A MOTHER’S INSTINCT…

You have so much power over your kids. 

It’s the single scariest thing about having kids…you never know the moment you screw them up for life. 

I’m sure I’ve scarred my son in ways I will never know about until he writes his memoir or comes home from therapy with an “exercise” for me. 

We all do the best we can. And it helps to remember that your parents were humans (just like you), without an instruction manual (just like you don’t have), and were dealing with 80 things a day (just like you’re dealing with). 

Did they screw you up? Of course they did. Are you screwing your kids up? Of course you are. We’re all a product of imperfect parenting. In some cases, we’re a product of abusive parenting, or neglectful parenting, or narcissistic parenting, or whatever label you want to put on it. 

But even the worst people also have great moments. Nobody’s perfect. But nobody is always horrible either. Even Hitler was kind to his dogs. 

Okay – bad example. But you get the point. Anyway…

Sunday is Mother’s Day. And, of course, we all want to mythologize our mothers and say only great things about them. Meanwhile, very often, they drive us crazy in so many ways. I’m always suspect of anyone who has a perfect relationship with their mother (or father). It usually means someone isn’t being honest. 

Having said that, we should have a day where we forget all the stuff that makes us roll our eyes and remember all the stuff that brings a tear to them. 

My own mother was a drill sargent when we were on the road. She taught my brother and me how to keep it all wired tight and not lose shoes or socks or toothbrushes. She was strict and precise. And mediocrity was not tolerated, as it was unnecessary. 

Today, I’m very grateful for those qualities she instilled in me. But the most important story my mother and I share, at least where it pertains to me, happened about 48 years ago. It goes like this…

When I was 9-years-old, my father was preaching in a little church over in West Nashville, on 53rd avenue. I knew this church well. I had been attending it on and off since birth. 

My grandfather pastored it by the time I was 9. And this particular evening my father was filling in at the podium. 

On this evening, something spiritual or magical (or however you want to couch it) came over me. And I began writing a song. 

I had been playing music for years already. I’d sung and played hundreds of songs by then. I was already a seasoned performer. But nothing like this had ever just “dropped” out of the sky on me. But it was happening in real time. And I couldn’t stop it. It was just flowing. 

I wrote it all down on a yellow legal pad (for some reason mom always had paper for us to doodle on during church). 

And I was so excited about this song, that I leaned over and showed it to my mother. I whispered in her ear, “I just wrote a song. Here it is.”

At that crucial moment, my mother had several options at her disposal…

She could’ve shushed me and told me to be quiet, my father was preaching. 

She could’ve actually punished me for even leaning over and talking to her. 

She could’ve placated the effort, smiled politely, and whispered, “Okay, honey. We’ll check it out after church.”

*That’s the go-to move for most of us*

She could’ve dismissed the effort out of hand and scoffed at me, a 9-year-old, thinking I had “written a song.” Sure you did, kid. Sure you did. Eye roll. 

My mother had so many responses to this song revelation, that she could’ve engaged in. And, honestly, none of them were really the wrong answer. I was fully expecting her to shush me and then allow me to sing this for her after church. 

That would have been perfectly acceptable. 

But my mother chose the most unexpected response of all. She looked at me with those deep brown eyes, and I saw seriousness in them. She took the paper from my hand and actually read the words on it. Then she looked back at me. 

At first, I thought I might be in trouble. But then she leaned over and whispered, “Do you have the tune for this? Could you sing it to me?”

Then, she motioned for me to come with her. This was huge. We were NEVER to leave the room when my father was preaching. For any reason. Even bathroom breaks were frowned on. But my mother had an all access pass to wherever she needed to go, whenever she needed to go. 

So, I followed her to a back Sunday School room, with an old upright piano in the corner. This was in the bowels of the building, where we could play and sing and they wouldn’t hear us in the front house. 

She sat down and said, “Okay, just start singing it. I’ll find where you are.” 

I started singing the melody that was in my head and she immediately figured out what I was doing. And she followed me all the way though the entire piece. 

When I was done, she stared at me – her eyes now gleaming in a smile, but also tearing up. 

“Could you sing this tonight? For the whole crowd out there?” she asked. 

My heart immediately started palpitating. Performance was a whole different animal. But if my mother was insinuating it was worth sharing, then it was my responsibility to steel up and do it. 

“Yes ma’am. I can do it.” 

We went back out to the congregation, my hands sweating and heart pounding. And as my father finished his sermon and was about to pray the dismissal prayer, he caught my mother’s hand wave out of the corner of his eye. 

“We have something special we need to acknowledge,” she said to him. 

He looked at her, then at me. They had this unspoken language between the two of them. I could always see it in their eyes. And I knew that he somehow knew what was about to happen. 

And just like that, we walked to the piano and the lone mic stand. My mother gave me an intro, and I sang the first song I ever wrote, to a packed house, at the Church of God of Prophecy, on 53rd avenue, in Nashville, TN, at 9-years-old.

It all happened because of a mother’s instinct.

My life hinges on that ONE act by my mother. The way she reacted to my song and my moment set me on a particular road. I remain on that road almost 50 years later. She instilled in me, in that moment, that songs are important. And it is necessary for them to be shared. And you should never discount someone’s attempt at creating a piece of art. And never destroy their soul in that process. But nurture it. 

My mother taught me, in that ONE act, to step up to the mic and sing it…even if you’re terrified. And her approving smile at me, when the song was finished and a standing ovation was happening, made me feel like a super hero. 

Over the next few days, people are going to talk about how their mother made them the person they are today. 

In my own case, it is absolutely true. And I can take you to the place where it happened. 

Thank you, mom. 

In that ONE act, you taught me more than any A&R person or college instructor, or publishing company president or band member ever did. You literally made me…well…me. 

You can’t do much better than that as a mother. 

Happy Mother’s day to everyone. Especially Diane Hamm.      

R   

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NO REGERTS…

“No regrets.” 

This is my least favorite phrase of all time, right behind, “Our payment schedule is on a 60-day cycle,” and, “It’ll be great exposure.”

I don’t understand people who have NO regrets…at all? Zero? Really?!?! And they always have that same explanation at the end of it, “I mean, I wouldn’t be the person I am now if I hadn’t made all those mistakes.” 

And I’m over here, like, “is that even a good thing? Is the person you are now something to be all that proud of?”

These thoughts haunt me, often. Because not only do I not have no regrets. I have MOSTLY regrets. I mean, don’t you ever wonder “what if” when looking back on your life? Don’t you ever remember how naive you were? Or how much of a jerk you were? Don’t you ever wonder, if you would have made this decision rather than that one, what might have been? 

I do. 

I don’t see “the person I am today” as anything finished or accomplished. I see this guy as still a work in progress. And one that could’ve been farther along in that process had he not made so many idiotic decisions at certain points in his life. 

Today is my birthday. 

It is also the birthday of legendary country star, Tim McGraw. We were born on the same day, in the same year. So, I have this luminous example of what can actually be accomplished in a life, at this very age, with pretty much the same hight, weight, skin color, and gender. And every year, I get to see what I might have been if I had only done one thing or another a little better, or a little more on point, or with a cowboy hat on, or whatever.  

It’s actually kind of maddening. But I don’t blame Tim. He’s a good dude. It’s just weird to think of these two baby boys born on the same day, and what became of us both. 

I once heard Tim say that every great thing that had ever happened to him in his life, happened because of music. And I just chuckled to myself and said, under my breath, “every horrible thing that has ever happened to me, in my life, has happened because of music.”

And maybe that’s the difference between Tim and me. Maybe he’s the glass-half-full type Taurus. Anyway…

Sinatra said of regrets, that he “had a few, but too few to mention.”

I’ve got more than a few. And they are worth mentioning. Because, at 57, I still feel like a big pile of unfinished business. I’ve had amazing moments in my life. Hopefully, I’ve said or sung or written some things that made people think or sing or dance or feel something. But, overall, in a world of Peyton Mannings and Tom Bradys, I’ve always felt a little like a Ryan Leaf.

*If you’re not familiar with NFL quarterbacks, look those guys up. It’ll make sense* 

But I’m still here and I’m still trying. And I’m trying to learn from my regrets, rather than just ruminate on them. My son is 17 and starting to peek his head into the big, wide world. I see him making some of my same mistakes; not taking certain things seriously enough while taking non-serious things too seriously, etc. Spending way too much time banging around on an instrument. And dating a hispanic girl. 

That last one will take you down. Don’t ask me how I know. 

Last night I came across this picture of me at his very age. And it sent me down the rabbit hole of my life, from that moment to this.  

So, today, in honor of mine and Tim’s birthdays, I’ve decided to list 5 of my bigger regrets in hopes that it might help you along on your own journey…

5. I wish I’d never gone into music, on any level, as a profession.  

The music business looked romantic and exciting to me when I was younger. They told me I had a “gift” for it. So it seemed like a natural thing to do. After all these years, I’ve realized that I’m actually more suited to be a “music hobbiest” than to be in the business of it. And I loathe just about ever aspect of earning a living from making noise. 

I love the noise. I can’t stand the grind it takes to turn that noise into money. I wish I’d gone into finance. 

4. I wish I’d never stepped foot on a college campus.  

I dropped out after one year of carrying a strong 2.0 grade point average, and being on academic (as well as 2 other types of) suspension. I am not cut out for institutional learning. And I knew that in my gut. But it took years for me to be not only articulate about that, but vindicated in my belief that not all brands of education work for all kinds of people. 

I made some great friends during my one year of college. But, overall, it was monumental waste of time and I wish I had that year back. 

3. I regret a lot of romantic relationships. 

When I was 10-years-old, I overhead a doctor tell my mother that I would probably not live past the age of 21. I was in the hospital with Rheumatic Feverand apparently it was pretty bad. As it turned out, I was fine and lived well past my expiration date. But hearing that made me want to race out there and experience all that life had to offer before I died. 

In my haste to do that, I think I got tangled up in my own hormones more than a few times. And that left some scars on me and probably a few ladies who didn’t deserve my cavalier approach to them and their feelings. 

If you ever dated me when I was young, I’m sorry. The man I am now would love to sit down and have a long talk with the kid I was then.  

2. I regret listening to nay-sayers. 

I developed so many limiting beliefs early in my life, because of putting my faith in someone who said something. Somehow, I had the impression that just because someone, somewhere, said something out loud, it was somehow true. And God forbid if they were in any kind of position of power. I would take their words as gospel. 

The truth I know now, is that nobody really knows what they’re doing. And most opinions are truly worthless. We’re all just trying to navigate life with the best information we have. The people who make the most of life listen to their own inner voice. They don’t get distracted or affected by the herd. 

I wish I’d been more like that earlier. 

1. The first drink of alcohol. 

I didn’t take a drink of alcohol until I was 25. Not a sip. 

But when I started, I went hard. For the first time in my life, there was this substance that was legal and incredibly accessible, that would shut down all those voices in my head constantly telling me how much I sucked (see #2 above). And I found that magical. So, for the next 28 years, I used that substance to mask so many things I needed to work through. 

Finally, I got enough clarity to see that it was probably going to aide in my early demise if I didn’t stop it. And now, after having this kind of clarity for 3 years, I realize that alcohol probably hindered me in ways I can’t even describe. 

I will never know how good I could’ve actually been at what I do, or how much more I might have achieved. Because the thing I thought was helping me, was hobbling me. 

I wish I’d lived my adult life sober. 

The only three things in my life that I have no tinge of regret about, in any way, shape or form, is my wife and my two children. 

Every beautiful, lovely, amazing, sacred, magical thing that has ever happened to me, has happened through, in or around, those three people. If everything else in my life was as amazing as they are, I wouldn’t be writing this blog of regrets today. 

I’d probably be Tim McGraw. 

R

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ANTI-HERO…

I do not want to write this. 

Of all the things I haven’t wanted to write, this is at the tippy top of the list. 

Throughout my “commentary” career, I’ve written about presidents and culture and history and art and religion and literally hundreds of other things. And I’ve found a few curious hot-button subjects that kind of surprised me. 

Obviously, any time you write about Trump you get barraged with comments and heat. It’s almost too easy. He’s a cash cow for anybody who is even “media adjacent.” 

But some tender areas I didn’t count on were 1) soccer. Good lord! I had no idea how passionate people could be about such a boring game (irate comments start in 3….2…). 

And the other one I didn’t see coming in the way it has evolved, is 2)…deep breath…Taylor Swift. 

Swifties have become an army of Karens (no offense to my friends named Karen) ready to take you to cyber-school if you even breathe the least bit of criticism in the general direction of the young phenom. It would be much easier for me to simply let this pass without so much as a whisper.   

But I can’t allow the biggest music star on the planet to drop a 31 (yes, I said THIRTY-ONE) song record and not comment on it in some way, shape, or form. I simply wouldn’t be doing my job (whatever that is) if I didn’t. 

So, clears throat. Straightens for the impending body blows and cheap shots. And here we go…

First of all, I didn’t listen to any – not one note – of this record. I have never listened to a single Taylor Swift record, so why start now? Obviously, I’ve heard all the singles. Everybody has. And even as I type this, I have You Belong With Me pounding through my head because I literally just heard it at the grocery store. 

And, yes…it’s infectious. But so is herpes. Anyway…

I actually have nothing against Taylor Swift. Anyone who has achieved anything spectacular (and she definitely has) always gets due respect from me. I know how hard it is to bend the world in your direction. It can be maddening and soul crushing. Anybody who can see it through to becoming ubiquitous is absolutely someone to be reckoned with. 

So, I don’t take her lightly. And I don’t dismiss her out of hand. But I know a little too much about how she became what she became. So, she can never be a hero to me. 

In fact, very few people (in music, anyway) are heroes to me, anymore. If you’re a star, I know exactly what and who you are. You’re a narcissist. You HAVE to be, to get where you got. It’s quite simply…that simple. 

All the time you could’ve been spending pouring into others or helping those in need or listening to someone who needed to be heard, you spent focussed on YOU. It’s just the way it works, folks. 

Take it from a world-class narcissist.

In Taylor’s case, she didn’t just come to Nashville with a sack full of songs and a dream. She came with something far more powerful – money.  And lots of it. 

And that money got her into doors the rest of the world can’t get into. It got her meetings with labels and writers and producers and all of the talent who need that magic ingredient to make their own dreams come true. 

And when she had enough songs (written with world-class writers, some of whom I know) to put out a record, that money was infused into her career to prop up radio success and little extras maybe everybody else couldn’t afford. 

When I got signed to the largest record label in the world, they would refuse to pay for little things, like maybe supporting me on certain legs of a tour. Or they would balk at a music video or EPK for certain press opportunities. Just because you’re signed to a record label doesn’t mean they are obligated to pay for everything in your career. Only what the contract stipulates. And they read the “creatively.”

So, I paid for most of whatever happened to (and for) me, myself. The record label paid me a licensing fee for the project, exactly three plane tickets to Seattle and three hotel rooms, a photo shoot and some cover art. 

All in all, they spent less than a hundred thousand dollars on me. I went broke doing the rest. 

In Taylor’s case, I would imagine those conversations were never difficult ones. Because the Swift war chest was well-stocked and sustainable to begin with. I’ve said this before, but Taylor Swift has never in her life sang in a dive bar to disinterested alcoholics, hoping she makes enough tip money, or sells enough merch, to pay the electric bill. 

When you can guarantee that the funding won’t be an issue, you get to sidestep a lot of the pitfalls of the music business, which always operates in a deficit. And that keeps you at the front of the line. 

Now, does it guarantee success? Of course not.

I actually personally know of two other blonde would-be starlets who had funding from daddy or a boyfriend, and burned through several million dollars with nothing to show for it.

You have to bring the hit songs and the charisma. And she did both of those. But I also know dozens (maybe hundreds) of people who brought both of those things, but simply couldn’t afford to sit at the poker table anymore. 

Music Row is littered with those people. They’re driving your uber. They’re delivering your pizza. They’re selling you your house. 

Did daddy buy TS a career? Not per se. But he DID ensure that it wouldn’t be de-railed over budget cuts. And how many ever millions he put into her, has paid big dividends. She was a good investment. 

But keep in mind that that is what she is…a corporate product. And she has been since she was 16. 

Taylor Swift isn’t the rough and tumble chick who banged it out in bars and got her life turned upside down a few times, then came up through the murky waters with a tough skin. She’s a debutante who walked in the front door, and started dating Jonas brothers pretty much right off the bat. 

She’s not like you. 

So, I remain baffled at those who defend her as if she’s a cult hero; as if she is the embodiment of the down trodden female experience. Everything society can bestow on a human being has been bestowed on this person. And she still talks about her “female rage” as if we’re supposed to have the slightest idea what the hell she’s talking about.

My great-grandmother got married when she was 12 and left the ceremony on a donkey. Was a widowed (because her husband was murdered) single mother by the time she was 15. Then, married another man who died when she was 22, leaving her with two more daughters – one of whom was crippled by polio. 

When she married her third husband (at 29), he introduced her to his SIX children he’d been hiding from her, at the wedding. She took them all in and raised them as her own. She could wire and plumb and a house, put together a carburetor, and do it all while making dinner. And I promise you, that woman had less of an ax to grind than Taylor Swift and her army of cohorts. 

But in a weird way, I think I kinda get it…

Taylor Swift is what eventually happens when you get everything you think you want. And it isn’t enough. It will never be enough. And after reading some of the lyrics of her new record, I think she knows it too. Everything I’ve read so far, feels like a lament. And that is sad for someone who just made a billion dollars and broke every music business record ever created. 

I have no critique of the record. I’m old enough to be her father. I’m not her audience. And I’m also an artist. Creatives go where they have to go. And right now, she’s a creative with no worlds left to conquer. But without a legitimate struggle for much of it. And she really needs for there to have been one. So do her fans. But it really isn’t there. 

And, at some point, that leaves you with nothing real to write about. So, you do it 31 times, trying to find the truth in yourself, somewhere. And you bang against convention and you cuss and you make eyebrows go up and you go really dark (at least as dark as your life experience will take you) and you get Rolling Stone to call it great. But you know. And we know. 

And that has to mess with your mind. 

All I say is, be careful what you wish for. Also, be careful who you turn into a hero… 

Or an anti-hero.    

R 

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FEED THE BEAST DAY…

World War 3 started this weekend. 

I don’t know if you realized it or not, but it sure did happen. 

Personally, I was in Texas, watching my son’s favorite band perform. He’s 17 and I’m spending all the time I can with him, now, because I know I only have a few days left where he will want or need me around to do things with. I’m actually shocked it has lasted this long. 

But he still needs funding and, in this case, over 21 chaperoning. But he’s months away from being a legal adult and into his own life. That means a lot of things. But one of the key things it means is registering for the draft. 

That one ties my stomach in knots a little bit. Especially after what started this weekend. 

Now, maybe the United States won’t get dragged into a war in the conventional sense, based on Iran and Israel sparring with each other. But here’s the thing…

The United States is the biggest, baddest country on Earth. Not in terms of land mass or population. But in terms of sheer power. In fact, the United States government is the most powerful entity in human history. 

Think about that.

Not Rome. Not Egypt. Not the British Empire. Not the Mesopotamians. Not the Third Reich or the CCP. In the history of all mankind, the most powerful force in the human story is the United States government. 

THAT government is always – and I mean always – going to be summoned by each and every side of each and every geopolitical argument, for help or financial support or technology or…troops.

And those troops are often kids like my son, standing in the mosh pit, feeling young, one Saturday night, then sent off to bootcamp to learn how to fight and kill, the next. 

Don’t get me wrong. I believe there are times and places when troops and wars are necessary. And I believe the U.S. has been on the righteous side of several of those. And I honor people like my grandparents who answered the call when everything was on the line. 

On the other hand, after the past few years, I’ve pretty much started questioning every little thing about this all-powerful structure known as the United States government. And as much as I consider myself to be a patriot, I honestly don’t believe anything they tell me, anymore. 

Is it because they’re staffed with bad people? No. It’s probably just the opposite. The people staffing our government are all probably individually kind and just and well-meaning. 

But they are all involved in a bureaucracy. And bureaucracies turn kind, well-meaning individuals into “team players.” It’s quite simply human nature. 

Like I’ve written many, many times, whatever beast you build must be fed. 

That means nobody ever votes for a pay cut. Nobody ever has a conference to roll out new and exciting ways to shrink (or, God forbid, END) the operation. It’s not even part of human nature to stagnate. 

It is in human DNA to build and grow. Actually, it’s in the code of all life, everywhere. I literally JUST stopped writing this piece to get rid of a bee buzzing around my office. 

That bee wasn’t looking for ways to end its own life, in order to make mine easier. It was looking for ways to survive and perform its function as a bee. This is the nature of all living things. 

So, if you start a government program, it will ALWAYS grow. ALWAYS. It will never end. Because it has unlimited power to grow. There is nobody or nothing there to stop its growth. It is part of the United States government.

This concept is at the heart of where political lines are drawn. It’s not right versus left. And it never really has been. It is libertarian versus statist. 

The libertarian view holds that maybe we should try everything but government first. Because we know that once’ it is started, it will be there for all of time. And it will grow and evolve and entangle the lives of people who will depend on it for their own survival. 

The statist view is ready for the government to take control of anything that needs to be done. It is essentially, “pro-beast.” 

Today is tax day. And it’s the day we feed said beast. 

People have often talked about political revolution or upheaval in this country. This candidate or that candidate is going to change this or change that. And here’s the thing nobody wants to hear or know…

NO candidate is going to change anything without challenging the beast itself. 

Donald Trump is under indictment in 4 different places because he tried it. Joe Biden isn’t under indictment anywhere, because he gorges along with it. 

If you think it’s more nuanced or complicated than that, you need to watch the first few seasons and catch up to the rest of us. 

The only thing that will ever work as a true revolution in this country is a TAX revolt. 

If the 150 million tax payers of this country ever went to their employers and opted out of withholding tax, then simply didn’t send a check at the end of the year, the beast could finally be tamed. 

But it would be painful and messy and it would require every person doing it. But it’s the only thing left that could get Washington’s attention. 

Cut off the funding. Period. 

But nobody wants to go to jail. And the fact that THAT is the thing hanging over the heads of every citizen, tells you everything you need to know about the power the beast holds. It can end your life as you know it, if it isn’t fed. 

I’ve always been fascinated by people who feel like they’re disenfranchised by American laws, and yet they vote for people who are literally telling you they are going to make more laws. Lots more. 

Currently, I’m intrigued by those who were livid over the Covid responses and sort of got “red pilled” by it all, but are now contemplating voting for Robert Kennedy Jr. as the rebel/protest vote. 

I have a lot of empathy for the Kennedy family. They’ve been through a lot. And RFK seems like a very smart and informed man. But whenever you ask him what the remedy might be to whatever problem there is (and literally just throw a dart at the problem board) he will respond with a good, old-fashioned government program or response. 

So, in other words…

Feed the beast more food. Make it bigger, stronger, faster. And give it sharper teeth. 

He’s not talking about anything other than where we point the eyes of the beast and who we train it to maul. 

Look, you may not want to participate in World War 3. But if you continue to pay taxes, you are in it whether you like it or not. And somebody you may not have even voted for will be making the decisions on your behalf. 

And you never know how helpless that feels until you’re standing next to your son at a rock concert, watching him jump up and down, singing every word to his favorite song, hoping someone, somewhere, isn’t putting battle plans together that he is going to one-day have to carry out.         

Have fun feeding the beast, today. 

R 

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FIT FOR THE BATTLE…

It never stops. 

THAT is the primary issue. 

When I scour social media in the morning, looking for the newest trends or the hard news or the issues of the day, I’m always impressed by how constant it is. There is never a slow news day, anymore. 

Now that we all have access to every thought in every person on earth’s head, there is no shortage of things to write about, for someone like me. We used to “watch the news” to see what was going on through the world and through the day or week. 

Now, we ARE the news, every second of every minute of every day. WE are all making news in some way. We’re either part of a “growing trend” or we’re part of a “new movement” or we wake up to find we’re in some new category of human that was coined last night by some “influencer.” 

And I’m not gonna lie…it’s kind of maddening. 

There’s so much shaky ground beneath our feet, right now. If you’ll notice, I just put a comma right before this part of this sentence. I’m pretty sure that is grammatically correct. But I’m being told by the younger generation that adding grammar to texts is “triggering.” 

*I think I know what triggering means. Although I’m still not sure how much I care.*  

Yes. Even 3rd grade grammar is up for grabs these days. I mean, it’s not really up for grabs as far as I’m concerned. But all it takes (these days) is for someone to decide something is up for grabs…and then it is.

This is kind of the negative side effect of taking every single person on planet earth seriously. We used to weed those people out with shame and ridicule. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating going track to that way of doing things. God knows I’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of that, throughout my life. 

But the pendulum has swung so far the other direction, that any foolish notion gets the same consideration as a bone fide, well-reasoned point.

I remember the 1970’s pretty vividly. I remember the gas lines and the tri-fecta of double digit inflation, interest rates and unemployment. You almost have to be trying to achieve something like that. I remember thinking the world was about to end pretty much all the time. 

But then, the whole country kinda came together and said, “Okay – let’s agree on a few things. And let’s elect this actor for president. And let’s make a bunch of Rocky and Rambo movies.” 

And you know what? It all worked.  

It’s one thing to read about this era or that era. It’s quite another to actually have lived through said era. And one thing my generation can attest to is that big things can actually get accomplished; big turns can be taken, if you can get a general consensus on a few simple principles. 

Right now, we can’t even agree that our species is essentially binary. We are questioning the very curvature of the planet we live on. We have rattled the cages of existence down to the essence of living and breathing. 

Men and women can’t seen to even get together, anymore. 

My 17-year-old son, and literally ALL his friends, don’t have an inclination to pursue the opposite sex. It’s not on their radar. And I don’t understand it. When I was 17, I promise the ONLY thing on my radar was the opposite sex. 

And we (boys and girls) figured out how to get together. We wanted to get together. It was a whole thing. But, now? Not so much.       

And I wonder if we can’t agree on basic human existence principles, how are we ever going to agree on enough to right this ship? And the fact that some people are reading this, right now, thinking that the ship is fine and doesn’t need to be “righted,” is proof that my question is a serious one. 

This all fell on me like a ton of bricks, back on Christmas night of 2020. I realized that I was an unwitting player in a rigged game. And so, I looked to myself and my own personal existence as a way of starting all over. 

While scrolling the sess pool this morning, a memory of me popped up. And the picture caught me off guard. It’s the round, plump face of someone eating too many sandwiches and drinking too much whiskey. And THAT is what I’m talking about. 

My initial feeling after clearing the virus (which will remain nameless), back in 2021, was that I had to be personally ready for whatever was coming next. No more unforced errors. So, I went into training…in every sense of the word. 

I cleaned up what I consumed as a viewer of screens. I cleaned up what I consumed as an eater of food and a drinker of beverages. And I started doing research. A lot of it. 

*The picture on the left was taken the week I started training in earnest. Picture on the right was taken 2 years later.*

See, something sinister is out there counting on us to be slow and weak and stupid. It’s counting on us to be too used to comfort and too addicted to it, to be able to adapt to anything difficult. Something is counting on us to not be able to take control of our own selves and fight back with power and intelligence. 

I have some ideas on what the “sinister thing” is. But let’s put that aside for a minute. What if it’s just life itself? 

I don’t “mobilize” people on this blog. Anyone who has read me for any length of time knows I’m a pretty hardcore Libertarian. It’s against my nature to tell people what to do. 

But if I could offer some friendly advice…

Get sober. Get healthy. Get lean. Get in condition. Get mentally clear. Get spiritually in tune. 

Sometimes it’s just for little things, like being able to help move heavy pieces of furniture into my parents’ new place without getting winded or tired. Maybe it’s just the ability to go without food for a day, without getting “hangry” and emotionally off balance. Maybe it’s about something as small as saving money because you’re not spending it on wine. 

All these things matter. They matter more than you know. And if we, the ones who see the possible impending struggle, can be clear and sober and healthy, it will make that struggle easier to endure and overcome. 

This morning, I awakened to several highly dramatic issues in my life and in the lives of some of my friends. I didn’t need physical ailments holding me back from dealing with those things. I needed the best version of myself available. 

You’re going to wake up needing that, too, soon enough.

Meanwhile, I’m waiting on us to come to a consensus on how much craziness we’re willing to endure before all agree on a president. And I wouldn’t hate a new Rocky or Rambo.   

R

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GUTTER BALL…

It started as a bubble. 

I’d never really seen anything like it before. But there it was in the paint, on my wall – something bubbling up. 

Over thinker that I am, I immediately went to the worst-case scenarios in my mind. Is this some new form of mold growing? Is the roof leaching some kind of chemical into the walls? Am I going to have to move my family out of the house until we can get everything mitigated and inspected? 

All of these things were racing through my mind as I walked over to the dark corner. But when I got there, I realized it was a bubble filled with water. Uh oh. The rain storm outside was leaking into the house. 

Now, there were all new concerns. Was I going to have to replace the roof? Was I facing some kind of convoluted homeowner’s insurance conversation for the rest of the week? 

I poked the bubble with a kitchen knife and as the water poured down the wall, my wife now freaked out in concert with me; blurting out, “there goes all our money!” 

The thing they don’t tell you about homeownership is that nobody is coming to save you if something happens to your house. 

So, at 9 pm, I changed out of my sleep wear and into my work pants, rain boots and poncho, to go into the dark storm and try to tarp whatever leak was bringing water into my living room. 

My son and I traipsed through the garage, picking up the ladder along the way, out to the area in question. As I ascended the slippery rungs, to the roofline, I immediately saw the culprit. It wasn’t a roof problem or really even a leak of any kind. It was the gutter. 

The gutter along that wall was overflowing and spilling a line of water into the living room outside wall. But why was it so clogged?

I put my hand in the leafy water to find a ball. ONE. BALL. 

This was s second mystery solved. We’d been looking for that ball for months. My son had lost it somewhere. Now, here it was beneath foliage and soot, keeping everything from draining as it was supposed to, and threatening the very fidelity of my own living room. 

Once the ball was removed, the water ran exactly to where it was supposed to. When I walked back in the house, the first thing out my wife’s mouth was, “Like nothing ever happened.” 

The ball in the gutter was an easy fix. It cost literally nothing. Just some time and attention. Just some willingness to get out in the rain and check on the structure. 

But, I could’ve allowed it to continue. I could’ve stared at the bubble from a distance and watched it grow to an unmanageable size, then watched it burst onto the carpet and drapes, causing more damage than necessary. 

I could’ve called a service to come out and charge me hundreds (or even thousands) of dollars to find the problem. I could’ve bulldozed the entire house down, claiming that it was structurally unsound. 

But the entire drama of the evening was just a ball. ONE. BALL. 

As I showered and dried and settled back in, watching the former bubble be nothing, I wondered how many times we see something like this and blow it out of proportion. 

How many relationships get destroyed because someone sees it as unsalvageable. When it’s maybe a couple of breakthrough therapy sessions away from being the best relationship of your life. 

How many business plans and big ideas get scrapped because we see water coming in and think it’s all over? 

And then I thought about this…

What if the entire system I lived in was incentivized to let that water come on it, in order to trigger a bigger response than just fishing a ball out of my gutter. What if I made millions of dollars by allowing water to destroy the house, then filing for some kind of relief from a government agency? How many balls would I leave in the gutter, then?

How many times do we feel compelled to create a new law for something, when we haven’t even tried enforcing the ones on the books? How many times do we allow a fixable situation to become a crisis, because we can make more money from the crisis? 

How many “serious situations” aren’t all that serious if we would simply put our rain boots on and check them out personally? 

Many times, it is the WILL we lack. Not the answer. 

Could we solve the hyper inflation we’re all experiencing right now? Probably. Could we stem the rampant inflow of illegal immigration on our southern border? Of course. Could we mitigate the generational anxiety we’ve helped to create among our children? I believe we could. 

And, more personally, could we heal our relationships? Could we heal our bodies? Could we get rid of dysfunction that has plagued us for years – maybe even generations? 

Sometimes, a relationship just needs an honest conversation. Sometimes a body just needs movement, sunlight, sleep and nutrition. Sometimes, a generational curse just needs a breath of new perspective. 

Maybe all is not lost. Maybe what we think is unstable is completely savable. And it might not even be that heavy of a lift. 

Last night, in the rain, I avoided destruction and devastation and the depletion of funds, that would’ve led to chronic stress and marriage issues. I may have side-stepped life-changing property damage and de-valuing. 

All I did was get a ball out of the gutter. 

Who knows what gutter ball is holding any of us back from? Who knows what it’s holding our family back from? Who knows what it’s holding our country back from? 

When I discovered the bubble, I was watching the Netflix docu-series on the story of Moses. 

And I was again impressed by how so many times, the Israelites were given a golden opportunity. And so many times, their own dysfunction of having lived as slaves or having no context of where they were or who they were, kept them from claiming their spiritual birthright. 

How many times did they just need to get the ball out of the gutter? 

Today, the sun is shining and the rain has ceased for a while. And when I spruce up the yard, in the coming weeks, I’ll be taking the ladder around the house, checking the gutters. 

Because one errant throw shouldn’t create a panic during a rainstorm.  

R

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LOSING OUR RELIGION (OR NOT) …

Andrew Huberman is going down, apparently. 

Who is Mr. Huberman, you ask? 

He’s a world-renowned neuroscientist from Stanford, who has been accused of sleeping with 5 different women simultaneously. Let’s see: Top 5 pod caster on earth. Rich. Famous. Brilliant. Looks like Thor and can bench press 300 pounds. 

Only 5??? 

I find that pretty restrained for a guy who most definitely has his number of options. Still, we’re all about taking people down right now. So, here we go, Andrew. 

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t know this guy and I don’t care about this guy. I listen to him from time to time. And I always find him informative and interesting. But if he has abused someone or assaulted someone, I’m certainly never going to defend that. 

But we are in the mode of bringing people down, right now. In fact, some have called 2024 the “Year of Truth.” Everybody’s on the train. Ever since Katt Williams sat on that leather sofa, across from Shannon Sharp, and drug out the skeletons, everybody who has a story about somebody famous, is “spilling the tea” anywhere they can find a microphone. 

Because, at the moment, nothing will make you famous quicker…than taking down someone famous. 

Everybody likes to think we are on the precipice of being beyond celebrity worship; that celebrity culture and power are about to be a thing of the past. And millions of people have taken to TikTok to roast Jennifer Lopez and Justin Timberlake and the like. 

Yeah, let’s not think too highly of ourselves just yet… 

If you think celebrity worship is over, try posting something critical of Taylor Swift. Just see how long it takes for you to get put in your place by some passing Swifty, who wants you to know, in no-uncertain-terms, everything Taylor has had to endure, what an amazing business woman she is, and how amazing of a role model she is for young, entitled white girls everywhere (that last bit is going to fire up the comments – it’s honestly too easy).  

We are definitely NOT done worshiping celebrities. We’re just picking and choosing which ones are now safe to criticize. 

The same people who are now lampooning Jennifer Lopez, were no doubt rushing to her defense when she showed the entire world her anus, on the Super Bowl halftime show, just a few short years ago. 

*It has been scrubbed from the internet. But we all remember.*

Simply bringing that up made you a racist, misogynist, who clearly didn’t understand Latin culture (Yeah – I actually saw a “friend” of mine post that very thing).

Well, I’m married to a Latin woman. I know more about that culture than most people. The showing of the anus isn’t part of the culture. Sorry. And now, after her ill-fated movie/documentary/musical/whatever, we’re all seeing just exactly how narcissistic she is and what a pretender she has always been. 

It’s just that some of us saw it earlier than others. But I digress…

Here’s the thing, though; it’s NEVER hard to see narcism on display. Let me let you in on a little secret – ANYONE who is standing in the key light of a stadium stage, is, by definition, a classic narcissist. You don’t have to defend some and lampoon others. 

They are all that. ALL. OF. THEM. 

It doesn’t necessarily make them bad people. It doesn’t mean they don’t put good things into the world. It doesn’t mean some of them don’t act nice from time to time. It simply means that in the course of your life, in order to become the center of attention on a large scale, you have to make narcissistic decisions that will put you in (and keep you in) that key light. There is literally NO WAY around it. 

When deciding whether or not to seek out a healthy relationship, start raising and teaching the next generation of children, and putting yourself second or third (or last), OR spend the next two weeks going over designer costume changes for your 3-hour show, you must decide to do the costume changes, if you want to be that. 

THAT is a narcissistic decision. Period. 

If you’re deciding between settling down, being a dad, working a job that will keep you close to home with the kids, OR singing songs all over the place and promoting yourself and your face to the world…constantly…you have to make the narcissistic choice in order to be that. 

Am I preaching to myself? Of course! I wrote a whole book about this very thing. And fame, for me, has been a tightrope for years. I have to allow myself a certain amount of selfishness, in order to continue to make a living. 

But if I gave into it totally (which is what you have to do, to actually “break through”), I would be much more famous than I am. And I would absolutely have a much more strained relationship with everyone in my family. Probably wouldn’t even be with my wife at all. 

Because that’s what it takes.

The big irony of the people on TikTok putting out their J-lo send-up videos, is that what they want out of it, is exactly what they’re making fun of…they want clicks; or fame. It’s just in a different form. 

We like to think we’re tearing down the facades, with Diddy and all his cohorts going down, with the Nickelodeon docu-tell-all, etc, etc. 

But just remember one thing…

We made these people. We gave them our time and attention. We fixed or gaze upon them. 

Al Capone became rich during prohibition, for one reason and one reason only…people refused to stop drinking. And Al, a psychopathic murderer, provided for the human dark side. So, we turned him into a folk hero. 

You can say you’re appalled at the Epstein Island shenanigans. But you voted for the candidates who frequented that island. You can talk about Diddy and how horrible it all is. But you’ve danced to the music he made and facilitated. 

You can clutch your pearls at the child abuse at Nickelodeon. But you parked your children in front of those shows just like I did. 

Harvey Weinstein got away with rape for years for the same reason Al Capone got away with murder…he facilitated dreams and dark desires. How many people might have turned old Harvey in, had he not been financing that movie they’d been trying to get made for seven years? 

The point is, none of us are clean in all of this. And trying to act like we are, is hypocritical on a cultural level.       

One day, you’re going to find some things out about your favorite celebrity (yes – maybe even Dolly), and you’re not going to like it one bit. Because fame and attention aren’t noble things to aspire to. And anyone who has achieved those things has had to compromise themselves in one way or another. 

And they may have even had to get into business with unsavory people, in order to keep that dream alive. 

Get a few hundred thousand followers on your social media account, then do an endorsement deal. THEN, let me come in and examine your entire operation. I promise I will be able to make you look bad enough for a docu-series. 

Because trying to get more famous is a dangerous road. 

None of us are designed to be worshiped.  

And God (the real one) help you when those who worship you start losing their religion.  

R

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inJUSTICE LEAGUE…

Over the last few years, certain phrases have become tired. 

One of the most tired of all is this one: “No one is above the law.”

In fact, as it turns out, MANY people are above the law. Or, at least, they seem to be. Was I the only person in America who heard James Comey list all the ways in which Hillary Clinton broke the law, but then literally say (with a straight face) that even though the laws had been broken, no prosecutor would ever (or SHOULD ever) prosecute her over them? 

Was that just me? I didn’t make that up, did I?

Am I the only person who has seen videos in my TikTok and YouTube feeds – not something I sought out, mind you; something that just randomly showed up in my feed – of the president’s son actually DOING a drug deal, breaking black letter federal law? Just me?

Am I the only person in the country who just heard congressional testimony about the current president breaking the law regarding classified documents, but not being prosecuted because of his perceived declined mental capacity or bad memory or something to that effect? Did I make that up?

If I’m not making all these things up, then yes…A LOT of people are above the law. 

The thing about “the law” is that it’s prosecuted by human beings. That means believing in “impartiality” and “blind justice” and all of that, is kind of a fool’s errand. Nobody is unbiased.  

When O.J. Simpson was prosecuted for crimes in Nevada, the judge very gleefully (and on camera) gave him an unusually severe sentence. And everybody knew it was because he had skated on a couple of high-profile homicides, a few years earlier. I knew it. You knew it. O.J. knew it. And the judge knew it. 

I’m no O.J. fan. And we ALL know he did it, now. But that wasn’t blind justice. It was good, old fashioned payback. And as much as we all wanted to see O.J. pay for his original crimes, that particular piece of history left my blood running cold. Because it meant that everybody is human – even people wearing black robes. 

If you’ve ever gone to school with the football star who’s dad was the coach, and, thus, made him the football star, you know that politics is in everything. 

If you’ve ever seen the boss make a safety infraction “go away” because it was committed by his best friend’s son or (worse) the girl he wants to sleep with, you have seen human nature do its thing. 

I once did an interview with a high-profile magazine, for a record I was producing. I made the mistake of calling a lyric “masculine.” I meant to say “muscular” but masculine came out. 

The interviewer was female (apparently, an activists of some kind) and took GREAT offense at the statement. In fact, it de-railed the rest of the interview to the point that I couldn’t recover. Today, it would’ve been a viral moment. 

When the record came out, SHE was placed in charge of doing the official critique for that magazine. And she drug that record over the coals. It was ugly. In particular, she went after the songs I had either written or produced. For me, it was a lesson in bias. Nobody gets out of it clean. We all give in, if the right buttons have been pushed. 

The multiple prosecutions of Donald Trump have proven to me that the American justice system can be weaponized by anyone at any time, for any reason. I never wanted to believe that, before. But I absolutely believe it, now. 

In particular, the real estate fraud case, in New York, seems to be the most egregious. 

How can I assert such a thing? Well, mainly because the governor of that state issued an official statement to all the developers in New York, that THEY had nothing to worry about when it came to these kinds of cases. She really did that. 

In effect, she was saying, “you don’t have to worry about it because you’re not the guy we’re after.”

But here’s the problem…

What if, one day, you DO become the guy they’re after? What if you post the wrong thing or take the wrong position on an issue? What if you threaten something central to the survival of their power structure? 

I think we know what happens to you in that case. 

As Trump is reeling from this, unable to find 400 million in cash, for bond, I was selling a song catalog. I was trying to over-value it as much as possible. I say that publicly. I don’t care who knows it. That’s what you do, when selling something. You over-value it as much as you can. 

Is that used couch you have listed for $120 on Facebook Marketplace really worth $120, Janet? NO. You know it’s not. But if someone gives you $120 for it, you’re going to snatch their arm off. But I digress… 

The people trying to buy my catalog understood this because THEY were trying to UNDERvalue it. 

I know this based on their opening bids (which were HALF of what we ended up selling for). If I had taken one of those opening bids, nobody bidding – NOBODY – would’ve stopped me from doing it. They would’ve simply taken the win. Because, that’s how buying and selling is done. 

Is my catalog worth what I ultimately sold it for? NO. It’s worth WAY more. But song catalogs have been artificially DE-valued because of streaming. So, do I have a legitimate lawsuit against streaming companies for devaluing my intellectual property? I actually think I do. But I don’t have the cash on hand to sue them. 

Why?

Because they have de-valued my net worth. 

See how easy it is? 

In Trump’s case, they’re probably going to start seizing real estate holdings to cover the cost of the judgement. And, in an epically ironic twist, they’re going to have to get those buildings valued on the open market, in order to get an accurate account of the worth of their holdings. 

If the appraisals come back at where Trump valued them, in the first place, I think Mr. Trump has a legitimate counter suit, based on the state’s OWN appraisals. 

If I were him, I’d let them seize the properties and wait on those appraisals. It puts the state in an awkward position. 

Either way, the details of the case don’t really matter at this point. What matters is that he legal system is now fair game for political opposition. Be careful what you wish for. Because, YOUR candidate is next. 

In the meantime, I’ll just be over here trying to stay under the radar. I don’t have the money or the stomach for legal battles. 

But, as an artist, writer, and social critic, the legal system has almost given me too easy of a target. You’ve all exposed yourselves as frauds and dutiful soldiers for your own political brand. 

If that’s the game we’re going to play, now, it will never end. And you leave me no choice but to root (and write) against you. 

This year, my son read Twelve Angry Men, in his English Lit class. We want to believe in justice. We want to believe there’s someone standing against the prejudice and tribalism of the human heart. 

Yes…we sure do want to believe that. 

R

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WHAT IF…

Does anybody else feel an ominous sense of dread?

Boy, I do. Kinda all the time. It’s like a nagging feeling, underneath all the other feelings, that we’re not going to be okay somehow. 

It feels like there’s some sinister force out there, that doesn’t have our best interests at heart (if it even HAS a heart), controlling what is happening to us and what is about to happen to us. 

Like the human race is caught in some weird inertia from which we cannot escape, no mater how heard we try. And every positive thing that happens to us is going to have a dark cloud hanging over it. 

Some of this is due to the absolute ravaging we have experienced, over the past decade, from social media. 

Post something positive. Just try it. You’ll get a lot of positive feedback. But then, you’ll get the weirdest negative comment that blindsides you. It will be rooted in something you have to bend over backwards to see in a negative light. 

But it will show up. Trust me on this. 

And part of that is because modern society is geared to only look for the social injustice in something. If you word something the wrong way or “like” the wrong post or laugh at the wrong meme, someone will jump out of the bushes and make sure they properly shame you and call you out on your violation of whatever the outrage of the moment is. 

Essentially, that makes life – especially life on social media – not a lot of fun. But it also kinda traumatizes everybody emotionally. 

I mean, don’t get me wrong. This isn’t PTSD we’re talking about. It would be an insult to people who actually suffer from PTSD, to compare the two things. But there can be these little trauma micro triggers that add up after a while. 

And while it’s probably not going to affect you in big, pronounced ways, it will give you that sense of dread I was talking about before. 

We’ve also geared ourselves to talk in the most dire terms about everything. In the last 20 years, I’ve heard the term “existential threat” more than I heard it in the 35 years of life I had up until that point. 

Nobody deems anything worthy of discussion, anymore, unless it’s an existential threat.  

I personally think this is one of the problems with younger generations being so depressed and anxious all the time. ALL they hear is how everything is an existential threat. Whether that thing is an actual existential threat or not. 

Let me be clear about something to younger readers (if there are any out there). Climate change is not an existential threat to YOU. It won’t be an existential threat for many, many centuries…if then. 

I’m old enough to remember watching, with chills running up my spine, Leonard Nimoy talk very sternly and seriously about the coming ice age. He quoted the latest science and cited the most cutting-edge stats. This was settled. And none of us thought we’d see the year 2000. 

But NONE – like, ZERO – of those predictions came true. Not one. All that happened was they revised them and pushed the timelines out further. Then, they did it again. Then, again. 

Then, as we approached said year 2000, everybody got really spooked because all the computers were going to shut down and go haywire based on the fact that they weren’t calibrated for a “2” in front of the other three numbers (or something like that). It was such a blip on the screen, I can’t even remember what the problem was. 

But, at the time, I remember friends who were so worried about all this, they were actually hoarding food and water and cash and whatever they thought they would need for the apocalypse. 

It all turned out to be a whole lot of nothing. 

Little did we know we should’ve been worried about a beautiful day in early September of the next year, instead.

But I digress…

The point is, I have a hunch that we all feel so anxious right now because everything is thrown at us with such urgency…every day…all the time. 

My wife and I watch these little relationship shows; Married At First Sight, Love Is Blind, etc. It’s our guilty pleasure. And one of the things that always stands out to us, in a glaring way, is how uptight these kids are about relationships. 

Nobody has any room for grace or mercy or allowing someone to be human around them. But the main thing they ALL forget to do is simply enjoy the act of dating or being married or falling in love…or even just TRYING to fall in love. 

It’s like we’ve removed joy and wonder from life and replaced it with a stringent set of rules that must be adhered to and a bunch of boxes that must be checked. And if not checked correctly, it’s a “deal breaker.” 

What ever happened to making out on the couch, just trying to get to second base? Whatever happened to going to a funky diner and laughing about the menu, then driving around and doing nothing but talking and stopping at playgrounds to sit on swings and talk some more, until the sun comes up? (This is my perfect date, by the way)

When did everybody get so uptight? 

Look, I have some bad news for you: you are NOT going to live forever. So, take that off your plate. Also, a lot of things you think are the worst case scenario, may not happen at all. 

The worst thing that will ever happen to you, will most likely be some weird variation of some scenario you never saw coming. And there is probably nothing you will ever be able to do, to stop it. 

But here’s something I often say around my own house. It might help you in seemingly dire moments.

What if…just what if…

Everything. Is. Going. To. Be. Okay? 

R

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TRIPPED UP…

Mark Twain famously said, “If voting mattered, they wouldn’t let us do it.”

And I gotta be honest…after the last few years, nothing has felt more like the truth than that statement. 

Does anybody else feel like your vote simply doesn’t matter? And maybe it never did? 

The first time I truly felt this was sitting in the E.R, on Christmas night, 2020…

I’d been battling the virus-that-shall-remain-nameless, for ten days. The original doctor I went to see refused to prescribe ANY medication for me; no cough syrup, no anything. And I got the distinct impression that she actually resented me even bringing it up. The manner in which she scolded me – “There is NO known therapeutic for this virus. PERIOD!” was accusatory in tone. 

It was if she was saying, “I don’t care what the president and all the crazy right-wingers say.” 

I was simply asking a question. Nothing more. 

A different doctor took my FaceTime call, five days later, and at least prescribed me a steroid as a precautionary measure against Pneumonia…which I DID, in fact, contract. Double Pneumonia. 

The E.R. doc said that it probably saved my life. And that’s when I got really scared. My LIFE had been placed in the balance, based on someone’s politics or anger over politics or, at least, the whiff of it. Now, sitting in the E.R., attached to an IV drip and an oxygen monitor, wearing a stupid mask that kept falling down every two minutes, I just stared at a basketball game being played on the TV screen. 

The players were playing in an empty arena, which made it feel eerie. They were playing a full-on game; checking and picking, driving to the baseline, elbows in the pain, etc. But when they walked to the sideline for any reason, they had to put on a mask. Um, does this look absolutely ridiculous to anybody else? Oh, yeah. It’s just me in here. 

Also, the refs had to wear masks for the entire game. 

Sitting there, in my half fever dream, mesmerized by the BLM arm bands every single player, on both teams, was wearing, this all looked like some kind of absurd theater. What had just happened to the world? And why were we all complying with so much…just…strangeness? 

Who was making these rules? Nothing made sense, anymore. Was I dying? Was my daughter dead already? I couldn’t find out because all the phones were down, due to someone blowing up half of downtown Nashville on Christmas Day. 

How did all this happen? 

Then, a commercial about upcoming news stories, including more voting irregularity investigations. It was now up to 52. Funny how this virus made me laser focus and remember weird details while simultaneously making me forget my mother’s maiden name.

But this feeling washed over me completely and totally. And that feeling was one of being had. 

“Oh, I get it. None of this is real. None of this has ever been real. We’ve all been pawns in some strange chess match between powers far above our ability to comprehend.” 

That thought really ran through my mind. 

Just then, someone stole a pass and ran down the court for a fast-break slam dunk…to silence. And I pictured Donald Trump and an entire segment of the American population being someone who had done that. But instead of the slam dunk, a coach stuck out his foot and tripped them from the sidelines. Because that was the only way to stop the momentum. 

And instead of a ref calling it, the refs looked the other way. This visual actually played out in my mind.  

Why would refs not call something like that? Why would a coach feel confident enough to cheat? Why would all the players simply allow it to happen? The only way something like that would ever happen would be if everybody involved knew the game was rigged and HAD to be rigged for people to keep watching it. 

Pure survival instinct.

But then, someone who wasn’t hip to the script, stole an errant pass and didn’t know they were supposed to pull up before scoring. That person, foolishly thinking this was an actual game, where actual competition was allowed and rewarded, made the game look weird all of a sudden. They were exposing the flaws in the other team. 

What they didn’t know was there were no flaws to be exposed in the other team. They just hadn’t gotten the memo. 

As I sat there barely breathing, I felt like someone who was inadvertently part of that illegal trip…collateral damage. 

The doctor came in, and his exact words were, “This is the day (day 10) when you go one way or the other with this thing. Looks like YOU are going to go the good way.” 

Not gonna lie – that was an awkward way to tell somebody they were going to live. 

Once the phones came back up, and I was back home, in bed with nothing to do but scroll, I went on Facebook and started deleting people who I’d had online arguments with. I stopped writing so much about politics and even thinking all that much about it. I quit drinking and started getting healthy. And I forgot almost totally about voting. 

For me, it felt like the world was now about physically surviving the coming waves of totalitarian control. And I knew that Mr. Twain was probably right about his 100-plus-year-old assertion. 

Here’s the only problem…

Mark Twain never said that. He said this, instead: “When a thing gets to be absolutely unbearable, we can rise up and throw it off. That’s the greatest asset we have. The ballot box.” 

Yes, Sam. We’d love to believe that. We surely would. 

People are excited about Trump winning yesterday. And all the prognosticators are in full bloom, telling us how it’s all going to play out. Well, here’s my prediction…more of the same without any real shake-ups. See, it’s not about Trump. It never was. It’s about ANY challenger to the status quo; to the way things have to go in order to keep going the way they have to go…in order to keep going. 

Policies and personalities are just noise. It’s about a libertarian versus a statist world view, now. And the statists have the power, all the guns and the will to stay alive. 

The more I see of the unelected bureaucratic state and its absolute willingness to protect itself at any and all costs, I’m convinced that it’s not about right versus left or liberal versus conservative, anymore. I don’t think it ever was. 

As I watch lawyers, judges and press personalities mobilize to actually IMPRISON a former United States president and current presidential contender, I just smile to myself, keep my head down and mind my own business. And I don’t care all that much about the outcome. Honestly. 

Because, as much as I want to believe what ol’ Mark actually said about voting in this country…

I think he was probably closer to right the first time.      

R 

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