No Shit, Dick Tracy

Anyone who thought that the invasion of Iraq was going to turn out any differently than it is was a complete fucking moron, as I stated multiple times during the lead-up to and execution of this foreign policy abortion.

Invade, break the infrastructure, demolish the security and lose billions. Check.

For the folks who say we should stay until we "win." You're fucking retarded. Unless we were to A) Turn it into a parking lot or B) Stay there and rule it for 7 or 8 generations, there was never going to be any "winning." This was a big yowling ball of feral cats from the beginning.

As I stated 5 years ago:

Are we safer with 600,000 - 1 million Iraqis dead? I doubt it. After 9/11, this country reserved the right to remember and hate without stint or discretion. What about the Iraqi shopkeeper who saw his son blown in half by good old American know-how, or the 8-year-old who saw his parents murdered in an elective war? Don't the friends and relatives of the dead and maimed in Iraq and Gaza have the same perpetual right to rage and hatred that I would if my toddlers were murdered by another country's bombs, or is the horrible choking, desperate grief of middle-eastern non-christians and non-Jews somehow less real, their bereavement less keen, because American exceptionalism has designated their sacrifice acceptable?

Let's for a moment pretend that these actions have made us safer, rather than simply hardening another generation of anti-American sentiment. I still can't look another father in the eye and say, "your child shall be killed, blown apart, so that mine can maintain the lifestyle to which he is accustomed," or to another son, "Your father will be burned to death with white phosphorous so that my old man can retire without stress." The price is too great.

Self-congratulatory, preening fucks like W.F. Buckley will prate about the existential threat; neocons think it's our divine right to conquer the world. The world bank, the military-industrial complex, and all their economic hit men think only of profit. I just can't get that orphaned father out of my head. I know how I would feel if my boys were taken from me. There is no amount of bloodshed that would sate me, no salve would tame the violence. Our American attitude, though, doesn't recognize our murders as real people or real deaths, just acceptable statistics in pursuit of our "interests." I don't know, maybe we've killed enough people to make us more secure for a little while. I don't think attrition is a long-term fix, though, unless we're willing to implement a Final Solution and simply kill everybody whose interests run contrary to ours. Otherwise, it's only a matter of time before those we've brutalized gather enough strength and numbers to attack us again.

As Thomas McGrath said:

And now, you celebrated American jackasses:
You still want war?
Go let a hole in the head shed light on your darkling brain-
Remember Vietnam?

Go and be damned!
But don’t count on me for nothing you righteous
stupid sons of bitches !

much peace, for us anyway
tjb

Lazy Day

The boys and I went out and drowned a few worms today. We found a couple of shady spots, and it stayed breezy and cool all afternoon. Fishing was slow, but the boys caught several small bluegill. They also found a duck and her ducklings, all four of whom appeared unafraid and content to be observed at close range.

much peace,
tjb

Interlude

I left work on my bicycle on Wednesday, and decided to add just a couple miles to the ride home. I cut through Calvary Cemetery and out to 78th and Center, then turned into Pipal Park. There were picnic tables in the shade on the west side of the park, and I took a half an hour to sit in the shifting sun and shade, to drink in the breeze and too-sweet coffee, and to revel for a while in the winsome airs of Faulkner's honeysuckle.

much peace,
tjb

Out in the Field

"In a lily pond I lay
All upon a summer's day
Then I chased a dragonfly
All across an ancient sky ...."

(Vashti Bunyan)

Spent over two hours at Churchich Park working on baseball skills with the boys yesterday. I pitched some BP, practiced power position for throwing, and shagged fly balls and grounders at them. They were all in. I had to get pretty firm with them to get them to stop when it was time to go. 

A few weeks ago, they had a game wherein Will just could not get his bat on a pitch. It's coach pitch, which means each batter gets around 10 pitches. If he's unable to hit any, then he has to hit one off the tee. Will had to use the tee all three at bats. He was crushed. His swings just got weaker and more tentative each time up. Max was able to hit a pitch time, but his swing, too, was ugly and weak. They were both moving the bat tentatively, just hoping to intercept the ball, rather than swinging away.

So the following Tuesday, I pulled out an older, heavier bat, and started throwing BP. I wasn't going to push, but both boys were invested in improving. I've also never played a lick of baseball myself, so I wasn't sure if anything I could do would help much. Thankfully, the boys' work ethic and dad's dogged, if inexpert, instruction paid off. Max is now turning on pitches and pulling major rips up the third base line, and Will is finally letting the bat head fly and letting his quick hands do the work. I bought them a new bat ( and myself a cheap glove in self defense), and they are all in. When I pick them up now, it's, "Hey dad, can we hit right when we get there, I mean right away?" They're now excited to get up to bat, and they both had multiple good knocks in their last two games. Nothing breeds enthusiasm like a little success.

Here's the thing: it's just sports. I don't care if they end up playing or liking them, though I do think team activities are good for kids, and physical play is a necessity one way or the other. Ultimately, though, I don't care if they want to be baseball players, gymnasts, concert pianists, ballerinas or hairdressers. Whatever makes them happy.  The takeaway from the last three weeks, and what I find so satisfying as a father, is the persistence my sons showed in improving their skill and performance at a given activity. It's certainly more fun that my sons are dialed in to something that I think is fun as well, but that developing work ethic is going to serve them no matter what they decide to pursue.

much peace,

tjb

Quick Drive to the Snowline

My Dad's brother, Jim, died a few weeks back, and Dad and all us eight kids went out to Denver for services. Other folks have eulogized Uncle Jim much more capably than I could, so I'll just post a few photographs of Mike's and my morning drive up to Berthoud Pass.

much peace,
tjb

Back in Motion

I replaced my demolished bicycle a couple months ago, and have been bike commuting to work again. I've also been working in some longer rides: to Whole Foods and back now and then to resupply coffee, around town to meet friends for beers and coffee and just generally cruising around. It's good to be rolling with the earth again, struggling up hills and sweating my cute little Bavarian ass off. I like the rapid succession of scenery, and the sensation of packing mile after mile into these old legs.

I went on a couple of rides over Memorial Day weekend, one short (about 5.5 miles) with my boys on Sunday, and a longer one (about 30 miles) by myself on Monday. The boys had a great time on Sunday. Below is a stop for apples and rest at roughly the halfway point.

I rode downtown the next day, then explored the technically closed road past Freedom Park to the Anchor Inn. The whole area is federal flood control land now, with no trespassing signs periodically posted. The Anchor Inn and stage are a total loss from the 2011 flooding, and all the old cabins and trailers sit empty, windows broken out and sides gutted for potential copper. As I rode down and back out, I was glad it was the middle of the day and not twilight. Quiet except for the calls of red-winged blackbirds and the hum of spring insects, the wrecked, abandoned buildings and piles of sandbags seemed like things out of a horror flick. Dim the lights and drain the color, and those yawning openings are where the zombies or cannibals would lie in wait. A couple of turkey vultures circled high overhead and, crazily, followed my progress along the degraded old road.


Freedom Park

...and the Anchor Inn and stage. I leaned in through a broken window to take the inside pics. I remember seeing the Wailers on that stage several years back. Now it's slowly folding down into the river.

...a few more from the trek into federal flood control...

I ended up riding all the way around the back of the airport on Lindbergh Plaza ...

... then back on the Riverfront Trail past Carter Lake and back through downtown before turning west for home. I did stop for an iced cuppa at the 16th Street Starbucks. Obligatory self portrait, with helmet hair, and a little the worse for wear:

much peace,

tjb