Farewell to history

A.I. generated imagery crossed the threshold of "dangerous" long ago. Now it's almost impossible to tell what's real.

A few weeks ago I saw video of Donald Trump's name being removed from the Kennedy Center. That never happened, at least not then, and not in a public way. The name was allegedly removed this past week, but under concealing tarps hanging from scaffolding in such a way that it could not be seen by the public.
Then yesterday I saw an image of the building restored, with the scaffolding down and the Trump name removed. Not a mark to indicate what had been done. It looked great. Only...in reality, the scaffolding is still up, the tarps are still covering the name. No one has seen it yet.

The world's largest steam locomotive just made its way through Northeastern PA yesterday. Dozens of people took photos and recorded videos. Today I saw some photos that looked...Weirdly composed. TOO perfect. Were they A.I. generated, or A.I. enhanced?

What's that guy pointing at? Why is the guy in the green shirt taking a photo of empty tracks instead of the historical train right behind him?

A.I.-enhanced? Or just tweaking colors until the picture looks completely unnatural?

This morning I saw photos from a historical event: the funeral procession of Ronald Reagan. Nancy Reagan expressing grief.

But something feels off about the composition of the photos, of the images of Nancy Reagan. Something makes me think these shots of cars and people are A.I. simulations of the actual events. Nancy Reagan's grief looks like a computer trying to express emotions.

These A.I.-generated images of Paul McCartney, Phil Collins. and Elton John immediately came to mind.

The list goes on and on. I recently heard about someone who had their photo taken on a trip and posted to social media. The photo gave them a pocket square they never wore, a fancy gold watch they never owned. They didn't ask for these "enhancements." Their cell phone's built-in A.I. assistant added them on its own.

Where are we going with this? Nowhere good. Elections this past month have freely made use of A.I.-generated fake photos and video. By the time the next elections come around, these fakes will be much better. Already we need to doubt the "evidence" presented of past and current events. Soon it may be completely impossible to be certain of anything. 

Earnings adjusted for inflation, 1985-2025

I'm on vacation now, and I set out a small list of things I need to do that I can't do while working, which means I'm desperately trying to avoid doing those things. So instead I finally sat down and updated my MySSA account, which shows me my social security contributions for every year and what I could expect to receive when I retire. (You can get yours by starting at https://secure.ssa.gov/RIL/SiView.action and following the prompts.) I exported my annual social security earnings into a spreadsheet, and then converted each year's value to 2026 constant dollars. I graphed that and got a bit of a slap in the face.

Some key facts here: in 1985 my earnings were so small they don't show up on the graph. I worked summers of my freshman, sophomore, and junior years in college from 1986-1988 at the TV faceplate factory where my father worked. In 1989 all my earnings were from Universities, which didn't count towards social security. In 1990 and 1991 I was working at a criminally low-paying solar cell manufacturing job in Delaware. (For most of my time there, I discovered, they were paying me below minimum wage, but were able to get away with it because it was Delaware.) I started working at Specialty Records/WEA Manufacturing midway through 1992, and moved into a series of salaried positions in 1994. In 2007 I lost my high-paying salaried job there and began working in a manufacturing position, maximizing my income by working as much overtime as possible. I was laid off again in 2011 and began working basically on-call, which lasted through 2012. In 2012-2018 I worked for a travel call center, again working as much overtime as possible, and then worked at a cable/telephone/internet service provider call center from late 2018 through mid-2019. In mid-2019 I began my current job.  

Broadly my work history can be broken into two parts. After my plans for a career in academia collapsed in 1989, I had a career-building phase in manufacturing from 1992-2007, with a continuation in that same industry from 2007-2010. Since 2011 I have been in survival and recovery phase, with employment opportunities dictated by the transformation of Northeastern Pennsylvania from a manufacturing economy to one centered on warehouses and call centers, coupled with the need to stay in the area to take care of my mother. That particular need ended with her death in 2023, but by then I had no desire to leave the area and start over again.

I am currently earning, when adjusted for inflation, an amount comparable to what I was earning when I ran a DVD press line (three of them, actually) from 2008-2010. I am earning less, adjusted for inflation, than I did from 1993 through 2007.

Social security retirement is based on your top 35 years of earnings. From this graph I have about 30 years of decent earnings and nine crappy years (not counting 1985 or 1989.) Assuming I continue to earn more each year than the year before and my increases exceed inflation, I need to work at least five more years before I can consider retirement.

In 1992 I bought my first used car. In 1996 I bought my first new car. From 2002-2006 I traveled to Ireland three times. In 2006 I bought my grandmother's house. Back then I could afford to do those things easily.

Fortunately during much of 1990-2010, my prime earning years, I plowed lots of my income into my 401k.  That provides a significant safety net for the future.

Based on family history, I might have another 15-20 years left in me. If I retire in 5 years, I will have to survive on my social security and savings for at least 10-15 years. If I wait until full retirement age in eight and a half years, I will have a higher social security benefit but fewer years to enjoy retirement. If I hold out to age 70 I will maximize my benefits but have little time left to enjoy retirement.

A brief encounter, and the sad aftermath

Tuesday, December 2nd was our first significant snowfall this season. Temperatures have rarely risen above freezing since then. Just after midnight Friday morning temperatures dropped to 16F, and then dropped further to 9F by 9:00 AM. Friday saw a bit of a warmup, so temperatures were around 27F when I left work at 12:40 AM Saturday morning.

It has been my habit lately to drive past the cemetery on my way home from work to see if the candle on my mother's grave (easily visible from the road) is still lit. I replaced it on Sunday, and it had still been burning the previous morning. It was out. From repeated observation, these candles only last five days.

This path home takes me through some densely forested areas. Most of Northeastern Pennsylvania is heavily forested, so this is not unusual. Still, deer, skunks, rabbits, and other woodland critters (including bears) pose a collision hazard year-round, and can unexpectedly step out of the woods.

Coming down the Sans Souci parkway into Nanticoke I had to brake hard and swerve as a thing walked directly into my path. Black fur with white on the belly. Nearly as long as a deer but much shorter. Weirdly-shaped head. Too many legs. ...two tails?

It was two dogs walking briskly across the parkway side by side, pressed against each other, one walking a few inches behind the other. They paid me little heed as they passed from the direction of Tractor Supply towards the railroad tracks, towards the vacant building that used to be Dundee Gardens.

Where did they come from? Where were they going? What were they doing outside in subfreezing temperatures? I don't know. I'm just glad I didn't hit them.

...at least, I didn't know until I saw this:

Please hold your animal friends close and don't let them roam. Bad things can happen to them if you let them roam.

My mom and the legal weed store

Ever since my mom's car was t-boned at an intersection as she was driving to church back in 2000, she had suffered from chronic pain. She sought help with it from many sources, including chiropractors, nerve blocks, and regular visits to pain specialists. When medicinal marijuana was legalized in Pennsylvania, her pain specialist suggested that she consider giving it a try.

It took some doing, but eventually we got her a medical marijuana license. We went to the store recommended by her pain specialist. It was a little storefront in a strip mall that I had never noticed before. The store itself consisted of a small waiting room, a receptionist, a tiny consultation room, and a larger back room. I was with her for the consultation, making sure she wasn't getting ripped off or otherwise taken advantage of. The place seemed adequately legitimate. Only she was allowed into the back room to be presented with the available product, so I waited in the waiting room, perusing the printed catalogue with product names that sounded straight out of a drug dealer's vocabulary (the one I remember was "Birthday Cake," though another one I remember involved a gorilla.) I watched a television loop through presentations on issues facing today's marijuana enthusiast community hosted by two likely-looking guys, and learned how to make hemp milk with hemp seeds. I flipped through the stack of marijuana-related magazines. Eventually my mom emerged from the back room with a medicine bottle containing a few gelatin capsules with what was purported to be just the right ratio of THC to CBD.

She wasn't especially happy with the results, which made her feel spaced out but didn't particularly address her pain issues. We went back a few more times to try different formulations. It was always a bit of an outing for us: somewhere new and strange, different from anywhere we usually went. I tried to observe and absorb as much of the environment as I could. Eventually the catalogue went away, and then the TV, and then the magazines that had articles about artistic macrophotography of marijuana buds and the science of terpenoids and aromatic terpenes, the pungent scents associated with unburned marijuana and some other things, including citrus fruits. (I have learned that some marijuana preparations include artificially adding citrus terpenes to give them a characteristic scent.) In the end - I think this was before I had a smart phone - it was just me and my thoughts, and the other people in the waiting room.

I remember the last visit pretty clearly. It was a cool and rainy day. The waiting area was fairly crowded as I waited for my mom to emerge from the back room. I listened to the conversations around me - the burly motorcyclist with chronic back pain, the 20-something woman who announced how wonderful the smell of marijuana hanging in the air was as she entered - but eventually I heard the tap-tap-tap of my mother's cane as she prepared to exit from the back room. I rose up out of my tiny cramped plastic chair, stretched out my spine to my full height, and squared my shoulders. The door opened and my mom came out, a little old lady in her mid-80s, immaculately dressed, tapping along with her cane. The room was filled with murmured "Awww"s and a "How cute!" from the 20-something as I approached my mom and gave her my arm to walk her out of the shop.

Her license expired soon after that and we didn't renew it. She was never happy with any of the formulations she tried, and we decided that the bother and expense were not worth it. Still, I have my own fond memories of the place, and the smell of marijuana-associated terpenes - even from a peeled grapefruit - remind me of my mom.

(This post was inspired by a Twitter post by Dr. Ally Louks, Ph.D. about the scent-associations of cigarette smoke, and a response regarding the particular smell of marijuana smoke.)

The Great American Eclipse of 2024

We almost didn't see it. This total lunar eclipse cut a long path across the United States, from Texas to the New England states. Northeastern Pennsylvania was outside the path of totality, but still in an area of greater than 90% coverage - 94.4% in Nanticoke. Unfortunately, that was also pretty much our degree of cloud coverage this afternoon, after a bright and sunny morning. Still, there were moments that the eclipsed sun could be seen through the clouds, as captured above at about 3:15 PM.

I tried to get establishing shots of the sky and landscape before the maximum eclipse so I could compare it to the appearance at maximum. Unfortunately, the adaptability of my camera to various light levels meant that no significant difference can be seen in the before (above) and after (below) images. But there was a significant difference. The "after" appearance was much gloomier, and felt unnatural. The clouds seemed to thicken, making me wonder if the temperature drop in the Moon's shadow causes water vapor to condense out of the atmosphere, increasing cloud formation. It was easy to feel the temperature drop as well.

I had friends at various points along the path of totality. One traveled to San Antonio, Texas especially to see the eclipse. It looked like she and her companions would be clouded out, but the sky cleared long enough to see totality, and the solar corona. (A few hours later it was raining hard enough that her hotel began to take on water.) Another friend in Niagara Falls had cloud cover comparable to ours, but at least got to experience totality by having the mid-afternoon clouded-over sky turn completely black.

While somewhat disappointing, this was a fun event, and I'm glad I got to experience it. 

CODA: While reviewing past eclipse posts, I found this diagram of the path of today's eclipse, created by Fred Espenak. I originally posted it in December 2018.

Fireflies

A memory I want to preserve before it fades.

The Word to Word poetry reading on Friday, July 14 went off very well.The structure of the reading is unusual: three poets blindly send four pieces of poetry each to each other, and then endeavor to order them in a way that makes sense. The idea is that the poets will be "in conversation" with each other through their poetry. The problem was that we are three very different poets, and our poems touched upon very different topics. After weeks of pondering this, I noticed that many of the poems mentioned or could be placed in a time of day: the hours before sunrise, midday, the afternoon, dusk. That suggested an order that gave a nice flow to the poems, and gave the final poems a synergistic punch. The four that I chose were "Night, April 21, 2020" (set at 4:00 in the morning), "dancer" (which can be found here), "Ora Pro Nobis," and "Cardinal."

When the reading was over I made my way back to the car. I had had nothing to eat but a large stack of French Toast at midday, and now, nearing on 8:30 PM, I was hungry. I stopped at Burger King, the Burger King where my mom and I would sometimes stop to grab a quick lunch after one of her appointments. I got my usual two Whopper Juniors (two for $5) and splurged on some fries. I noticed a skinny gray-and-white cat in the parking lot, picking at a scrap of food. I tore off a chunk of one Whopper Junior and psspss'd to the cat. It watched me with curiosity until I tossed the meat in its general direction, at which point it retreated to the forested area behind the Burger King. Maybe it came back out to grab it before anything else did. Maybe.

I stopped at a supermarket on the way home, fifteen minutes before it closed. (The supermarket and its parking lot were a setting for a previous story involving a cat.) I dashed in to buy a horrible list of groceries: one small package of half pork-half beef to make meatballs (I was really looking for ground beef, but they were all out), two bags of potato chips (Middleswarth Weekenders, once 14 oz., now just 9 oz.), one container of ice cream (once a standard half gallon size, then 1.5 quarts, now 1.44 quarts.) I made it to the self-checkouts just as the store closed.

I came home and packed up the remains of my late supper  and my groceries, locked the car, and proceeded up the hill to my back door. 

As I climbed the hill I was greeted with a light show: dozens of fireflies, some airborne, some on the ground, all flashing their HEY BABY WANNA HAVE SEX? lights at each other. I chose my steps carefully, not wanting to tread upon any of the luciferous insects. I wished them well in their reproductive endeavors as I walked up the hill. May they be fruitful and multiply. 

Lord knows we need more of their kind to light up our summer nights.

State of Decay

Well, the U.S. has essentially come to the consensus that they're sick and tired of COVID-19. They're done with it. Over it. So therefore, COVID is over. Masks off! No more restrictions!

This isn't over. I don't know if it ever will be. But the decisions that have just been made are going to result in a lot more deaths.

I had an appointment in Hazleton this week. It was the first time I've been there in many years. Hazleton is an oddball city: one of the largest cities in Luzerne County, but isolated from much of the rest of the county and situated practically on its southern border. It was once a wealthy city. A self-contained city, a place where you could be born, grow up, and die, all while being convinced you hadn't missed out on anything the world had to offer. It was also, I am told, once a Mafia-infested city, and the departure of the mobsters who once ran the place and propped it up financially can explain much of the sudden economic downturn the city has experienced.

About twenty-five years ago the ethnic makeup of the city started to change. Up to that point it was majority Polish and Italian, old-timers who had worked in the mines and ran the mines and owned the mines, and their families and their children who hadn't yet fled for greener pastures. 

The newcomers weren't there for mining. Many were immigrants from Mexico, looking to work as laborers in some of the remaining industries in the area. Their arrival was greeted with hostility. One local politician built his career on trying to drive out the immigrants. His efforts failed, repeatedly, at tremendous cost to the local taxpayers. These failures have not dissuaded him from continuing to run for public office - allegedly he is next planning to run for governor. Had he succeeded, Hazleton would today be a depopulated ghost town, as the old residents have died and their children have moved out of the area.

Hazleton has been a COVID hotspot from the start. There are several theories as to why. Regardless of the reasons, such a place should be approached with tremendous caution. At the endodontist's office I was the only one, aside from the doctor and her assistant, wearing a mask. I watched people go in and out of the pharmacy next door without masks. We're not gonna make it, are we?, I wondered.

There are two basic ways to get between my house and Hazleton. One is on Interstate 81, the major highway that runs through Northeastern Pennsylvania on its way from near Chattanooga, Tennessee to the Canadian border with New York. The other is PA Route 309. I took 81 there and decided to take 309 back. It's been years since I've taken that road, even longer since I took it in the daytime. I remember it as a scenic route through the mountains south of my house. (The other route, I-81, gives some beautiful views of the Wyoming Valley, though there are no scenic overlooks where you can park and really appreciate this.)

I got on 309 going the wrong way for a few miles. I realized I was going the wrong way when I spotted a landmark I've never seen before: an enormous, steep-sided culm bank located feet away from the road, feet away from at least two houses (one of which appeared vacant.) How can this be legal?, I wondered. And then I thought: This is Hazleton. This is NEPA.

It's over a quarter of a mile in diameter at the base. The sides have a slope of about 45 degrees. It's right up against Route 309. This is a disaster waiting to happen.

https://www.timesleader.com/news/1244206/another-tax-break-request-for-mine-scarred-site-coming-before-luzerne-county-council

I turned around and pointed the car home. Route 309 goes through the heart of Hazleton. Once upon a time Hazleton was a big, wealthy city, awash in coal money. Schools were big, churches were big, office buildings were big - by NEPA standards. That money dried up when deep mining in this area died in the aftermath of the 1959 Knox Mine Disaster, though some surface mining continues in the area to this day. Even twenty years ago, Hazleton still retained some of its veneer, though the end was on its way. On that day what I saw was a city that used to be: Schools still standing, their names seen only as shadows where there once were letters. Churches converted to new denominations, or standing empty. Vacant office buildings looking ready for business except for the orange plastic fences blocking access.

The ride out of town was just as bad. That part of NEPA has always been a bit odd, with residential houses freely mixed with businesses along the side of Route 309. But now many of those businesses are closed. For every two or three houses, it seemed, there was an empty business.

NEPA is changing. Everyone in this area knows that. When I went to college in Scranton in the mid-to-late 80s it was like a big, broken-down, abandoned amusement park. There were demolition sites everywhere as old, run-down buildings were torn down. Decades later Scranton has experienced a renaissance of sorts. Wilkes-Barre sustained horrific damage in the flood of 1972. It was rebuilt and revived in the 70s and 80s, experienced a decay in the 90s as Scranton's fortune rose, but has gradually worked itself up to a new state of prosperity. In both cases the fortunes have been largely tied to the rising fortunes of the University of Scranton, and King's College and Wilkes University in Wilkes-Barre. Hazleton, on the other hand, feels like a city that has had its plug pulled, like a place where the people who once propped it up have taken their money and left. Where will it go from here? Time will tell.

******************************************

The Omicron surge has largely passed. New cases have dropped, and deaths are finally dipping. Still, cases and death rates are still as high as or higher than they were during the initial surge in Spring 2020. Nevertheless, many states are giving in to the demands of the "REOPEN EVERYTHING NOW!!!" crowd to drop any mask mandates and other restrictions that might in any way present an inconvenience. More people are going to die, especially the most vulnerable: the elderly and those with compromised immune systems. As restrictions fall away, anti-maskers are taking a more aggressive approach to those who are still wearing masks - some of whom have no intention to put up with any of their crap. 

Cases are dropping dramatically, in the U.S. as a whole and in Pennsylvania as well. In both graphs, case counts exceed where they were in Spring - Fall 2020 and much of Summer 2021:

Deaths, not so much:

And in the face of all this, everyone is declaring "RETURN TO NORMAL."

The world that we knew in 2019 and before is gone, along with millions of people we knew back then. COVID-19 and all its variants are here. Welcome to the new normal.

In the Year of Brood X, 2021

 

Cicada on my cherry tree, June 19, 2021

I have been blogging for seventeen years. My first "official" blog post was May 14, 2004 - there had been another post a few days earlier that just said "Coming soon - Another Monkey with a blog!", but I deleted that after I officially started my blog. 2004 was a Brood X year, another year in which the Brood X cicadas emerge during the final stages of their seventeen-year cycle, and they were the subject of my twenty-fifth blog post on June 9, 2004. The cicada eggs that were laid that year grew up to be the cicadas of this year.

(I was in college during the previous Brood X cycle in 1987, and spent that summer at the TV faceplate factory in Pittston where my father worked. I remember cicadas thudding off the windshield of our car as we made the commute to work. I was two years old during the Brood X emergence before that one, and don't have any memories of it.)

I have been hearing cicadas for the past few weeks around Nanticoke, but had only seen a single one (flying near the top of one of my cherry trees) up until yesterday. The cicadas seem to be concentrated in the area alongside Route 29 on the east side of town, although there are also some along Middle Road to the south and possibly some along the river flats to the north. In large numbers they emit a sound that sounds exactly like one of the dozen or so sound effects that were used for phasers in the original TV series of Star Trek. Individually they sound like an electric drill being used in short bursts, to the point that many people assume that this is what they are hearing: some rude and thoughtless neighbor using power tools at all hours of the day and night, over and over.

Yesterday I went for a ride to the Hanover Mall to get some specialized pet food for our fifteen year old cat Babusz, who recently had an incident of odd behavior - she suddenly abandoned her usual hangout spots and went into hiding, choosing to isolate herself in odd areas around the house and refusing to accompany my mom to the bathroom, as was her custom. She did this for about two weeks, and then gradually began to emerge again, spending some of the day in her old usual spot on a rocker near where I work, racing my mom to the bathroom some (but not all) of the time. But since she emerged she has been losing weight. We'll get her to the vet soon, but having lost four cats in the last twelve months I fear the worst. At my sister's recommendation we are trying a new food/treat, Churu by Inaba. She has gradually taken to it. Our grocery store doesn't carry it, by Village Pet Supplies in the Hanover Mall does.

Babusz, July 12, 2020

The Hanover Mall is just the other side of Route 29. When I got there, I stepped out of the car and into the cicada chorus, providing a science fiction-y background to the mundane scenes of people getting out of their cars or loading purchases into their cars. I saw another cicada in the air as I parked the car.

Reports are that cicadas are absent from many areas around Northeastern Pennsylvania where they had been seen seventeen years ago. Development has disrupted and destroyed many of the underground cicada sites, eliminating whole breeding populations. NEPA is at the edge of the Brood X emergence territory, so things can be a bit more iffy here as to whether cicadas will actually show up anywhere. 

Today I went to a poetry reading, the first event I have gone to since February 22, 2020. I stepped out of the house with my Chromebook in its makeshift carrying case and my old-and-getting-older Nikon Coolpix P520. On my way to the car I heard the familiar buzz-flap of cicada wings, and watched a cicada alight on the cherry tree next to me. (My cherry trees produced their first decent crop of fruit in several years, though the cherries just ripened earlier this week and the birds have already eaten everything I didn't pick.) I carefully dropped the Chromebook, broke out the camera, and coaxed out two decent photos: 

I don't know how much longer the cicadas will be around, singing their song. When they are gone, we will not see Brood X again until 2038. If I live that long, I will be seventy years old. Will I still be blogging then?

2021: Our story so far

Welp.

"Trump still has nineteen days in office, and can still do some damage." I wrote those words sixteen days ago. They seem so quaint and naive now.

Donald Trump has simply refused to accept that he lost the election. Cannot believe it, so it must not be true, or he can make it be not true. Two weeks ago he tried to convince the Lieutenant Governor of Georgia - a Republican - to "find" for him enough votes to win the state, two months after the election. The Lieutenant Governor refused. Trump threatened him, stating that by accepting the results of the election, he was acting illegally. The Lieutenant Governor promptly released a recording of the call.

Trump had been rallying his troops on Facebook, on Twitter, summoning them to one big gathering in Washington, D.C. on January 6th, the day that the Electoral Votes would be officially counted and certified by Vice President Mike Pence. Immediately the word got around: prepare for civil war. This is it, this is what they'd been waiting for. The votes from swing states that had gone for Biden would be challenged. Mike Pence would overturn the results of the election. Trump would be certified as President. Or else.

They came. They came in great numbers, from all around the country. Local political gadfly and frequent candidate for public office Frank Scavo ran a bus trip down from Pittston with over 200 participants. The people who showed up in Washington, D.C. weren't bound by the rules that had applied to other gatherings that had taken place there. Many of them carried weapons, and flags, and signs. Many wore combat armor, helmets and bulletproof vests. Many of them looked ready for war.

Trump addressed his troops. He expressed hope that Mike Pence would do his job and overturn the election. He then directed his troops to march down from their gathering spot on the National Mall to the Capitol itself. He would be marching with them - in spirit, anyway.

The counting began, barely. The votes were announced from Alabama. From Alaska. From Arizona - and there came the first objection. Minutes after the counting began it was stopped for two hours so the House and Senate could separately debate whether to accept the votes from Arizona.

That, apparently, was the signal.

The gathered crowd surged on the Capitol. They knocked down the barriers keeping them away - in some cases, the barriers were moved aside for them by Capitol Police. They stormed the Capitol steps, off-limits to visitors since September 11, 2001. They scaled walls. They rushed the doors and battered them in. They smashed windows and poured into the Capitol. Some looked like excited tourists caught up in the moment. Others looked like soldiers on a mission to infiltrate enemy headquarters and assassinate the general staff.

Frank Scavo posted excitedly:

The next day, Frank Scavo would tell his story to all the local newspapers and TV stations: he was there, but not so close to the action as to see what exactly was going on - despite his photo from the off-limits steps above. He had heard about the incursion into the Capitol, but such a thing surely must be the work of ANTIFA disguised as Trump supporters - no true patriot would defile the Capitol in the way that these people had! A day later, photos emerged of Scavo inside the Capitol as part of a mob. Over the next few days, the news stations would publish the photographic evidence. Scavo hasn't had much to say about the incident since then, not that anyone would believe anything he had to say anyway.

Each day, more and more photos and videos of the Capitol Insurrection have emerged, many shared by members of the mob itself in generous acts of self-incrimination. Parents have identified and reported their children, and children have identified and reported their parents. One was identified by an old high school classmate. The FBI have begun making arrests. Many of the members of the insurrection had fairly obvious intent, equipped with police-issue zip-cuffs. In the videos you see them going from room to room, looking for members of Congress, Nancy Pelosi in particular (though they had also chanted "Hang Mike Pence! Hang Mike Pence!", clearly upset at his failure to overturn the results of the election.) 

While some members of the Capitol Police - the only force in position to defend the Capitol that day - welcomed the insurrectionists as friends and comrades, others did their jobs. One played Pied Piper, carefully leading a mob away from unsecured doors that would have allowed them access directly to the Senate. Others were severely beaten. One was killed, beaten to death with a fire extinguisher. Four members of the mob died - one, an Air Force veteran who smashed her way through a door and was shot by the police defending a secure position; another, a woman carrying a Gadsden "DON'T TREAD ON ME" flag, was trampled to death by the mob; two others died of heart attacks, including another local arranger of buses (and purveyor of the "Trumparoo," an adorable Trump/kangaroo hybrid.) Another member of the Capitol Police died by suicide a few days after the event.

Members of Congress and their staffers and family members engaged in an active shooter response - Nancy Pelosi ruefully noted that many of her staffers had learned how to respond in school. QAnon cult member Representative Lauren Boebert helpfully tweeted out the positions and movements of members of Congress, including Nancy Pelosi. 

Hours passed before Trump allowed the National Guard to go in. Reportedly he was watching everything unfold on TV, and enjoying it tremendously. Joseph Biden wasted no time declaring the insurrectionists "domestic terrorists."

Congress reconvened at 8:00 PM. There were several more delays, including one over the validity of the votes from Pennsylvania. But eventually all objections were overruled. Despite Frank Scavo's excited assertion, the Electoral Vote was certified, and Joseph R. Biden was officially declared the winner.

Within days Donald Trump, in recognition of his incitement of the gathered mob to storm the Capitol in an act of insurrection, became the first president in U.S. history to be impeached twice. He has been permanently banned from Twitter and Facebook, perhaps a greater personal blow.

A social media site, Parler, which was extremely popular with right-wing extremists and conspiracy theorists, was shut down after they lost both their hosting and the right to continue to use the "free trial" versions of software they used to run much of their site. Some enterprising soul managed to archive all Parler content while it was still available - which is where much of the video and photographic evidence from the insurrection was housed.

December 7, 1941. September 11, 2001. January 6, 2021.

At noon on January 20, 2021, Donald Trump will be handing President Joseph R. Biden a country in flames. A collapsed economy. Over 400,000 dead of COVID-19. Trump himself won't be there; having broken the longstanding tradition of peaceful transitions of power, he intends to slink off early. He wants to be honored with a military sendoff, complete with a band and a twenty-one gun salute.

And he still has two and a half days to go.

We'll see what happens between now and then.

First snow, November 17, 2020

November 17, 2020. Nearly 250,000 Americans have died of COVID-19. Donald Trump continues to refuse to accept the results of the U.S. Presidential Election (he lost, for the record), refuses to allow transition activities to begin, and is in fact manipulating U.S. troops to create a crisis for Joe Biden the moment he enters office. Hospitals are overwhelmed. Thousands are lining up for food handouts.

And it snowed in Northeastern Pennsylvania for the first time this season.

A white crocus before the storm

Sunday, March 15, 2020. We knew what was coming. We knew what COVID-19 had done in other countries, what it was doing in other parts of our own country. San Francisco had been on lockdown for a while. New York City was about to follow suit, sort of, if it hadn't already. Death was burning its way through nursing homes in Washington and California. The dying had already begun elsewhere, on a scale so small it seems laughable now. Perhaps 150 deaths altogether attributed to COVID-19 in the U.S. by March 15. A far cry from the 100,000 milestone we probably crossed today.

It was St. Patrick's Day weekend. A few days early; the day itself wouldn't be until Tuesday, March 17. But that didn't prevent people from celebrating that weekend, despite the threat posed by the virus, despite the warnings. Some chose to stay home and stay safe, only to find themselves mingling with partygoers when they returned to work on Monday - most workplaces hadn't closed yet. (My own workplace wouldn't close down until March 20.)

I couldn't get a fix on the March 15 data point. By March 18 the U.S. had 189 cumulative deaths attributed to COVID-19.

Governor Wolf hadn't issued the stay-at-home order for Luzerne County yet, and wouldn't for another twelve days. The Bishop of the Diocese of Scranton lifted the obligation to attend Mass on Sunday but did not close the churches; he advised that anyone attending Mass that weekend take appropriate precautions. (I watched the televised Mass held at Saint Peter's Cathedral in Scranton that weekend, and it was obvious that almost no one in attendance was taking appropriate precautions. I imagine the Bishop was as horrified as I was, because he immediately shut down all Catholic churches in the Diocese going forward.) March 15 felt like it might be the last day I could move about freely without concern for an invisible killer lurking in the air. I took my camera and headed out to the cemetery to get photos for my mom, whom I had already been keeping quarantined for a week. To see if the crocuses were blooming.

They were. We had a bumper crop this year: over a dozen purple crocuses, at least one yellow crocus, and a brilliant white crocus that had sprouted up away from all the others. I took numerous photos to share with my mom, to give her a taste of a world she was now locked away from.

The photo at the top of this post is the last photo of that set. The purple and yellow crocuses form a dim background against the granite base of the family tombstone, almost like a tapestry or set painting. The white crocus shines like a brilliant promise of better things to come.

The crocuses are all dead now. The flowering bits, at least. The underground parts are waiting to come back next year. Since that time, nearly 100,000 other Americans have died. Now, without any justification, there's a huge push to reopen, to return to normalcy. "Enough is enough, reopen now!" is the rallying cry. Soon, I fear, the 100,000 dead will seem as quaint and small as the number of deaths on March 15, barely seventy-five days ago.
                                                                     

A dream of reopening in the time of COVID-19

I have been too silent during this time. Now is the time for bloggers to do their damned jobs and write the street-level history of what's happening at whatever phase of this crisis we're in. I've got stuff ready to roll, but I just haven't been able to bring myself to write. Maybe soon.

I had a dream last night that I can remember, and I want to write it down before I forget.

Here in the real world we have adopted what is being called the "new normal": Face masks (usually cloth half-masks covering the mouth and nose) and "social distancing" (maintaining a distance of at least six feet / two meters from other people at all times, far too small by some measures) to avoid transmission of the disease by asymptomatic carriers, people who are sick and contagious but don't know it yet.

The disease is still rampant in the U.S. California and Washington did a good job of squashing their early outbreaks. New York City had their outbreak turn into an inferno, but after a few weeks of half-measures followed by many more weeks of hard work and lots of dying, they have finally "bent the curve" so that new cases and deaths are both trending down. The same is not true for much of the rest of the country, where infections and deaths are on the upswing, but at smaller numbers than New York City's. The net effect is a reduction in numbers, but that hides the story of what is going on outside of New York City.

From the Financial Times. U.S. data as of Friday, May 23, 2020.

After nearly two months of varying levels of isolation and quarantine, people are getting antsy. "Enough is enough, reopen now!" is their rallying cry. Many are making the argument that there is an level of death that is acceptable in exchange for being able to go out to restaurants and beauticians and...flea markets.

Having a second wave of COVID-19 run through NEPA because of a prematurely opened flea market would be very on-brand for this area.  

The wearing of masks has become a political issue. The CDC, despite Donald Trump's efforts to muzzle it, has issued guidelines recommending the use of masks or cloth face coverings to reduce the spread of COVID-19. Right-wing pundits are routinely attacking masks as useless, and their followers have picked up on their cry. In truth, any mask that isn't at least as effective as an N-95 respirator will not protect its wearer from the virus. But that's not what the masks are for. They're basically spit guards, intended to keep you from spewing out droplets of moisture from your moth and nose that can carry the virus and infect others. The mask isn't intended to protect its wearer, but rather everyone around its wearer. Individuals lacking in empathy cannot grasp this concept.

Also, it can look pretty cool.

Right-wing pundit and former journalist Brit Hume is questioning whether this is a good look for future President Joe Biden. Current occupant of the White House Donald Trump refuses to wear a mask, even in situations where all present are required to do so. I think Biden's blacker-than-black mask and aviator sunglasses make him look like the character Validator from Marvel Comics.

The use of masks is strongly recommended in any public place, and is required in many private areas like supermarkets. An anti-mask league has appeared of people adamantly refusing to wear masks, causing disruptions when asked to do so (and occasionally murdering anyone who has the temerity to refuse them entry without a mask), and sneering at, ridiculing, and coughing or even spitting on those who are wearing masks. An informal survey by writer and notorious Twitter troublemaker Gail Simone revealed vast regional differences: in some areas old people wear them, but not the young, and in other places it's the opposite; some places have most people wearing masks, while in others mask-wearing is the exception; and in some cases couples are seen where the woman wears a mask while the man does not. (On a recent grocery store trip the only person I saw not wearing a mask was the woman in a couple; her mask was pulled down around her neck.)

Anyway, about that dream...

I had a dream that restaurants in this area had reopened. Social distancing and mask-wearing were still recommended but not required. Several of my friends and I went out to eat at some restaurant that seemed to have a blue-lit underwater cave theme. I realized as we stood in line to be seated that I had forgotten my mask, but then I noticed no one else was wearing one.  I became very anxious and uncomfortable. We moved to select our seats, which seemed to be arranged in two tiers of stadium-style seating around an empty swimming pool, like an arena. (The feeling was that this was a Medieval Times-style restaurant, where the entertainment took place in the pool - an interesting but ultimately very expensive concept.) My friends wanted to sit in a crowded part of the arena, but I asked if we could sit in the one part that was relatively empty. The seats there were upholstered and overstuffed and looked much more comfortable, anyway.

And that's it. That's all I remember now, more than three hours after I awoke.

I wonder what everyone else is dreaming about?

(P.S. I'm seeing ads for face masks with valves built in. Please don't buy those masks. The valves defeat the purpose of the mask.)

Newspapers

I'm fortunate enough to live in an area that has not one, but two local newspapers. The Times Leader is the older of the two. The Citizens' Voice was born out of a strike in 1978 against the Times Leader in the wake of its purchase by a national newspaper conglomerate and subsequent anti-union activity.

I subscribe to both of them. I get the Citizens' Voice seven days a week, while I have a Friday-Saturday-Sunday subscription to the Times Leader. I pay for these subscriptions on a month-to-month basis. A charge is placed on my credit card on the same day each month to cover the next month's papers.

And every once in a while the papers don't show up. I'm sure there are reasons. Delivery people come and go. Delivering newspapers is a low-paying pain in the ass. Weather and other factors interfere with regular delivery.

Still, I'm paying for these papers. This is a dying industry. I'm supporting it. In exchange for my money, I'd like to get the product I've paid for. Sometimes when I call I am told a replacement paper will be on its way. Other times I am told I will get a "credit."

This weekend the Times Leader was delivered on Friday, but not on Saturday, and not today. Yesterday I called the "missed paper" number and spoke to a human who told me that re-deliveries are not done on weekends and I would get a "credit." I asked her what this "credit" meant and she told me that it meant that it would push out the expiration date of my subscription by a day. I pointed out that my subscription renews each month and my renewal date has never changed. This can therefore only mean that all the "credits" I've earned will pay off at the end of my subscription - that is, after I have said I no longer wish to receive the newspaper, I will continue to receive the newspaper until the "credits" are all used up.

I wonder if there's a tally of how many "credits" I've earned over the years? It must be several dozen, at least. I should be able to cancel my subscription and continue to get the paper for several months, assuming it is still delivered on a Friday-Saturday-Sunday basis. But I really don't think there is any such tally being kept. I really don't think if I cancel my subscription I will continue to receive a newspaper. And eventually, this paper will fold, and all my accumulated credits will fold with it.

February 26, 2019: Poems at the Pub featuring Laurel Radzieski

Tuesday, February 26, 2019 will see the return of Poems at the Pub at Dugan's Pub, 385 Main Street, Luzerne, PA. The readings are held in the upper room and begin at 7:00 PM, and the feature will be Laurel Radzieski, author of Red Mother!

Rescheduled Writers' Showcase, Saturday, February 9

REMINDER: The rescheduled Winter 2019 edition of the Writers' Showcase will be held this Saturday, February 9, 2019, from 7:00 - 9:00 PM at the Olde Brick Theatre, 126 West Market Street, Scranton, PA. Admission is just $4.00 for an evening of poetry and storytelling from Kimberly Boland, Aurora Bonner, Rachael Hughes, Laurel Radzieski, and Alyssa Waugh, hosted by Brian Fanelli and Dawn Leas.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to make this one - my new schedule has me working every Saturday evening, and I'm not yet in a position to schedule time off. But if you can make it, you should definitely check out the Writers' Showcase!

 You can find the event page on Facebook here.

Barnes & Noble to reopen January 30!

The Barnes & Noble at the Arena Hub Plaza in Wilkes-Barre Township, damaged in the tornado that tore through the plaza on June 13, 2018, is scheduled to reopen on Wednesday, January 30. A special sneak preview is planned for Tuesday, January 29 at 6:00 PM.

I may not be able to make it to the January 30 re-opening as I am planning to go to the Be Daring Open Mic in Scranton that evening, which will feature the triumphant (but temporary) return of a soldier/poet who has been stationed in South Korea for what seems like forever. I may be able to make it out to the sneak preview on January 29, if I don't have anything else going on that day...

Writers' Showcase: Winter 2019 Edition

UPDATE: Due to severe weather expected on the original date, the Writers' Showcase Winter Edition has been rescheduled to February 9, 2019.

The Winter 2019 edition of the Writers' Showcase will be held Saturday, January 19 February 9 from 7:00 to 9:00 PM at the Olde Brick Theatre, 126 West Market Street in Scranton. Admission is just $4.00 for an evening of stories and poems by Kimberly Boland, Aurora Bonner, Rachael Hughes, Laurel Radzieski, and Alyssa Waugh, hosted by Brian Fanelli and Dawn Leas.

Go here for the event's Facebook page.

Shopping during the holiday season

Someday I will write a post about how a corporate Diwali greeting at my last job smacked all the Christmas spirit right out of me and made me see the holiday in a much harsher, more cynical, materialistic, and exploitative light - and how a personal email advertising outdoor furniture on sale for Ramadan damn near finished me off. But today is not that day.

True story. Ramadan is getting so commercialized these days.

Today I did some holiday shopping for my training class's Secret Santa thing. The person whose name I pulled listed their preferences in order, but as a final item suggested gift cards from specific stores. I interpreted this as an ordered list of place I should shop for the first two items on the list. Which would have been great if I knew where the stores on the list were located.

First I drove to the Wyoming Valley Mall. Forty-five years ago this was the place to shop: a shiny new mall well above the flood plain, full of stores, fountains, benches, and, most importantly, shoppers. Today it is a shadow of its former self. Two of its longtime anchors, Sears and The Bon-Ton, both closed recently and are now vacant. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a distinct lack of traffic and cars in general. A quick scan of the signs on and around "The Mall" told me that I should be looking elsewhere for these stores.

I drove across the street from the Wyoming Valley Mall to the Arena Hub Plaza, still recovering from the tornado that hit it in mid-July. Two of the three stores I was looking for were there. I parked and walked into T.J. Maxx, a store I haven't been in since I was there to buy luggage in 2006 for my trip to Ireland. I found what I was looking for there. I was surprised that the place was relatively uncrowded, and most of my time was spent selecting the Christmas gifts while staying under the agreed-upon $15.00 limit. (The total before tax came to $14.98.)

One potentially important observation: twice in T.J. Maxx I was nearly run over by two different little old ladies walking backwards. Not sure why this was, if this is something that happens frequently in this location or may be connected in some way to the holiday season. I don't know if I'll set foot in this store again this year, or if it will be another twelve years. We'll see.

Poems at the Pub featuring Craig Czury, November 27, 2018

Craig Czury

Another amazing night at the second edition of Poems at the Pub. Craig Czury was the feature, but nine other poets shared pieces in the open mic that followed. The night didn't end until nearly 10:00. If you missed it, there will be another in January!

(More pictures to follow.)

UPDATE, 11/29/2018: Additional photos are now included in this post: https://anothermonkey.blogspot.com/2018/11/photos-from-poems-at-pub-featuring.html

Too short a season

Autumn came late after a long, hot, wet summer in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Usually the leaves begin to change color in mid-October, and the trees are mostly bare by early November. This year, many trees were still fully green after the third week of an unusually warm October.

Burning Bush, October 16, 2018

Nanticoke from Holy Trinity Cemetery, October 30, 2018

Then, suddenly, everything happened at once. Overnight temperatures dropped, a key factor in allowing color to develop. Rain fell, but the wind was gentle enough to not strip the trees bare. On October 30 most trees were showing at least some color. But then the skies cleared, the sun came out. By October 31 the landscape had been transformed, and Northeastern Pennsylvania was at peak color.

Burning Bush, October 30, 2018

And by November 2, it was past peak.

On November 4 I took my trip to the Lands at Hillside Farms. Along the way I passed mile after mile of trees mostly bare, or covered with dried and shriveling leaves. I wasn't expecting much as I took the left from 309 onto Hillside Road. But as I approached, I saw that Hillside Farms was still at peak color. I quickly realized I wasn't the only one who knew this: the parking lots were packed, and there was a line to get into the Dairy Shop.

The Lands at Hillside Farms, November 4, 2018

The Lands at Hillside Farms, November 4, 2018

By November 10 heavy rains and strong winds had stripped most of the remaining leaves from the trees. I filled three large bags from the leaves that fell from our Japanese Red Maple, which turned from their summertime maroon color to autumn shades or crimson, orange, and gold.

Burning Bush, November 10, 2018

Japanese Red Maple, November 10, 2018

Japanese Red Maple leaves, November 10, 2018

There were still some trees here and there in Nanticoke that were still holding onto their leaves. I don't know how much longer this will be the case. Just a few weeks ago, it looked like we weren't going to have any leaf color at all. What this season lacked in length, it made up in color.