners not picking up after their pets

- cars driving too fast near schools

- occasional helicopters circling a neighborhood

- cars being broken into that homeowners leave unlocked in their driveways

- packages being stolen off of front porches

- rattlesnakes being found in a large planter, or on a hiking path, or in someone's garage

- really loud music blasting late at night from a party where the parents are not home

- graffiti somewhere in the city

- drivers who cut you off or drive recklessly or who don't know how to turn on a double-lane turn

- strangers walking around the neighborhood or sitting in vehicles on residential streets who don't live there

- unleashed dogs attacking leashed dogs on walking trails

- coyotes attacking any dog that's smaller than a coyote

... that kind of thing.  Sometimes there are nice posts of someone who needs moving boxes, or someone who needs a heavy piece of furniture moved or picked up, or to borrow a ladder or wheelbarrow or other tool.  Over the years there have been lost pet posts, please adopt this dog or cat posts, seeking a pet sitter posts.. and that genre of neighborhood communication.  But nearly all of that has changed.

When the malignant narcissist was installed by the United State's electoral college after losing the popular vote in 2016, I significantly decreased the frequency that I ever visited the Book Face (or FaceBook as most people call it), because I was sick and tired of all the Russian bot generated fake news with inflammatory headlines designed to enrage whoever clicked on them. Troll bots drove massive amounts of traffic and eye ball exposure to misleading, or fabricated, or out-of-context "news stories" that so many devoted followers clicked on, and liked, or shared, and propagated faster than Covid-19 is currently spreading around the world.  I did NOT want any part of that, and trying to fend it off or combat it, or explain why it was incorrect was becoming an enormous waste of time.  So I withdrew from that battlefield (yes, the Book Face IS a battlefield, fighting for your attention, surveilling your data and preferences, plotting to try and sell you ads for stuff you don't want, while also re-selling your data to retailers and big data research firms to make even MORE money off of your "free" account - and their Instagram acquisition is no better.  It just has prettier pictures most of the time).

Around that time, Dr Desert Flower and I had just moved into a house in a new neighborhood, in a new city a few months before, and one of the realtors who lived in the neighborhood was the administrator of the local community Next-door site.  I signed up and created an account for DDF and I, and we "welcomed" other new neighbors, got to know several of the people who lived around us, donated our moving boxes to people who needed them, and even eventually adopted a pet who was posted on Nextdoor as being in need of a home.  

Gradually, as the malignant narcissist out lasted the Mueller investigation, and then the Republican Senate refused to convict the impeached president, I noticed that the posts and the comments on Nextdoor.com became increasingly political, aggressively confrontational, angry, and nasty.  "Mean spirited" does no begin to describe the vitriol that so many neighbors readily spouted on the site.  MAGA themes, and anti-MAGA themes pervaded any kind of post you could imagine, even ones that had NOTHING to do with politics.  Emboldened by the "new normal" that the White House had established in bullying, criticizing, using hate speech, being openly racist, without any repercussions, fans of the president found fertile ground in which to plant their ideologies.  Liberals and progressives would often provoke them - inadvertently often or overtly sometimes - and stoke the hate and anger to completely uncivilized levels of disgusting discourse.  

Then, the Covid-19 shelter-in-place orders came out, first from governors who needed to take action without any coherent leadership from the deniers in the White House.  Then, the White House issued the "president's guidelines" for how to stay safe in the pandemic by mailing everyone post cards 2ith instructions that just a few weeks before the malignant narcissist had been mocking.  Once the States were in quarantine, and everyone was home with ample time on their hands, the flood gates - which had been LEAKING terribly - burst wide open.  

Nextdoor became a full-on platform for those who were taking self-isolation and shelter-in-place to the strictest levels began railing on anyone they saw outside on the street or sidewalk as a public menace if that person or persons did not meet their level of sterile precautions.  The MAGA fans exploded back in hostile retribution telling those who criticized them where they could go and where they could stick things.  Moderators (like the realtor who admins our neighborhood site) now had a FULL TIME job taking down postings that were erupting with neighbors screaming at each other, injecting politics and personal beliefs into any and every posting imaginable.  

Posts like:

a) does anyone know when the city will open the hiking trails again?

or

b) the condos across the main road have 2 Covid cases in them, the City posted it on everyone's doors

or

c) does anyone have an extension ladder I could borrow on Saturday?

or

d) My son and daughter-in-law are stuck in Peru where the cruise ship they were on is quarantined; does anyone know how I can get them back home? 

or

e) I have some extra lemons, if anyone would like a few, our tree made so many 

... devolved, within 3 to 5 replies, to "that's the whole problem with you libertards!" or "it's the president you voted for who killed my uncle by not implementing a national plan!"  or "why don't you create a database that tracks everyone's health, doctor visits, cough, sniffles, and Rxs in the whole neighborhood?"

The little old lady just had some extra lemons... she was not trying to start an armed conflict.  

And it is not just down here in San Diego County.  Our friends in Orange County have noticed the same thing, perhaps even worse.  Our civil society isn't.  Civil discourse is dead.  Everyone is too angry and hateful, entrenched in there own camp, fed by Fox News and MSNBC, OAN and Talking Points Memo, Brietbart and The Raw Story, Drudge Report and The Washington Post, The New York Times and Gawker, Politico and The Washington Examiner.

I've been telling people who I know that there will very likely be an ugly American civil war if the 45th president loses in November 2020 and refuses to step down, or calls the election "rigged" (as he did in 2016), and possibly declares Marshal Law as violence rises in both red and blue states, minorities and outspoken voices of reason, and those who are not wearing the right 'patriotic' colors  are lynched, hospitalized, or disappear.  Most people scoff at such a notion, and say "things won't get to that level."  But look how QUICKLY Nextdoor spiraled downward.  Neighborhood residents CANNOT Fake profiles or Hide as an anonymous troll on Nextdoor.  It is a verified, regulated, moderated site, where Open Discourse is supposed to be the norm.  Open, civilized discourse.

It will not take much to go from Complainingneighbors.com to Violentneighbors.com or WeKNOWwhereyoulive.com, by ideologues who have forgotten how to discuss facts, respectfully, and politely.  

Marketing Failure As Success

Fareed Zakaria's GPS program this morning said it best.
Link here: https://www.arcamax.com/politics/fromtheleft/fareedzakaria/s-2084130
"Trump's true talent is marketing failure as success"

I really cannot add anything more than Fareed's succinct summary here.

Why Umerikuns fall for this immoral, misogynistic, sophomoric, bombastic, uncurious, ignorant, narcissistic, illiterate, con man's rhetoric, is beyond my comprehension.

Perfect for Today

I saw this on the book face earlier today, and I've been thinking about how appropriate it is all day.

Sad that in my life time, this 'democracy' has empowered the worst among us.

Maybe something good will come out of this misappropriation of hopeful-but-misinformed-quasi-populist protest vote... like #MeToo, or equal pay for women, or awareness of how Oprah is actually a billionaire while Drumpf is a charlatan thrice bankrupt, thrice divorced, who preys upon his rivals' wives and the worst fears of easily manipulated Umerikuns.

Zobaczymy

Welcome Back Dial Up Speeds!

Hey, all you Trump voters who voted for a disruptor who would shake up the system...  well, congratulations!  You just got dial up speeds back from your ISP!  Yes, you too can try and download and stream movies, live sports, youtube and other internet content at 14.4kps, or 9.8kps, or some other nauseatingly slow download and upload speed, akin to when Windows 95 was the dominant operating system!  Trump's FCC just voted today, in a 3-2 vote, to annul the Obama era Net Neutrality regulations!!!  Isn't that great!!

Now, when I flew through Atlanta last week, I was TSA Pre, because I wasted a day of my life and $100 of my personal money, down in Otay Mesa, signing up for Global Entry, in an effort to make getting through border (airport) immigration checks faster than the majority of the other 400 people on an international 747 flight.  When I got to the front of the TSA-pre line, I saw "Clear", which had 5 people in line, and dumped Immediately to the TSA ID checker station.  With "Clear", if you PAY MORE, you get to skip the normal lines AND the TSA-pre lines.  For ANOTHER $180 a year, on top of TSA-Pre, I could get "Clear", and use it infrequently.

Why did I mention Clear here, on post about the end of Net Neutrality?  Well, Trump admin spokes-persons have quoted Clear as their model as to why having more money, and more access, is always a good thing.  Disney world fast pass, airport Clear, and now... if you have Koch Brothers levels of money, you can stream Amazon Prime, Netflix, or anything else you want while the meager peasants who make 1/10th or 1/100th or 1/1000th what you do wait, endlessly, for their data to download, so they can enjoy their internet content as well!  It's not a dump truck, it's a series of tubes!!!!

Congratulations Trump voters!  Even though 98% of you can't afford it, you've helped the richest 1 or 2 percent of your comrades.  While I read my book (on paper, not electronically), work in my yard (no electronic connections needed), or enjoy time at the beach, you can curse your slowwwwwww internet connection.  Obama pushed for net neutrality, and the FCC maintained it.  Trump's corporate friends and monopoly alliances reversed that ruling so that 98% of Umerika can suffer!  Fantastic!

What To Expect After Elbow Surgery

So back in July, I posted here (link here) that I'd screwed up my olecranon bursa on my left elbow by jamming it tween the arm rest and the fuselage of a 4 hour Delta flight to Cincinnati at Just the Wrong angle.  The bursa ruptured, made my arm swell, heat up (infection), and was painful.  If I tried to load it working out with free weights, working in my yard with hedge clippers, or doing yoga (like plank pose) the elbow was painful, wobbly, and no fun.

Bryce Canyon (not how it is not "smooth")

I took methyl prednisone (at the advice and Rx of an Urgent Care doc here in Carlsbad) to make the swelling go do and relieve the pain.  The steroids worked, But, the insidious damage had already begun on the bone itself, following the bursa rupture.  The bursa fluid provided food for naturally occurring bacteria (like staph) to feast upon, and the bones where it spilled (the ulna, for example) provided an Excellent network of a narrow lattice-like maze where the staph could eat, breed, and hide from white blood cells (lymphocytes) whose job it was to envelope and kill the invading bacteria.  Problem is, the white blood cells are larger than the bacteria, and can't get into all the nooks and crannies of the bone lattice work.

The end of each of the arm bones are supposed top be nice, smooth, elliptical shapes, where bursa and synovial fluid sacs keep the hard bone from rubbing against the other hard bone.  The fluid sacs act as cushions, to prevent bone-on-bone damage.  While working out and going to physical therapy with a damaged bursa, the bones were grinding on each other, the bacteria were multiplying and building infected lairs in the bone, and throughout July and August, it kept getting worse.  Bone erosion, bone infection, bursa inflammation... it was a vicious cycle.

So I go to an orthopedist who does an x-ray.  Being versed in radiography, I know how poor the resolution can be on an x-ray, especially when dealing with 3D shapes, since the x-ray is a 2D picture.  X-rays are also notorious for not being able to see much of anything on low density soft tissue and fluids, aka the inflamed bursa and progressing bone infection.  They prescribe more steroids, and tell me to ice my elbow - with a freezing cold ice bath for 15 minutes being the most effective - and continue physical therapy.

As a good patient, I go to PT three times a week, I ice my elbow at least once a day.  It hurts less, but it is still wobbly, and when I try to do heavy lifting (like 180 lbs bench pressing) or heavy curls (like a 65 lbs curl bar) it screams at me in pain, so I stop.  I can do light hedge clipping, but anything requiring significant effort and strength, the left elbow rejects the notion, completely, sends extreme pain signals to the brain, and I halt the activity.

Throughout August I struggle with this troublesome elbow.  It's not getting better, and it seems to progressively becoming slightly worse.  Yoga poses that use my arms become increasingly painful.  Playing drum set is fine for about 5 minutes, but after that, Ouch, Yikes, Stop!  Dancing (with ethanol enhancement) to silly songs like YMCA or Vogue, where hand movements are necessary Truly Aggravate the left elbow and result in pain, swelling, throbbing... driving the infection (that I did not yet know I had) DEEPER into the bone.

Just before Dr Desert Flower and I went to Montpellier France for a work conference at Labor Day that she needed to attend, the elbow started to get red, swollen, and exude puss (yes, very gross).  I go back to my primary care doctor who looks at it, and categorically says "you need dissection, you need packing, you need drainage and vacuum and antibiotics... you Must see an orthopedic surgeon immediately!"  I told her that all orthopedists were booked for at least the next 6 weeks and I had no way of seeing anyone, especially not 2 days before heading to France.  She leapt into action, and made an appointment with Scripps best elbow surgeon that afternoon.  The surgeon re-arranged his schedule, and saw me late that afternoon in his office down in La Jolla.  He took a culture from the oozing elbow, hoping to grow in a lab whatever the infectious agent that was troubling me.  Nothing grew, of course. He also placed me on a massive dose of broad spectrum oral antibiotics (4x a day), to try and kill (or at least subdue / slow the progress) the infection.

He gave me a huge bag of betadine swabs, sterile gauze, ace bandages with velcro, and medical tape to clean and dress the festering elbow while in France.  I dutifully cleaned my elbow with the betadine swabs each day after I showered, and carefully wrapped it in the sterile gauze for the week we were in France.  On the plane ride home, I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, protecting my sensitive elbow from being bumped by other passengers, the passing drink cart, and anything else in the crammed, lemming-like environment that is the coach economy section of international commercial travel, unless you're on Aeroflot.

When I got back to California, I was supposed to have an MRI of my elbow pre-surgery so that the surgeon would know what to expect.  Due to the arcane and byzantine American health care system, the MRI was Still Not approved by United Health care, and I had to waste a day of my life getting an ultrasound of my elbow, instead.  The Scripps elbow ultrasound radiologist took one look at the high resolution image, and said "this is not classical, you'll be getting an MRI".  He pointed to the screen where the contours of Bryce Canyon were showing up on the end of my ulna, instead of the nice smooth egg-shape that was supposed to be there.  Change the angle of the UT probe, and yep, the canyons and valleys and out-cropping were still there, in graphic 3D.  The MRI should confirm it, the radiologist said.  An hour later, United Health Care approved the MRI, and it was schedule for 2 days later, on a Saturday.

The next day (Friday) the Hospital with the MRI machine called, and said they had a last minute opening, am I available?  Unemployed and unable to use my left arm... sure... I was available.  So I got fast-tracked into the MRI the Friday before my surgery on the next Wednesday.  The elbow continued to "weep" out puss over the weekend and right up to the day of surgery.

Holding the vancomycin "hand grenade"

The morning of the surgery, the surgeon's PA (physician's assistant) comes into the pre-op room where I am wearing just a open-backed gown, and asks me "do you know what to expect, what is coming?"  I told her my abbreviated understanding, of surgery, followed by 2 or 3 weeks to let it heal, followed by weeks or months of physical therapy.  "Not quite" was her reply.  She then laid out the whole treatment plan that I had no clue would be so onerous.

It went as follows:
- Wednesday morning surgery to remove the bursa, and pack in antibiotic "beads"
- the infected bone would be removed (picture a medical dremel tool) to 'clean it up'
- stay in the hospital for 2 days, with my arm immobilized in a cast
- go back into surgery on Friday night, and have the beads removed, check on progress of the wound, clean up anything that needs internal clean up
- Saturday, after surgery, if I am stabilized, go home with a fancy portable vacuum pump, that will keep suction on the elbow wound - which they won't stitch closed - to drain fluid and to aid in the healing and closure of the wound over time
- keep the vacuum pump on me for at least 3 weeks, changing the dressing on the elbow with a visiting home health care nurse 3X a week
- install a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) into my right arm, that runs up to my heart's ventricle vestibule, where it will dump out liquid antibiotics that I will infuse at home, twice a day, for 2 hours each dose, for the next 6 weeks
- come back to the doctor's office once a week through this whole process, to check on progress of the wound healing, to take vital signs, and make sure there's no relapse back into infection.

First look at home, after surgery (disgusting, yes)

Ugh!  I had no idea that it would be such a life-halting inconvenience.  If I had been employed at this time, I would have had to take 1/2 days basically EVERY DAY for a month, to deal with this health issue.  Why could they not just stitch up the elbow, like a "normal surgery"?  Then the bursa would not grow back clean and healthy and the bone infection would continue to destroy the ends of my bones.  It needed to heal "from the inside out", and closing the wound before the bursa had fully rebuilt itself from scratch would have a negative prognosis, with re-infection likely.  According to the surgeon, who volunteers much of his time at the local San Diego VA, Afghan and Iraq vets with bone infections from shrapnel fight the infection for months at a time, on and off antibiotics, and the only way to seriously correct the problem is to surgically dissect (dremel tool / bone saw / etc) the infected bone, and then let the body grow it back.

The surgery went fine.  Two hours under general anesthetic.  The final wound was 50 mm long by 20 mm wide by 10 mm deep (or 2" x 1" x 3/8ths of an inch, roughly).  Bursa removed, and 4 mm of ulna dremel tooled off.  Lots of Percocet in the Hospital to deal with the pain.  The re-check 2 days later also went well, beads removed, I was set to leave the hospital on Saturday with my portal vacuum pump... but.. bureaucracy stepped in the way.  Apparently, no one filed the final paper work to get me a pump to take home, send the vancomycin antibiotic to my house, or arrange the home health care nurse visits.  "We're sorry, but you'll need to stay until Monday, or maybe Tuesday, once the paper work is done."  Unacceptable.

The hospital bed was a VERY uncomfortable "smart bed" made by Hill-Rom Versa Care.  It was supposed to "auto adjust" to the patient laying on it.  Instead, all it did, was inflate and deflate, Every Two Minutes, to tilt my pelvis forward and back, legs up slightly, legs down slightly.  It was uncomfortable, disconcerting, disruptive, and impossible to sleep soundly on it.  Whoever the morons at Hill-Rom were who designed this monstrosity obviously never asked for customer feedback.  The nurses Could Not turn off the auto-adjust, or the bed alarmed at the central nurses' station.  Sleeping on this continually moving, hot-and-sweaty, poorly designed, poorly conceived contraption meant that Saturday night in the hospital was a very unhappy & unpleasant & restless experience for me.

Sunday came, and the bureaucrats in "Program Management" continued to drag their feet.  Apparently walking and chewing gum at the same time was a challenge for them.  "We might have a pump delivered after 7pm tonight, but we can't guarantee it... we don't normally discharge patients on weekends".  UGGGHHHH!  And then "Even if you get the pump, we have not gotten any confirmation that you'll get the antibiotics or wound nurse... so it's best to just wait until Monday or Tuesday."  This was not the Riyadh Saudi Arabia Ritz, and I was not enjoying my house arrest.  But my heroic floor nurse "Jose" leapt into action.  Working 7am to 7pm, he forced the system to accept all the discharge paper work, prepped me for going home, and KNEW that if he didn't get me out before the end of his shift, I'd be stuck in the hospital for Sunday night unnecessarily.  Jose's efforts were successful; the pump arrived at 7pm, we left at 730pm, and the antibiotics showed up on our door step via courier at 1030pm.


Then, everyday, from October 16th through November 22nd, twice a day, I had to sit and infuse my IV antibiotics through my right arm, into my heart.  Each infusion took roughly 2 hours.  I watched all of Stranger Things, Luther, F is For Family, the Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me debacle, Dr Whos that I had not seen, and re-read Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber, finished JRR Tolkien's Silmarillion, and started Iain M Bank's "Use of Weapons".  I could not sweat during this time, as perspiration caused the adhesives on the PICC line to loosen and come off my skin.  The PICC line ran straight to my heart, and getting a blood or heart infection was not something I wanted to entertain.  So a month of being sedentary was required.  I tried learning basic Spanish in this time too... but without someone to practice and converse with, I made little progress on this front.

Every week I returned to Scripps in La Jolla to have the nurses, PAs, and doctors tell me how "beautiful" my wound looked, and how well it was healing.  Every 2 or 3 or 4 days, I showered with a large plastic sleeve sealed around my left arm, and baggies that looked like a shower cap over the PICC line dressing.  Today (Thanksgiving) was the very first day I could shower and use Two Hands!  Hooray!

First wet to dry dressing, jammed in

During this time, the first 3 weeks, I had to wear the $22,000 portal vacuum pump around my neck (even sleeping with it, and recharging it as I slept).  Every Monday, a nurse came to change out the vacuum sealed dressing.  Every Thursday, I went to doctor's office in La Jolla to have them change it again.  After 3 weeks, the vacuum pump was discontinued, and I had to do a "wet to dry dressing".

What's a "wet to dry dressing" you might ask?  (I had no idea what it was).  Well, using sterile technique with nitrile gloves and sterile gauze and sterile saline, the patient PACKS in sterile gauze that has been wetted in saline, jammed up into the wound, using sterile cotton swabs as well as nitrile gloved fingers.  Yes, this is unpleasant and mildly painful.  Then, the jammed in gauze is covered by a 2x2 gauze pad, which is then covered by a 4x4, which then gets and ace bandage wrapped around it, to hold it all into place.  All of this is done using just one hand, since the left hand is too far away from the let elbow to be of any assistance.  The Next Day, using sterile gloves, all the jammed in gauze is yanked out, and the process started again - approximately every 24 hours.  Each time the nasty used gauze came out, it looked like a little piece of lemon peel.

At my Nov 22nd visit, I was told the "wet to dry dressings" could be discontinued, and "put a bandaid on it" .. a large 2x2 inch bandaid...  but no more dressing changes.  And the PICC line was removed, leaving an irritated upper right arm where all the dressing adhesives were aggravating my fair skin.  Once again, the nurses and doctors admired how "beautiful" the wound was, and how well it was healing, which was a very strange things to experience from the patient's perspective.  I am glad that the whole wound process is NEARLY over.  I go back in 2 weeks for a followup, and THEN likely, physical therapy will begin, and last through MLK day or Valentines day 2018.  I will be happy to begin working out again, able to sweat, and re-building lost muscle mass... as soon as the bursa is re-built.  I Do Not want to re-infect the ulna or any other bones, so I have to take it easy on my arms and lift nothing more than 5 lbs with my left arm until after my next doctor visit in 2 weeks.

My friend Joe M texted me several Spanish curse words, to help me learn the slang of the language (similar to how I first learned French).  If you want to call me up, or text me in Spanish during the next two weeks, I'd appreciate the practice.  In the mean time, I'll be working on legs and core and aerobic exercise, until I get clearance from my doctor to begin rebuilding strength in my left arm.

Yes, this Thanksgiving I am very thankful that my wife has a good job with good health insurance coverage that paid for this 6 digit surgical experience, and I am very thankful I don't have to get my left arm amputated.  One armed drummers are not very good.

Humming Bird Happy Hour Bouncer

6 Hummingbirds drinking together in my yard (1 mature Anna's, 2 juvenile Rufous, and 3 Anna's females)

30 minutes before sunset this evening, I sat down in my backyard to enjoy watching hummingbird happy hour.  Hummingbird happy hour is the bet time of the day to observe hummingbirds in a group setting.  The dimming of the sun's natural day light, combined with the abundant availability of established food (11 nectar feeders around the yard) and the inevitability of the arrival of total darkness, draw all the neighborhood hummingbirds together for one long, deep drink of high energy sugar water before the long night's embrace.  The diminished light makes the Brilliant plumage that the dominant males of all hummingbird species develop look much less spectacular, mottled, dull, which puts ALL the hummers -  the dominant males, the fearful juveniles who sport just a goatee, the confident mature females (who are the same size as the mature males, but look they a lot like juveniles) and the immature new fledglings - on nearly equal footing.

Mature Rufous Male Hummingbird

I've enjoyed dozens of hummingbird happy hours here in California.  In Arizona, I saw 2 Anna's hummingbirds at a feeder, once.  Here in California, I've relished dozens of twilights that included a dozen or more birds all sharing resources, before going into their semi-catatonic sleep for the night high up on a secluded branch that's strong enough to barely hold their own weight (less than 21 grams, in most cases).  Tonight was the First time that I observed a vociferous, possessive, pugnacious male Rufous dominant male who continued to chase all other thirsty birds from the 2 feeders right outside the living room window.  One of the 2 feeders is a 4 holed solar PV lit feeder without any perches, so the birds have to hover as they drink.  Six feet away is 10 holed feeder that has a circumferential perch where I've counted as many as 9 hummingbirds drinking at one time (but I've not been able to take a picture of them in this way, yet), sharing resources, peacefully, and making me a very happy & satisfied human that I could create such an environment where I could 'bring the hummingbird community together', and be lucky enough to see them sharing.

A yellow jacket trying to get into one of the 10-holed feeders

Generally, the 2 feeders outside of Dr Desert Flower's office's window in the front yard are dominated by Rufous hummingbird males.  They hang out in the palm trees looming above, or in the oleander bushes a few feet away, or on the top of a skyward pointing succulent frond, observing the 2 front yard feeders, chasing away any other bird who comes to drink, With The Exception of mature females who the males are trying to woo, court, convince, and then with whom they want to copulate for all of 2 seconds while in free-fall from 200 feet in the air.  So Much testosterone and energy goes into the male hummingbird's daily routine, to bully away, ward-off, intimidate all other males and all other species, and try to romance only the mature females of their own species... it makes the plumage and prancing and jousting of a male peacock look blasé in comparison.  The Rufous males don't normally intrude into the back yard... or so I thought.

This evening, I listened to a proud dominant male Rufous sit up in my neighbor's tree above my backyard, chirp and whistle, claiming his dominance over 3 feeders that could be seen from that high vantage point.  I watched as this proud dominant male Rufous would swoop in, and chase away single birds, groups of females who were sharing the feeder, any creature who came near to the fears he now claimed.  This was ruining my happy hour observations.  Twice, I got up from my chair, glass of wine in hand, and stood near to the feeders.  The mature female visitors, who have been around the block and understand better how the world works, did Not see me as a threat, and they drank nearby, almost within arm's reach.  They were wary of the large hairless ape drinking from a wine glass, and they would have flown away if I had made sudden movements, but the pugnacious Rufous male would still come swooping in, Past My Head, and scare them all off.  This could not stand.  No little Rufous male is going to ruin my evening.

2 hummingbirds enjoying the feeder under my suppressing cover-fire

I thought quickly... how could I ward off this mis-guided cretin who never learned how to share, or get along with any other birds?  I remembered a recent Luther episode where a killer wielded a large orange squirt gun full of acid and blinded witnesses around London.  I recalled I had a large un-used squirt bottle in my laundry room that I'd not filled with anything, and ran into the house to fill it with water (no, not acid...  I am not a monster).  I'd used squirt guns to dissuade naughty house cats in the past, before I realized I'd become intensely allergic to them.  I hurriedly rushed back outside to sit with my wine glass and squirt bottle.  My wait didn't take long.

The dominant male Rufous swooped down almost immediately to ward off a dominant male Anna's and an Anna's female, in the dwindling twilight.  His angle of attack took him around the back of the feeder where I did not have a direct line-of-sight, but after he ran off the two other birds, he tried to get a drink from his coveted feeders.  My aim was exact, and the first squirt of water sent the Rufous off the feeder and back up into his tree observation post.  Two more female hummers came in to drink, and as the male Rufous dove down from the tree, I blocked his descent with a barrage of squirts that the gave him pause, and he perched in the jasmine about 8 feet behind the feeders.  More females arrived, and joined their sisters drinking.  5 visible birds at the feeder... but the Rufous male couldn't contain himself, he tried to drive them off.  I sent a salvo of 5 or 6 squirts that sent him into retreat.  2 of the drinking females rose off the feeder to note what was going on, But Then Resettled onto the feeder to resume drinking!  A dominant male Anna's, the NBA players of the hummingbird world due to the fact that they are generally 20% larger than any other hummingbird, settled down at the 10 holed feeder along with the bevy of females and juveniles.  "Hello ladies!" was the look in his little black eye, as he figured he'd hit the happy hour jackpot.  But it was short lived.

A fully mature, dominant Rufous male, perched outside my office, who thinks he "owns" the feeder there.

A moment later, the stubborn Rufous male Again dove at the feeder.  All the birds scattered, and I zeroed in on the bright white collar the mature Rufous male wore and hit him at least once, got close 2 or 3 times, and he fled again.  3 of the 5 females Returned and resumed drinking, under my cover fire.  The Rufous took up station back in his high tree branch, and I aimed upwards towards the little miscreant, arching far over the top of the feeders where the girls were enjoying happy hour, and the mature Rufous found this rebuff to be "too much" and flew elsewhere.  Finally, success!

So if you're a female hummingbird, regardless of species, you're more than welcome to come drink in my yard at hummingbird happy hour.  If you're an Anna's, Blackchinned, or Costa's mature male or a Rufous juvenile, and you know some boundaries and how to act publicly and behave at happy hour, you're also welcome to enjoy delicious high energy, fresh nectar in my yard.  However, if you're a trouble maker, you will be ejected, and refused re-entry into my yard's airspace.  If you persist, you'll be targeted with squirted tap water, which will make flight more difficult, frustrate your petty attempts to monopolize the abundant nectar in the feeders.  The unexpected wetting at dusk, combined with being chased away form the public feeders, may make it more difficult for you to remain warm over-night, but having a warmer, more friendly demeanor will be in your favor going-forward (over-come your instinctual programming, little punk!)  ... or just stick to the front yard, where the Rufous battles are pretty much perpetual.  The backyard feeders have a happy hour bouncer, who is more than 4000 times your mass, and who enjoys having a peaceful, sharing, community atmosphere at dusk.

Analytics & Payroll loses to Talent & Drive

Congratulations to the Houston Astros for their victory in the 2017 MLB World Series game seven last night.  I live in Southern California, but I've not embraced the SD Padres as my "home team" yet, since I am a life-long Chicago Cubs fan.  The Cubs won last year...  after 108 years of trying... which apparently opened a trans dimensional portal that let a racist, xenophobic, ignorant, non-reading 10 year old in a 70 year old's carcass, with Vladimir Putin's direct assistance, become President of the United States.  The Cubs can wait another few dozen years before trying to win again - I don't want them to become the universally hated NY Yankees who have been to 40 of the 113 World Series (winning 27 of them).  The Houston Astros had never won a World Series, and it'd been 55 years since they were formed as a team...  so it was about time (even though I will ALWAYS think of the Astros as a National League team, as they've been the majority of my 1/2 century of life).

My actual Cub's hat, bought before they won the World Series in 2016

While the Houston Astros Did rely partly upon analytics, they had been drafting and recruiting some of the best players in major league baseball for years.  They wanted it.  They worked hard for it.  And their manager "could talk analytics all day long, but more often went with his gut and what the situation required" (I heard during Game 6's broadcast, Joe Buck saying it, I think).  The Brooklyn Dodgers... I mean LA Dodgers, paid millions of dollars for analytics, had The Largest payroll in all of MLB, were in the 2nd largest media market, but had worked out a despicable cable deal that MOST of the Dodgers home games Could Not Be Televised in LA when the stadium in Chavez Ravine that seats 56,000 was not sold out - the largest stadium in all of MLB, beating the damn Yankees by 3000 seats.  When the camera panned over the crowds during foul balls, you could see 1/3rd of the most expensive box seats showing EMPTY blue seat backs during Game Seven of the World Series!  EMPTY Seats!?!?  Wrigley Field only had empty seats during the World Series in 2016 from people using the bathroom, and it was < < much less than 5% of all box seats, even when some of those seats were going for $2000 each.

Thanks Jen for the gif!

So the Cubs had been the proverbial underdogs, and they won last year.  The Astros were the underdogs this year, and they won.  I'm a habitual under-dog supporter...  which I partially attribute to going to more than a dozen games at Wrigley as a kid (two of the three games I went to at Comiskey Park ended up with our vehicle being broken into... and the third one, my older brother and his friends picked up a Ford Escort and turned it 90 degrees onto the side walk so that our car would fit... they were very big boys).

Now,  you maybe asking yourself: "Why does JustJoeP oppose analytics so much?" Well, I credit that to my 20 years of working at one of the world's largest companies, where we made model after model to predict how the systems and components would perform in the field, how well they would be able to be repaired, how many times they could be repaired, when they'd need to be repaired, and when they would stop working for our customers.  It was Big Data, little data, good data, bad data. comprehensive data, partial data... and all that data was scrutinized by dozens of mathematics PhDs, data analysts, and engineers to come up with complex analytics that were supposed to add tremendous value, both for the company I worked for And for their customers.  Sadly, after more than a decade of trying to apply these analytics, revising and revising them, combing and scrutinizing the data and transfer functions repeatedly... the analytics Could Not Replace subject matter expertise; AKA experience.

Subject Matter Experts (SMEs) like myself were leveraged to make better models, sort & parse data, review repair reports, outage reports, customer issues, design reviews, root cause analysis... but no matter how hard we tried, and how many times we revised models, they still were far off the mark, much too conservative, or far too liberal, rarely ever accurate on predicting reality.  It was a Very Complex environment, with a very complex product and no two customers were the same or operated identically, that the analytic models Could Not Cope With the all of the Variation accurately - much like MLB!  Sure, if you start and stop very few times, and operate in a gingerly, gentle, non-stressful mode, the models worked marvelously!  But that was less than 5% of the all the customers, so the models and their predictions were virtually worthless in the big picture.   But saying that, admitting it publicly, was as deadly as saying that the Emperor had no clothes, when 99.997% of the sycophants had been telling the Emperor how amazing and awesome his clothes really were.

On a post-script, I do not and will not watch Wisdom of the Crowd as Crowds, by definition, are pretty emotional, stupid / ignorant / misinformed, reactionary, and prone to herd mentality.  Similarly, the same goes for the majority of analytics.  In limited applications, for narrow goals, Big Data Can Be useful, and perhaps partially accurate.  But in the Vast Majority of situations, applications, and concepts, data analytics usually don't have accurate predictions or reliable results.  Junk in = junk out.  Getting all the data "in" to be pristine, relevant, and representative of what is going to happen in the future is expensive, time consuming, and virtually impossible.  Anyone who tells you differently, is lying.

Geography Still Doesn't Matter in a Dragon Based Economy

Last month, I stated that "Geography Doesn't Matter in a Dragon Based Economy" (link here).  Euron's fleet and Daenerys Targaryen's fleets occupied the same space in the Season 7 opening episode of GoT, and not a single mention of it was made in the show despite the Narrow Sea and the close proximity of Dragonstone to Kings Landing.

(if you have not watched any of Season 7 and want to avoid spoilers, stop reading now)

Horizon of Dothraki 

The 2nd episode had Euron's Iron Island fleet mysteriously SURPRISE and DESTROY Daenerys's renegade Greyjoy fleet and apparently All the armies of Dorne who were aboard as well, AT NIGHT, with very few casualties among Euron's angry bunch, which was farcical for multiple reasons.  Euron's flagship finds Yara Greyjoy's flagship, undetected, without any warning, raids it, kills or imprisons everyone on it, and sinks it, in the middle of 1000s of ships (no radar, no satellites, no infrared... yet 100% successful for despicable & revolting Euron).  None of the Dorne soldiers apparently survived... but Dorne is a much larger and formidable force & geographic area than the tiny pugnacious Iron Islands.  Instead of firing a bunch of arrows into Then as he jumps over board, they sail away and just let him bob in the cold water...  all ridiculous aspects of an otherwise well written, acted, and presented television show.

Silly Scorpion, Don't Aggravate A Full Grown Wyvern

Last night's episode (#4 in the 7th season) DID FINALLY bring out the wyverns (remember, they're technically NOT dragons since they lack front legs / limbs) directly into a battle, unleashing the full fury of organic napalm delivered from the throat of a very angry, full grown Drogons.  I loved the "Smaug moment" Drogons had when Jaime's Lannister archers let loose a volley of arrows that harmlessly bounced off Drogons underbelly scales.

Silly Human Archers

But the reason I have reiterated that "geography doesn't matter" is because of the episode ending where Jaime is knocked from his horse (apparently by the flame resistant Bronn who has repeatedly saved Jaime's behind) and he falls, slowly dragged to the bottom of a very deep body of water, by his gold hand and his heavy plate mail armor.  Well, if you're going to arrange for a very deep drowning pool to be part of the plot, you can't have a gentle slope of meadow grass tapering off at the water's edge.  Such a gentle slop would have made the water 1 or 2 feet deep MAX where Jaime was knocked from his horse, 1/2 a second before the running equine was turned into ash by the wounded and angry Drogons' fire.  One or two feet deep, and muddy, would have been the "water" that Jaime fell into, after charging the wyvern & Daenerys with his steed and spear at a full tilt (while his little brother pleads from the hill top, futilely, that Jaime flee, instead).

Little Brother's insight, not heeded by older brother

Is Jaime dead?  Did he drown, dragged down by his armor and gold hand?  He should be.  If he's not, when he surfaces, he'll be a crunchy treat for Drogons, who has not yet been fed this season (on camera).  So wether he drowned in an impossibly deep body of water that should have been 2 feet deep at most near the bank where he fell in, or he surfaces and gets eaten, it doesn't matter.

Why do I care at all about geography, when there are witches, 3-eyed ravens, white walkers, wyverns,  resurrected zombies like The Mountain, and a flame-proof Daenerys inter-woven into the story?  Because geography matters.  Geography anchors the reference frame, it provides logical context, to is the foundation upon which the rest of the "world" from H R R Martin or anyone else can exists, function, facilitate commerce, livelihoods for the citizens of that world... so that it can be believable.  Throw in the magic and mythical creatures, and that makes it more exciting to the readers / watchers. But make a gentle sloping river bank lead to a DEEP Sudden Ledge of a drowning pool... make a bay so narrow that it cannot hold thousands of ships that couldn't see each other... it creates a landscape with so many unknowns that the watcher / reader doesn't know if Up is Down, left is right, gradual is sudden, light is dark, etc.


In Avatar, they had floating geography, that the "unobtainium" caused to hover above the planet's surface, sure.  But the "unobtainium" was intrinsic to the plot, it was Why the humans were mining the planet and disturbing the entire eco-system.  The viewer could suspend disbelief because of how central the geographic features were to the viability of the plot.  In GoT, the geographic anomalies keep getting in the way, making the world of Westeros into a farce instead of a fantasy realm.

Enough said... now it's time for me to make some dinner.

Big Sick, Yes. Baby Driver, No.

Dr Desert Flower and I went to go see The Big Sick a week ago.  It was a sweet romantic comedy, written by Kumail Nanjiani and his wife Emily Gordon, based upon the story of how they met and how Kumail got to know her parents.  Kumail's immigrant family expects him to marry a nice Pakistani Muslim woman.  Kumail can't find an arranged bride who appeals to him.  The movie is well written, well acted, touching, and a good "date movie".

This morning I donated blood in San Marcos, near the Civic Center, and on my way back from the bloodmobile, I stopped by the Edwards Regal cinemas in San Marcos, hoping to see a pre-noon showing of Dunkirk, which I keep hearing is a massive adrenalin ride and emotional assault on the human condition.  When I got to the theater, it was 1045am and the next Dunkirk was not for another 40 minutes.  Baby Driver was showing at 1045, and being one who doesn't like previews, I opted to see Baby Driver.  It had Kevin Spacey & Jon Hamm in it, and even a cameo by Flea, so I thought "why not?"  Bad decision.

Baby Driver had a body count upwards of a John Wick movie.  Director Edgar Wright loves car chases and shoot outs, and if the shoot outs are killing mobsters or human traffickers or other scum, I'll sit through it, and maybe I might enjoy it.  But in Baby Driver most of the bodies were law enforcement, security guards, and people who were just going about their own business.  Gratuitous violence. Graphic & ruthless death.  Unlikeable characters.  As soon as the closing credits started to roll I was the first person out of the movie theater.  A waste of $7.50.  I'm sorry, but unloading a clip from a semi automatic to the rhythm of the music playing, as if pulling the trigger is the bass line, is insulting, unrealistic, and profoundly insulting.  Sure, there's 2 fast-paced and superbly executed car chases around the Atlanta metro area included in the film, but the rest of it is full of unpleasant, unlikeable, unredeemable characters doing terrible things to each other.  Not something I want to pay to watch.

Trump Family's Arrested Development

Dr Desert Flower and I have been catching up on old seasons of Arrested Development on Netflix while her shoulder (post-surgery) and my left elbow (compressed bursa) recover and heal.  With the recent Russian emails that have been revealed that clearly show collusion between the Trump family during the presidential campaign in July of 2016, and the Russian governments and government surrogates, DDF and I came to the revelation that the Trump family and the Bluth family are remarkably analogous.  If you're a fan of Arrested Development, read on, you may enjoy this post and could possibly provide comments to make it even better.  If you're no fan of Arrested Development, or have never watched the show, I recommend reading no further, as this post will probably just seem byzantine, trivial, and over-extended in its comparison.

From left to right: Buster, Maeby, George Michael, Lucille, George Sr, Lindsey, Tobias, and G.O.B. (pronounced "Jobe")

The characters in Arrested Development and their Trump analogues are as follows:

George Sr = 45 Himself; enriching his family by buying cheap desert acreage that the federal government will build a wall upon, running a fake university, repeatedly bankrupting the family business, a chronic philanderer who cannot keep it in his pants, throughout his whole life, multiple shady business associates.  George Sr is Far More Intelligent, conniving, devious, wily, and successful than 45 in myriad ways... but as the head of the family, there's similarities. (a 70% match)

Lucille = Ivanka; looking out for herself and her own financial gain, sleeps with George Sr, hyper-focused on appearances, is cut-throat and evil to the core. (a 80% match)

G.O.B. = Donald Jr; oldest son, incompetent, buffoonish, clueless, talentless, sycophantic son who ardently longs for his distant father's approval, full of hubris, arrogant douche bag without the intelligence or talent to back up such arrogance, causes the family intense pain, embarrassment, and catastrophic failure, repeatedly. (a 98% match... G.O.B. is much funnier, and less of a douche)

Buster = Barron; Overly attached to his mother, immature, youngest son (a 60% match)

Tobias = Eric; goof, no-value-added (a 40% match, since Tobias is a flawed character we know, and Eric is just a rich frat boy douche who hunts endangered species like Elephants in Africa)

Lindsey = Tiffany; adopted, clueless, left out of the picture (a 40% match)

Michael = Jared; boyish, has some clues but not enough, son-of-a-formerly-rich-father-who's-gone-to-jail, In WAY Over His Head, doomed to failure (an 80% match)

Maeby = 45's grand children we don't know about yet ( < 50% match)

{Late addition}
Kitty (George Sr's mentally unstable secretary) = Kellyanne Conway; both mentally tenuous, extremely dangerous, and both have "the crazy" in their eyes, but Kellyanne weaves lies much more effectively.)  (a 90% match)

{Late addition}
Ann = Sarah Huckabee Sanders; both come from narrow minded fundamentalist families, though Ann is far sweeter and more attractive than her press-secretary-wanna-bee-mean-girl-who-wants-your-lunch-money Huckabee Sanders.  Both have a mean streak inside them (Ann going off with Steve Holt... Sarah being herself)  {Thanks Jen H for these observations and suggestions!}

Stan Sitwell = Hillary Rodham Clinton, with hair; consistently the foil against the 45 administration, consistently has tried to defeat them but has not been successful in vanquishing them.

George Michael = ?  No equivalent in the 45 administration observed, yet... but stay tuned

Barry Zuckerkorn (played by Henry Winkler, the Bluth family lawyer) = Marc E. Kasowitz; incompetent, shady, does what he's told badly. (a 85% match)

Pence, Spicer, Massive-Foreheaded Stephen Miller, Christie, Gingrich, and Bannon don't have direct Arrested Development analogues that I can think of... at this time.

All readers' comments and suggestions are welcome.  This post will be updated as 2017 progresses and new information is revealed.  DDF and I thought it was pretty funny that there's so many similarities.