National Anthem Protocol for Revolutionists

There has been much talk about behavior during the playing of the National Anthem at sporting events. Notice how it’s always the behavior of the players (workers), that is the focus of discussion. The owners & fascist fans can do whatever they want, but the players must be strictly controlled & censured. Each league has now re-iterated and/or clarified it’s policy during the National Anthem performance [1].

Of course, few ever bother to ask the most-important question, “Why is this song even played before sporting events?” That question is not allowed to be asked, and if you do, you are blacklisted by the “legitimate” media & political world. Americans are divided over the National Anthem on class lines. This fact is always concealed by ESPN & the rest of the corporate fake media.

One of the silver linings to being blacklisted is that you can do whatever you want, because it doesn’t matter– as you are permanently shut out of the mainstream. You will never see ideas such as these expressed in corporate-controlled mass media.  In that spirit, these are my suggestions on how to approach this hot-button topic. I encourage others who feel similarly, to express yourself in a way that makes you feel comfortable, while staying true. By the way, all this also applies to “God Bless America,” (or anything else that shouldn’t be played) during the 7th-inning stretch, etc.

For many like me, the National Anthem is a convenient bathroom break, so as a rule I never kneel for it, although I sometimes squat. I’m not alone, as the bathroom is usually crowded while the Anthem is being performed. No one takes their hat off, or stops mid-piss in the john. These are just personal observations from 40+ years of attending virtually every type of sporting event in the United States.

Professionally speaking, I don’t think “The Star-Spangled Banner” is a very good song. I was never all that moved by it, even as a child. But I will admit that I’ve sung it a lot, as it’s a useful song. By this I mean, “The Star-Spangled Banner” is a very difficult song to sing well. Therefore it is an excellent vocal-training tool. I’ve never sung it before an audience.

When the lyrics hit, “… and the rockets’ red glare,” is when most amateurs lose it. Often the Anthem performance is painful to watch/hear, especially when done by kids, but you are never allowed to be critical of that– after all this is AMERICA! We won’t allow our kids (who are trying their best) to be “bullied.”  So to be fair, here instead is one of the most infamous adult examples of Francis Scott [off]Key:

Beyond being a voice training tool, I don’t see much else of value here. It’s primary function (of course) is its nefarious use by the ruling class to whip up nationalism & militarism among under-educated workers & the rest. Why do team owners & their leagues fear these protests so much? To ask the question is to answer it, as it indicates how class divided we are as a society. This fact must be concealed at all costs, by the haves.

Free speech means you have the right to say whatever someone else deems as “most offensive,” just as long as you don’t threaten, libel, or cause a panic. It’s also free speech to stand like a zombie when the Anthem plays & the flag waves. We all make choices and live with them. Colin Kaepernick (SF 49ers), Bruce Maxwell (Oakland A’s), and every other athlete have this right, and those of us fighting fascism encourage every athlete to exercise it. As they have pointed out– too many don’t have a voice, so professional athletes are now behooved to stand up for them.

As far as Trump demanding respect for the flag goes, respect is a two-way street. Evidentially in order for 2016 NASCAR champion Jimmie Johnson to get a White House invite, he has to hail Trump, while declaring his unabiding loyalty. Otherwise, no invitation. Jimmie Johnson has already said he supports everyone’s right to make their own decision, while personally standing for the flag & anthem [2]. That’s just not good enough, for everyone from Donald Trump to the liberal-Democrat McCarthyists who have censored the Internet and blacklisted all political opposition.

Do you know who the least likely people to stand and pay attention for “The Star-Spangled Banner” are?” Answer: The rich folks in the box seats. Check for yourself next time, if you don’t believe that. No one tunes in, or pays for a ticket to see the National Anthem performed, in any sport. Tell anyone who gives you flak on this, to get real with their hypocritical indignity, and then look for the class interest behind their attacks. The National Anthem (and the flag) are used as tools for class control. Working people must be made to bow before them, because it symbolizes the rule of wealth under capitalism.


      1. Land of the Free


The truth of truths here is that taking a knee, while courageous at first, still isn’t enough. Sports don’t unite us, they divide us– daily, in so many ways. That’s why front-row seats cost so much more. It’s a different game when you’re watching from the nose-bleed seats, isn’t it!? Within all this, the athletes themselves are divided, because their salaries are so varied. Rookies are generally underpaid, while veterans are overpaid. There are only a few superstars in each sport, and they usually get all the ink, especially when labor issues arise.

Taking a knee, now gives ANY athlete an opportunity to express themselves. Most still don’t, out of fear of being blacklisted. Colin Kaepernick is most-definitely blacklisted by the NFL, as he’s easily a top-10 QB– which ~20 teams need. Winning on the field is important to most owners, but protecting their wealth is EVERYTHING. Sports are owned by billionaires, who provide a vehicle for the rulers of capitalism (Wall Street & Madison Avenue) to exercise mind-control class warfare on the population.

In the end, we watch sports because we love them. These athletes do things we can’t, and it’s fun (and sometimes amazing) to watch them work. Most fans are with the athletes in all this, as they (at least) can feel things being manipulated, even if they don’t fully understand it. Many others already know, and their numbers are increasing daily.

This is what the ruling class fears above all else: a movement from the working people that gets out of their control. Modern sports, combined with social media and the Internet, now provide global links for discussions that can create worker solidarity across all fields.  That is the power which fans & athletes must harness into a revolution, in order to stop this unending cycle of capitalist violence.

If this isn’t done, be forewarned that fascism is preparing itself for a hostile takeover. It’s political base is still weak, and they can still be contained & defeated, but only through conscious revolutionary action. Anything less is an empty gesture.


Fakebook Beds with CIA

This is Mark Warner (D-Va), vice-chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

Evidentially in late May, after much prodding from Obama, he personally paid a visit to Mark Zuckerberg at Facebook headquarters…

Fakebook has since snapped into line, and produced a list of 3,000 accounts– which it has turned over to intelligence services. Is your account one of them…?

This fake news about “sowing divisions” during the 2016 election, is nothing but a neo-McCarthyist attack on free speech [1].

There are two ways to change people’s minds: sexual attraction & sense of humor

Those who are best at both are Jokers

They are the most valuable cards in any game


“Back to Normal” in the Irma Aftermath

Background: Irma Aftermath & Civil War

Once all your modern conveniences have been rightfully restored, your life doesn’t just switch back to normal. For those who were never without, they continue to zip along at the speed of Internet. But as a former refugee in your own city, you now have to re-acclimate yourself to modern life. A/C and replenishing essentials is only part of it. You’re behind on sleep, laundry, cleaning and other chores; and that’s if you were lucky enough not to be flooded. Your eating rhythm has been disrupted, and food choices cut-off with no electricity. Personal hygiene literally goes out the window. No privacy in a neighborhood with no power, as everyone’s windows are open 24/7, unless there’s a generator running. Time is money, and those without power seem to be more short on both, compared to those who weren’t. This is a political, economic & policed war I’m describing here.

Hurricane Irma’s eye passed one week ago, but it was the “Aftermath” most of us have had the hardest time surviving. More people are being flooded out daily, as the rains keep coming, meaning more water which has no place to go. Florida is a sinking boat. The “important” structures are safe for now, so their sandbags (and any other resources) have been stored away instead of being put to good use elsewhere. For the most part nothing is being done, while the government & media are managing this crisis by censoring it, in a desperate attempt to get everything “back to normal.” Power & Internet restoration is being manipulated by the flick of a switch from the puppet masters. Most of Florida still doesn’t have Internet, so it’s hard for people outside this area to see & hear the truth from first-hand refugee survivors. If more people were being allowed to get online, you’d be hearing a much different story, versus what the media has been shoveling.

I’m on my bike this Monday morning, making my rounds. My working partner in the manager’s offices gives me another fist bump over getting Internet back to the complex. She still has no power at her home. Her & her husband are running a generator on & off. Generator sales have spiked since the storm, and reportedly there’s legislation in the works to make them mandatory. “Funny how people are expected to pay more & more, for the services they’re supposed to have,” I remark then leave.  She’s about 40, holding up well, and really cute on top of everything else. That’s a good woman, boys & girls. I tell her I’ll say a few words for her down at City Hall. She’s grateful that I’ve got her back, and likewise.

I get to City Hall with a backpack full of recyclables. I’m stuffing them into a bin in front of their doors– one of the few around town. Some poor fellow is seated a table away with some papers in his hand. I ask him, “Do you have power?” He looks at me for a second, and says, “No.” I already knew. I’m almost finished stuffing everything glass & plastic into the bin. “They don’t make it easy to do the right thing, do they?”, I say to him. “No, they don’t,” is his response. I let him know I’ll say a few words for him inside.

I leave my bicycle against the glass window unlocked. I’m 100% confident it won’t get messed with as long as he’s still out there. The you-know-what secretary is behind the glass again, and I think she saw me coming this time, because she doesn’t even look up. My sixth sense tells me she’s found me online. I say to her, “Still a lot of people without power.” She replies without looking at me, “Really?” I move into the doors which open so the guy outside can also hear me, and say out loud, “I tell ALL of them to come here.”

Onto the Internet station, which today has cars in the back parking lot. I park on their front doorstep with the kickstand down, and try the door. To my surprise, it opens so I walk in. There’s a sliding glass window to my right, with a security-coded locked door on the opposite wall. I try the window, and notice youngish female secretaries working inside. The glass is heavily tinted, and I can only see the younger one clearly at first, with whom I converse– as the other looks on. I ask how the Internet restoration is going, and she looks at me– puzzled? I explain some more, but no use. I’m told they just “serve papers” here, as her supervisor steps up to assist in this matter. Me: “What kind of papers?” Them: “We can’t say.” Me: Why not?” Them: Blank stares.

I’m peddling up to speed again, and make note of the Internet line Spectrum “fixed” the other night, which now has a rope lassoing it to an adjacent palm tree. It’s hitched in-between the yellow caution tape that still floats in the wind. It’s haard to fix this stuff right– you understand?

Onto the post office to recycle my mail. Except I discover there is no bin for that anymore. I saw one the week before, as I walked by, but alas no more. I interrupt everyone waiting and working to ask out loud, if there are any recycling bins in the post office? The main manager looks around for a second or two, then mumbles, “Ahh…No.”  Me: “That’s what I thought.” Then looking to everyone waiting in line, “Make you wonder, huh?” I then stuff all my junk mail into the nearest garbage can, as everyone looks on. That’s when you give up, and I always prefer to do it dramatically– in front of a public audience. You’re sending a message to everyone with your actions. I park my bike inside here.

Speaking of things you wonder about, yesterday I walked by Lake Monroe and talked with a black couple fishing at the seawall. They were the only one’s fishing, as water is now pouring over most of the Sanford seawall.  He’s lived & fished here for over 20 years, and says he’s never see the water so high. There has been a small yacht moored out in the middle of the lake for months, even through the hurricane. I saw it bobbing in the waves as the rain & gales were picking up, and took this shot (below) on my iPhone. It’s center-right, and the fisherman tells me it’s been there for years, yet no one knows what it’s doing there?

I reach my produce stand and see a sign that reads: closed. I check their hours and see they’re always closed on Monday’s. I knew that. I’m just a little off, still– and here it is showing up again. It shows up in so many little ways, that put you behind the eight-ball in everything. I needed the exercise anyways, I say to myself on the way back, as it begins to drizzle again. That’s another thing you don’t do so much of with no power in Florida.

The oil companies, hotels, grocery stores, restaurants, furniture rental companies, electricians, and water damage clean-up professionals, etc are all busy busy. Many of the people who do the actual work in these fields, have no power/Internet themselves. Meanwhile, their bosses in management & CEO’s are all getting fat. You can see it & feel it all starting to simmer…

I do have Internet, so when I get home and jump online, and see that Maria is now a major hurricane in the Caribbean. It’s just what we don’t need, as we just aren’t prepared for it; and yet it’s just what’s coming, just as everything is “getting back to normal.”  This is how most of us are surviving the madness that is Florida.

All of a sudden it’s beep-beep-beep of a utility truck. I look out and it’s Waste-Pro. Time to get my garbage out. The plastic bag in the refrigerator is pulled out, and all other indoor waste bins have their contents emptied into it. It’s not much, less than half a bag. I cut my own hair, and clean my own teeth, as it just works better for me. In Mount Dora, I had creepy blue-haired neighbors breaking into my garbage. I can’t make this stuff up.

The vehicle rolls by as we approach the next dumpster. I give him “the wave,” as always. Pedestrians would get killed less if they used proper hand signals to alert drivers as to their intentions. Proper signaling eliminates confusion & unnecessary accidents. He’s out of his truck and has unlatched the gate as I arrive with my contribution. “It’s bullshit they make you do this by yourself,” I say to him. I toss my garbage in and pick up the remaining trash on the ground and throw it in too. “We already have enough flies and garbage in Lake Monroe… thanks, for what you do,” I say in parting. He’s  happy to hear that and returns, “I’m used to it, Take it easy, dude.”  Walking back into my apartment I’m thinking to myself, that’s me, the dude– takin’ it easy for all you sinners.

Well that just about wraps it up, and it was a pretty good story to boot. Made me laugh to beat the band. Parts anyways. I don’t like to see people getting flooded out, or living without power, or even Internet. But I do happen to know that things are “getting back to normal. That sure is something, ain’t it?


Post-Script: A few hours later I know everything is cool again, as I’m finally listening to the record I should be: Zen Arcade by Husker Du. This is one of the greatest bands ever, a trio that never sold out, thus they never cashed in. Broke up in 1987, and rumors of them reforming up until drummer, singer & songwriter Grant Hart was pronounced dead the other day.  It is said that some bands go to 10– or even 11. Husker Du went to 20. Too many people just don’t know, and that bothers me.

I notice the 12-year old boy going up the stairwell with his backpack full. I go outdoors and check my mailbox. There’s a bank statement, along with junk mail from Spectrum concerning an upgrade in Internet service, and a mailer from Aaron’s furniture rental.  After I process that, I’m off to you-know-where, to try to close the deal with you-know-who.

She’s not there, and I figured that might be the case tonight. Oh well, maybe next time… The place is fairly empty, and there’s no one at the bar– completely creeper-free. I’ll take that any day, and grab a convenient seat or two. It’s Open Mic night and the regulars are warming up. I saw one of them as I was walking in. I often joke to myself, “Rock star entering the building,” when I see this. Then when it all settles down, I quietly go in myself. One of them announces that anyone can sign up and play with them, or do their own thing… They know who I am, but never approach me directly for some reason, so I will: Ric Size doesn’t sign autographs, and needs to be paid.

I chat with the bartender, who is one of my favorites. She didn’t have power for two days, like me. The sound from the 4-piece band has no low end, so I tell the manager who fixes it. The guys are rockin’ much better now, and you can tell because people are grooving their bodies. Common mistake, not enough bass. Someone says something into the mic between songs about “beating someone’s wife,” or whatever… Microphone abuse happens too.

I explain to the barkeeper that people sometimes get in front of the microphone, and go crazy. I then insist, that I never do that. She’s trying to control her burst of laughter as she runs outside. She does well. I know she knows who I am, as she told me earlier (in confidence) that I’m horrible. Yup, she’s been reading me online, and I laugh at her critique. After she returns from the kitchen, I explain that I only say what I say, because it needs to be said, and that it’s all out of love. She accepts that, and we’re good. I’m glad, because she is pouring  & serving my drinks. I’m an A-1 bitch, getting away with murder. Gotta be able to hang with the bitches, boys. Have you heard the legend of how Robert Johnson died? I’m telling you guys, it’s NOT bitchy to think this stuff. But it is bitchy to share it.

Heading home I see a homeless man curling up on a park bench. “Are you going to sleep here tonight?”, I inquire in a friendly tone. “I might,” he replies. I flip him my remaining $30, and keep moving. “Thanks,” he responds. I’ve had two beers and a glass of water, and spent $50. That’s not considered good money management by some, and yet it is. A few blocks later, I pick up a dime laying on the sidewalk. Pick up any money you find, regardless of which side is up. That’s more good money management.

Q: What is the generally accepted number of words per page for a
published novel? A: 250 words per page is generally considered to be standard.

The word total for this “trilogy,” is ~18,000 words, which is 72 pages. I’ve conceived, acted in, and then written a short story in about ten days, which instantly becomes a classic to anyone who reads it. Blacklisting this work of art, which is better than ANYTHING that will be nominated for any of the Pulitzer Prizes, is a crime against humanity. People need to know & discuss what I’ve written here, and to deprive them access to this, is to deprive them of the right to life & happiness. That won’t stand, man. This aggression will not stand.

This is the end of this story for most of you. This tapestry I’ve weaved really ties everything together. I’ll keep what happens here next, to myself and those I meet, unless there are some major outbreaks like another hurricane. The pen is mightier than the sword, and knowing when to put both down is crucial. For me, the Internet does it’s job from here. This was written to help myself, and help others around me figure their way out. It’s a survival manual, if you will, since the government isn’t handing out much that’s useful to people in need. I’ve explained everything I’ve needed to explain, and now it’s time for people to care and act on those impulses. That’s what leadership is. Now the first followers who become of primary importance. I’m signing off, until the next event calls. Side four “Reoccurring Dreams” blasting away… I’ll catch y’all down the trail. Until then, always remember the dude abides.



Irma Aftermath & Civil War

Prologue: Hurricane Irma Diary

Aftermath: Monday (9-11-17) 8:00 AM: Power went out last night around midnight. It started blinking after I last posted around 6:00 PM. By 8:00 PM it should have been mandatory lights out for everyone, except for their refrigerators. Many ran their units full blast, until it all went black. When the eye passed us in Orlando, you could hear the windows creaking from the stress of the gusts. The joints, seams and even the glass itself felt as if it were going to explode. When the gales are blasting at your windowpanes, that’s when you start to consider stuff. My contingency plans included using bookshelf boards, plastic wrap, and duct tape to seal any window breaches. The dishwasher is a waterproof compartment, and if you have to abandon ship, put whatever valuables you need to keep dry in there and close it tight.

After the eye passed I fell asleep quickly, as it’s the best thing you can do– if you weren’t hit. Everyone is exhausted. Morning after is surreal, as there’s vegetative debris everywhere. Everyone is still in shock, while also relieved they made it through. Three little girls dance in the driveway ahead, the youngest has the biggest smile. “Your first hurricane, huh?” I say to her as I pass. Her smile gets even bigger. It breaks my heart to think how many more she will have to endure?

My upstairs neighbors are a small family with a young boy, maybe 12. He’s walking by my porch, happily like everyone else. I casually ask him, “What was it like on the second floor last night?” He shudders and skips past me without speaking. We now both know– it is pretty terrifying. When the power is out in Florida, you mostly sit around & do nothing. My vigil on the from porch remains a constant throughout this crisis. I set up my folding chair, and try to observe what is happening as objectively as possible, while acting humanely when needed. People don’t know what to do here, and they need a leader, so I’m here. There are others elsewhere doing the same, but different.

By perching myself silently yet resolutely day after day, I indicate to everyone that we are now camping. Some people like the outdoors, and others are ill-prepared for it. A strong leader with compassion is needed in this situation. I take out my acoustic guitar and perform two AC/DC songs for the neighbors: “Shoot to Thrill” & “Kicked in the Teeth Again.” There is some (female!) applause after the second number, so I know morale is improved. I think I made a fan too. Time to stop showing off, and get to work.

All the windows and doors have been checked for leaks and there are none. The windows are immediately opened, as a cool & stiff dry breeze is dominating the air. The timing of this storm has worked out nicely in our favor, as this zephyr will continue all day and into the evening. This means we will be able to sleep tonight, even without power. The water stayed on, which is nice. If you have to prioritize, you want running water first, before electricity. You actually need both to be civilized. I have only urinated since Sunday morning. A hurricane has a way of constipating you. I’ve also severely reduced my food & water consumption, but by late afternoon the urine in the toilet is rank, and it’s time to flush. The water treatment facility is located on the other side of the hospital, so that’s probably why we still have water. Many locals are without both right now. I held out flushing over concerns of back flooding, but everyone is walking around normally, so I know the toilets work properly.

As for the electric, there still is none, so I leave my abode for an evening stroll around dusk. The cicadas are back in full harmony, and into the historic downtown I go along Lake Monroe. It took on a lot of water, and can still hold more, so it looks like we’re safe. I estimate our complex could have taken on ~6 more inches of rain, until first-floor flooding would have occurred. Good thing for us Hurricane Jose is tracking north. We still need power, so the maintenance guys can run the pumps to lower the water level in the pond. They’ve been trying futilely with a backup gas generator, and are getting nowhere. I hear lots of cursing around that pump area. They don’t have power in their homes either.

As I walk by & through the historic downtown I am struck by the fact that businesses and elite residents have power. You can hear their A/C units humming. You couldn’t red-line this power outage more precisely if you were a bank. Remarkable. As the sun sets, you can see the lights in their windows. They will sleep well tonight, while we will rough it. Perhaps we will be called into work tomorrow, to serve these people who sleep well. Can you see how working people would resent that? Roughing it now means abandoning your refrigerator. The power went out around 10:00 last night, and you have ~24 hours before spoilage occurs. Since there is no electricity, it’s much harder to work after sunset. All cleaning and reorganizing happens in the day. My freezer is now my refrigerator, as the milk, butter & eggs are sitting on ice blocks.

When you have no electric, you wake & sleep by the sun. You also instinctively flip on switches that now don’t work, over & over. The breeze is cool tonight, and everyone finally settles down by 10:00 PM or so. Lots of people are walking around with flashlights, just like when you’re camping. Except this really isn’t fun, as there’s nothing to do at night without power, except sleep or fuck. It’s too hot for fucking.

In the evening, an Ipod functions as your best low-level ambient light source, as well as tunes to fall asleep to. Captain Beefheart for me tonight. Use an Ipod instead of your cellphone, because you need to conserve charge on the latter. A flashlight just isn’t as effective indoors, as its beam is too focused. Besides, I’m now looking for my flashlight in the dark, as I foolishly didn’t return it to its main station after last use. I find it in less than a minute with no worries using this method. “Electricity” and “When It Blows It Stacks” haunt my dreams.

The Nature of the Beast is a great, lost album by April Wine which takes me back to 1982 like nothing else. It’s the record I took with me (in my mind) through this desert island experience. In this time, I contemplated which one I’d take in reality, and decided it would be Sandinista! by the Clash. Why? Well it’s not because it’s my (or anyone’s) favorite record, although it’s not a bad one either. My favorite song on Sandinista! is “Sound of the Sinners,” which I already know it on guitar, so no worries.

What Sandinista! is, are three slabs of vinyl with a large foldout lyrics sheet. I would insist that it be in the original shrink wrap, so I could better keep it dry & use it as a reflector for signaling ships or aircraft. Three slabs will hold up better than one or two. The other raw materials it contains could also prove useful. Of course, it would be completely unplayable by the second day, due to heat, moisture and warpage; so it’s song contents don’t really matter. It’s not like you have electricity on a desert island anyways, so it actually is a silly question when considered the way most people do.

There are other 3-record sets, but I wouldn’t prefer them so much. All the Motown Greatest Hits sets for their major artists don’t have the extra paper, and fold out awkwardly. Sandinista! is all contained in one extra-thick sleeve, which is better for desert island use. I would also hate to waste the genius of Marvin Gaye or Stevie Wonder. Emerson, Lake & Palmer made a few 3-record sets too, but let me make it clear that I wouldn’t be caught dead on a desert island with an ELP record.

Tuesday 7:20 AM: I’ve set out fresh catnip in a better location. The original clump actually survived Irma, as part of it was encrusted to the concrete & brick foundation. I rubbed it away in the Monday morning breeze, as water damage became the new enemy. My first catnip pile was in front of a line of ants, I noticed. These ants are now making a line towards the stairwell, as I have a stinking suspicion they’ve found a bonanza somewhere on the second floor. The fresh catnip is placed in front of my doorstop, with no bugs. It is also a little more hidden from view. I’m thinking I failed somewhere in presentation the first time. I’m also thinking that it’s a neighbor’s cat, as the fur looks too good to be a stray after a hurricane. I’m still certain it’s a she.

A wasp is buzzing around me while I sit in my outdoor chair. Everybody is active again, looking for food, and some a new home. The wasp circles then dive bombs me. I ward it off with the back of my wrist. Its nose bounces off and it flies away in another direction. People are moving in and out, depending on where they were last night. Another wasp has a pupa in its jaws as it lands on the concrete. It begins stinging at the helpless prey, when suddenly a gecko lizard jumps out and meets the wasp nose on. The wasp surrenders the meal and flies away. The gecko devours the pupa in front of me. A minute later, the upstairs boy bounds down the stairwell, and steps on top of the lizard. Just as it’s about to be crushed, the gecko scampers away into the foliage. The boy doesn’t even notice, as life goes on… A flutterby glides past my porch, another sign the storm has passed. Lot’s of weird psychology goes on when you’re without power. You just sit still and contemplate everything. It’s too hot to move or even get excited about anything. Irritability starts to go up by the second day of no electricity.

I walked down to City Hall earlier to see what’s up? Paper signs taped to their doors read: CITY HALL CLOSED TODAY. The parking lot is filled with service pickups & fancy vehicles, when it was empty last night. Sand bags have now been removed inside and out, so I know there are people in there. I wonder what they are talking about? Time to try the service entrance, as I walk around back and confront a city official attempting to slip out unnoticed. He hears my thoughts on the lack of urgency in the power resumption for certain residences. My tag-line on Facebook is:  I’m not here to be popular, I’m here to kick ass, That applies here.

Now I’m back at my porch post with my Ipod, listening to Magnified and thinking, “This is a much better album than I’ve been telling myself. It’s not perfect, as it lacks low end in the production, but the songs are strong and the beats work.” This album should be listened to as a singer-songwriter making an electronica record. You don’t get that combo very often (ever?), and that’s what makes it sound like nothing else. Jay Stanley was the colleague I worked with on it, and it was a blast to make. That’s when I started “Talented,” and the rest. That’s also when my wife told me, “Honey, we’re getting divorced.”

Long story short: Eventually I divorced my practice & Mount Dora too, and here I am. Believe it or not, I am happy to be sticking it out here with my working brother & sisters in the Sanford humidity. When “9/11” comes up, I am reminded that I wrote this song 16 years ago today, and still feel the same way. I do listen to my own music occasionally, although not as much as I used to. I do it because I like the songs & they make me happy. I had the brains & guts to do it, when most people don’t. I also do it to remind myself of what people are hearing, as you tend to forget the past and move on when you are an artist. The music still holds up, and that’s all that matters to me. Gotta get this to CD, with some promotion & distribution…

3:30 PM: WastePro is here to empty the dumpsters, as I hear the beep-beep-beep of the service truck backing-up. I took my first trash bag out this morning, filled with food waste dating back to early last week. It stayed in the refrigerator as long as it could, but was about to go ripe. Looks like I made the right call there too. If I still had garbage, I’d be quickly running out to toss it so the pros can take it away. As I said before food waste should be composted, but isn’t. There also isn’t much recycling going on around here, which really tells you how little people actually care. My fridge is now cleaned out, with the door open.

Garbage pickup usually come on Monday or today, so this is a REALLY good sign. The dumpsters are getting full, and you can smell the rancid food, as there’s been quite a bit of spoilage already. Lots of flies too. The truck & its service is operated entirely by one man, who has to constantly get in & out of his truck to open the gates and move the bins into position for his forklift. He services two dumpsters in my proximity and then moves on down the drive. It’s dead calm in the afternoon heat. It’s over 87 degree inside, and it’s really starting to suck outside too. I’m sitting in my folding chair with my sunglasses on, in my Go Daddy Danica tank-top & shorts, which is stripped down to boxers when I go inside.

All of a sudden: Pop!-Pop!-Pop!, and air-handler units turn on everywhere. I immediately begin to clap loudly in steady rhythm, as the neighbors start to let out cheers of joy in realization. We have power! Any more contingency plans you have been making for it getting worse, now disappear. Windows slam shut and everyone’s A/C is running, except mine. I never run the A/C during the day, and am too busy typing to care. By 6:00 PM I am done, but still have no Internet, so I can’t post. I finally turn on the A/C and reorganize my clean refrigerator back normal. I have enough food to get by for a few more days. I also have to work tomorrow, so it’s good to know I’ll be able to bring home fresh provisions and sleep in comfort.

In the end it’s not just about survival, it’s about how you survived. Did you do it well, or badly? Were you considerate & helpful, or thoughtless & wasteful? Looking on the bright side is good for morale, but looking on ALL sides is better– for analysis & future planning. To be a leader you have to see what’s coming and be ready for all contingencies. You have to be tougher on yourself than anybody else, holding yourself to a higher standard of conduct. You are the first to jump in & help, and the last to reward yourself. Leaders live & act in this manner everyday, knowing that any day could turn into what I’ve chronicled.


Wednesday, 9-13-17 Late Evening: Went to work today in Lake Mary. Your family are those you live with, and your friends are those you work with. The people I live & work with always share these values. The roads were clear and everything moved along well enough– for Orlando. Fire trucks & ambulances are still out, and running their sirens at will. Choppers are flying overhead constantly. This entire situation feels like a military drill, a dress rehearsal for a lockdown. Everything seems like it is being manipulated, but I need more verification.

My first question for every staff member & patient is, “How is your living situation?” You go from there, as it’s all over the board. Some have everything, including Internet; others have no power, with some having no water either. Everything is consistent along class lines. One patient was in between on his water situation. He had it, but with little pressure. He’s been told by the city they are on a backup reservoir system, and it’s half gone. When it goes, he may get sewage backup he’s been informed. That will change anyone’s priorities, and it doesn’t help with constipation either. Final memo on that is I’m finally back to regular today. You need electricity, so you can relax and be comfortable.

Everyone is looking for someone who actually listens, and shows inclination to act in their interests. I’m a dentist, and this is what we do: you have a problem, we fix it. Unfortunately it’s a business too, but I don’t make those rules– I’m just a humble dentist. It’s mostly exams, a few fillings, and a bite adjustment or two as far as the technical stuff, which is a light day at this office. What makes you a doctor on days like these is leadership. Conversely, being a leader is what makes you a real doctor.

Showing compassion for others, and speaking & acting in their interest, goes a long way with people. We don’t have a huge profit day like others in the area, but we still rock it, and my boss is very happy. At this point, no one is ready for a root canal or crown preparation appointment– even if they’re in pain. They’re in shock and looking for the right people to help them, and here we are. They’re especially looking today, because they know they can’t trust those they’ve elected to give them honest answers. This is the first day that Orlando is actually getting back to work after the mother of all hurricanes just missed us.

The restaurants are packed, as the kitchens, servers & bus boys turn things over quickly at our favorite lunch place. Same deal with them as far as their living situation is going; for some it’s good, and for others it sucks. I ask everybody I can about it. It’s not hard to tell which is which, if you just look. My boss is a good friend, and we always laugh & joke together. He doesn’t really need me today, as there are only a few patients to be seen and he’s more than capable, yet he keeps saying how glad he is I’m here today.

He’s a leader too, but of a different kind. He’s one of those doctors that always prefers to have a partner, and right now his working colleague is stranded in Germany, his vacation extended by Hurricane Irma. This vacation refugee is the president of the Dental Society of Greater Orlando, and somewhat of a workaholic, so it’s sorta good that he can’t come back yet. He keeps posting 15-20 pictures of historical buildings & ancient architecture in newly-created photo albums on Facebook, blowing up the staff’s news feeds. I ‘like’ just enough of them to keep him encouraged, and going for more. Enjoy it, you may never get back. This is how we are with each other.

The grocery stores are doing great business too, as they sold themselves out with the help of the media hyping everyone before the storm– STOCK UP ON EVERYTHING!! Now people are purchasing fresh produce, while replacing the dairy and meat (expensive) that spoiled in so many refrigerators & freezers. “It’s a pleasure to serve you!” says Publix, Winn Dixie and the rest. Yeah, I’ll bet. Fast food has been killing it for a week now. You could make serious money trading stocks & bonds on tips like these. You just gotta know the right people.

In the afternoon, I’m definitively told that I don’t come in tomorrow. One-day work week– nice! You need to be flexible towards others’ needs (particularly your employer), when you’re the fill-in doctor. I was originally scheduled to work only on Monday this week. That was before Irma even existed. When the storm tracking finally became apparent, any doctor on a planned vacation is now waiting at least one week to get back to Florida, and this is into an area that had very little storm damage. That means I’m still on call. I hope he gets back soon, as I know he’s ready to work again. He has patients whom are requesting to see only him.

Since the doctor on vacation here is the DSGO president (and a Marquette alumnus), he recognizes he’s being held hostage, by greedy airlines gouging desperate passengers. The reason he’s not too desperate to get back is because I’m here. He’s playing it really well by staying away from all this madness, until the panic ceases. He’s a retired Navy officer too, so he understands leadership & crises situations. It’s good to be working with people like this, and it’s just another weird real-life Hurricane Irma story that sheds light as to the global dimensions of what’s happening.

After work, I go to Publix and stock up on perishable provisions again. I eat vegan (mostly) at home, and all this insanity is the reason. It’s nice to fill your refrigerator with the food you like, and have the confidence it will stay cold. I didn’t have that last week, so I didn’t shop here then. I baked up my last frozen pizza on Thursday, and ate it all that night. It tasted so good knowing the results I was going to have to face if I didn’t indulge. I often feel the only reason I stay ahead of the curve is because I’m so smart. How smart do you have to be to win at a rigged game you’re forced to play?

I don’t know anybody important, and that’s my problem. Let me illustrate. I had a phone conversation earlier this evening with my best friend, and one of my many business partners, Tom. TomP has put me online, hooked me up with the best hardware, handled all my computer issues, played drums as needed, and produced my music. He built this site which was launched in 2012. We talk to each other a lot. Anyways, this conversation eventually turned to music & business as always, and I’m expressing my frustrations over being blacklisted– for real. He’s not 100% sure on this, as he doesn’t read the site regularly (I don’t expect him too) and he keeps his political convictions his own, but I need him to understand this as it’s affecting business. He finally asks me, “Have you ever tried to make contact with someone in the industry?”

My response to him was this summary. In January 2016, it was time for me to get a job again and make some money. We had finally released Electrified! (the album), after putting the rough cut of the film online months earlier. We then recorded Hwy 19 & Main St. along with Fully Covered. That is a creative peak I may never match, and (of course) it didn’t pay me anything. It never has. I still had alimony to pay, along with a significant tax bill due by April, with not much left in reserve. I had already made a vow to never go back to corporate dental, so I’m looking for the best office that is run by an actual dentist, where I can make some money without having to commit malpractice. I have been dreading this search process over the holidays, but I know it’s finally time to get busy and find a winner. As it turned out, I picked it on my first ad response on Craigslist, and I knew it from the start.

Many dentists try to build their own corporate empires, by buying up dead offices on the cheap. They gut & renovate, then bring in a doctor to make money for them. I know what I’m getting into, and am ready for the challenge. It’s still corporate, but it’s not corporate corporate, if you know what I mean. It quickly turns into a phone call with the owner dentist, then an interview is set up for a few days. I know this is going to work, so I’m excited right away. I now don’t have to drive all over, or waste time online trying to find a decent office that needs good help. That’s what I was expecting to happen. The point is I’m on a roll, so it’s time to try a long-shot on the music side. I feel lucky.

All the best entertainment lawyers are in NY or LA. The biggest wheel in the music industry is Don Passman, who wrote Everything You Need to Know about the Music Business. I read & re-read it on my Kindle, while I was still married. Early on in his book he mentions something to the effect of, “you need an angle or someone you know to get you in the door…” I’m thinking about this as I do an Internet search to find the firm he’s at in LA.

If you try this yourself, you’ll find he’s not listed, so you have to know what you are looking for. Don Passman is one of those people who is powerful, as he knows all the famous rockstars and celebrities (and they know him), but is relatively unknown to the average music fan– who is working class. He is one of the Black Hands of the entertainment industry. Don Passman is the one who negotiates the deals to put your songs on the radio, and in films & television– and I’m cold calling him. His clients include Green Day, Aerosmith, & REM– I assume you’ve heard of them.

A young female secretary answers, and I ask if I may speak to one of their attorneys concerning artist representation? She sends me to voice mail. I expected this, so I leave this message: “My name is Eric Meeker. I am also the artist known as Ric Size. I’m looking for legal representation & industry clout. Michael Stipe told me to call this number. This is my contact info…”  I don’t mention Don Passman by name, and will be surprised if even one of his associates returns my call. It’s a well-conceived & executed attempt to get straight to the top, and that’s all I can do. It took only a total of ~15 minutes. I’m pleased with myself, but quickly move on, as I can’t count on being that fortunate. I have to get to work.

A few days later, I’m home late in the morning and I see my cell phone vibrating with an LA area code– in fact it says ‘Beverly Hills’ on the info and I know who it is. I quickly pick up the phone and answer, “Hello.” A twenty-something named Kim, with a voice that just lets you know she’s a bombshell replies, “Do you have time to take a call from Don Passman?” I say to myself, “IT WORKED,” then collect myself and respond calmly, “Yes.” I’m hoping Kim still thinks I’m cool as she puts me on hold.

Twenty seconds or so later, it’s Don Passman on the other end. I’ve got X number of minutes [?] to make my pitch, as this is the Godfather and he is busy. I start in, explaining how I’ve got a clear head for business as well as being an artistic prodigy. He listens & listens some more, then asks the right questions and listens some more. Finally he asks me, “So where are you going to find the money?” I shoot back without a beat, “That’s why I called you.” I can hear him nodding on the other end, as he pauses & chuckles a bit before he goes into, “Well we’re a small firm, very exclusive, yada, yada, yada …” I understand all this, and respect him for his time (2 minutes), as it’s clear he’s ending this interview. Just him returning my call is a sign of respect, and that’s the best I can do here.

Just before we hang up he asks, “By the way, how do you know Michael Stipe?” Damn, he asked. I explain to him how I had read his book– meaning in-between-the-lines, and that Michael Stipe told me to call in a dream I had. He laughs at that yarn, and that’s it. He’s done with me. I tell myself I tried, and have nothing to feel badly about. A few hours later, Kim has left a voice message while I was out, with the names & numbers of three lawyers in NY/LA. All of them later prove to be deadbeats, but I can hear it in her voice that she is impressed that I squeezed that much out of her boss. I’m guessing 25, and you know she’s perfect. Makes you wonder why you’re blacklisted?

That is not just a cool story, but a valuable lesson. I went to the top of the food chain and was refused, so I know. This is why I don’t try to schmooze with sleazy music industry middlemen & gangster club owners who all demand their bloated asses be kissed & sweaty palms greased. That’s how it goes when you’re working class.

I went for a walk after I got home from work. Evening is the best time to go out, as the daytime is now too hot with global warming. You always (365) need a hat & sunglasses if out after 10:AM through 5:00 PM or so– unless there a hurricane going on. I’ve lived in central Florida since August 1994, and have witnessed a noticeable change in the weather, particularly the heat index which goes higher & higher every year. Also the consistency of rain now cycles back-and-forth between dry spells with intense heat producing wildfires, and severe tropical storms which produce hurricanes & flooding. We hardly ever have “normal” weather seasons anymore.

Tonight it’s nice. I slip across a dangerous pedestrian highway (46), and into the poor neighborhood directly on the other side. It’s got a bus stop, where the buses don’t always stop. Or even come. Orlando has notoriously one of the worst metro mass transit systems in the US. The bus company is called Lynx, and just search engine them and read their customer reviews. Most ratings are 1-star (out of five), with some very eye-opening comments you don’t find in the official newspapers, or see on TV. I rode it once, back from MCO years ago when I lived in Altamonte Springs. It was there waiting, and cheaper than a cab. It was a decent ride– no regrets. The problem is if you need it to be on time for work or whatever else. There you are SOL. When you don’t put any money into a good idea, it fails. The question is: what do you flush, the good idea or the problem?

This working class neighborhood adjacent to my apartment complex had no power yesterday. I didn’t have to ask, I just looked. Open windows and long faces on every porch. All races, mostly working poor. Today, I hear music from the first house I encounter, with a group of men playing cards outside. They’re always playing cards (or dominoes) outside, so I don’t know for sure if the have power or not. They seem happy, but I still ask and they tell me they’re good. Thumb’s up to them, and I move on. Two black women at the door look on with great interest. At first they pretended they didn’t even notice me. Then as I pass by they shout to their men to tell them what I asked? The men don’t care to answer, and a ruckus starts…

I’m relieved, because I now know it’s going to be a much easier walk through this ghetto with everyone having electricity. Yesterday, I had to keep my head down and book it, even though I didn’t have power yet myself. The point is I look like someone who does, and no one likes that rich asshole lingering to marvel at another’s suffering, and then carelessly moves along. This scum does exist, and karma finds a way of making sure that it eventually gets payback in the hood. If the assailant(s) have a gun (and they always do now), show them your cash and hand it to them slowly, or toss it in the opposite direction from where you’re going. That’s usually all they want, but if they want anything else you’re carrying that’s valuable, also give it to them when they demand it. None of it is worth getting shot or stabbed over, and you don’t know their exact emotional state, but you know they are unstable. Don’t carry your wallet in these neighborhoods, as it’s too tempting to too many who have too little and have become too desperate from too much inequality for too long. They will take their frustrations out on you, only because you are there & unaware, and they will inflict the all pain they feel & more. We must learn respect everything everywhere, or else we become screaming targets & animals.

With power going, the residents have been energized. Tree limbs and other debris are almost completely cleaned up, and awaiting municipal disposal service. We’ll see how long that takes. The neighborhood actually looks more like a neighborhood than I’ve ever seen since I arrived in town a few months ago. It just shows you how a little civilization goes a long way, and it also shows how people feel about cleaning up without power. For the most part, they ain’t doing it. Can’t blame them, really.

The homeless people have feelings on all this too and they haven’t disappeared either, although it was obviously an objective in this planned police/city government drill. They are sleeping on park benches or wherever they can, while the cops are staked out elsewhere. There’s less & less police patrolling, and I get a sense that even the fuzz have gotten tired of this charade, which is being noticed & commented upon by people like me everywhere. The homeless have to keep moving for now, as do those with uncertain immigration status– which is about 15-20% of Florida’s population. There’s huge immigration migration here to harvest produce, work on the muck farms, mushroom factories, construction, and basically any other job that no one else wants to do, and for much less wages. These are the hardest workers, and they are being treated like criminals because the entire economy is beyond repair due to elite looting. Any “suspicious” foreigners are being stressed to their limits, just like everyone else who qualifies for being a mouse in this bottle.

I make it to my local watering hole, which I really enjoy. When people are stressed, they go to their favorite bar for drink & therapy. Lot’s of people telling their stories here, and they do it willingly and for free. Most of the working help still has no power, with most having water by now. Internet only for the elite, who barely lost power during the storm. All kinds at the bar. The kitchen worker describes his current existence as caveman quality. The barkeep serving my brew stayed in a hotel last night, just so he could work with a clear head. He didn’t get gouged too badly on his room, especially considering he decided last-minute. I leave him a healthy tip after one beer.

My way home from historic downtown Sanford in the evening is into the sunset. On my way tonight I see the three Spectrum trucks parked around the only downed power line in the entire Sanford downtown area. It’s on Commercial St. between 1st & 2nd, in front of the Seminole County Sheriff’s sub-station.  It used to be a small bank, but those don’t exist anymore. The public library is at the end of the block, and this restricts it’s access as it’s a live wire. The line has been hot the entire time, as I first (almost) ran into it when coming into town on Monday, the evening after the storm passed. It was hanging about five feet in mid air, with no warning that it was hot, except that one could hear & feel the electricity flowing through it. I limboed underneath it the first time.

The second time I passed it was yesterday, and it sounded much louder with the electricity being more intense. It made the hair on my arm stand up this time. Today is the third time I’m passing this scene. The street has been closed due to this in both directions for the entire block, with orange barricades & sandbags precisely placed ever since Irma passed. Yesterday I thought it was odd that this dangerous line hadn’t been attended to by a linesmen crew. Particularly since service trucks meandered aimlessly through the wealthy sections of town all day yesterday.


Hypothetical service calls from hysterical blue-haired ladies in the aftermath of Hurricane Irma.

Operator: Yes, ma’am… You have a light bulb that needs replacing and you can’t reach it? No worries we’ll have a service truck and full team over there immediately. We apologize for any inconvenience.

... and then their discussions at canasta or bridge the following week…

Blue-haired ladies: I don’t know why people are complaining so much about the power & water service? They were always friendly and came right away. I didn’t have a single problem. Everyone else I know says the same thing.


The three utility trucks I noticed on my way in, are still here. Since the sun is going down, they have to be finishing up. As I approach, I am watching a winch on the main truck pulling the power line into its proper position. It looks more like a flag-raising ceremony, than an actual repair job. Time to investigate. I’m coming up on them fast, as I’m a pedestrian and they can’t close off the sidewalks too. I’m past the barricades and into the street almost under the suspended wire. “Woo-hoo!” I shout. “Are we going to have Internet soon?” I ask out loud. There is no celebration in the faces of the crew, so I’m now searching for the liar in charge. He shows himself in seconds, by roughly calling out his crew to gather around their trucks– out of my sight. I stop at the corner and sit down in front of the sheriff’s station to see how this plays out.

No worries about the police inside. This building was heavily sandbagged before the storm and was the last to have them removed. In fact, they were still in place as recently as yesterday. City Hall and the courthouse removed their’s yesterday, while they held their secret meetings. That tells me this sub-station is an important location, but not anything they have to maintain an on site police presence for. Most people walking by don’t see any of this, as they mostly spend their time looking for sex. I like getting laid too, but it’s not happening right now, because it’s more important I understand that this is the main hub for Internet in the Sanford area, as Spectrum services this area exclusively. That means any direct rigging of their service can happen from here, and this is how they do it. There may be those complaining as they read this that I’m jeopardizing “national security,” or disclosing classified military secrets. My reply for them is to take a lesson from Ric Size on camouflaging false flag operations before accusing me of treason.

The dickweed with authority finally answers my question on public Internet availability, out loud so I can hear. “We’ll need to make assessments for the next few days…” His rag-tag crew seems less than overjoyed at this news, which tells you something. I stand up & reply out loud to no one in particular, “We’ll be making our own assessments too…” This breaks up the “meeting,” and two service trucks soon leave by driving past the barriers with left tires straddling the curb, and then out onto the street using the handicapped spillway. It’s a perfectly executed maneuver, with minimal tire damage from either vehicle. Erwin Rommel would have been impressed.

The main truck is driven by the fascist lieutenant in charge. He knows what he’s doing as he’s hauling a trailer filled with cable he’s not using. He has to use the adjacent parking lot they’ve commandeered for this delicate operation, just to get turned in the right direction. The sandbags and barricades are no longer needed, as everything that wasn’t broken has been fixed. The driver orders his workmate riding shotgun to go out and remove all the bags & barricades, while he sits and watches. I’m scanning this emaciated figure as he starts toward the other end of the street. He moves all the obstacles up to the stop sign, at the edge of the street on my side.

It’s now a Mexican stand-off, out of a Serge Leone spaghetti western. The fascist in the truck, his working dog, and me. The fascist is grinning in satisfaction at his use of power, and how easily he can exercise it in front of others. I already know what I must do. I knew it as soon as this poor creature began slogging towards those barriers. I must get off my ass, and go out onto the street and move two sandbags and a barrier to where he would put them. It’s called helping. The sandbags are 50+ pounds each, so I do them one at a time, since this is mostly a display of character versus physical strength. The barrier is next and a bit trickier, as it comes apart if lifted incorrectly. That happens, but I fix it on the spot, which actually impresses them both even more. The beaten dog arrives at my scene as my barrier is correctly placed at the edge of the curb next to the sandbags. He’s looking at me with a smile, that shows all his top teeth decayed to the gum line. I surmise he has no power at home, and possibly no water too. I look him squarely in the eye and say, “Have a good one,” then head out with a smile. Two steps away I hear him softly to me, “You too.”

Thursday 9-14-17,

8:00 AM: I’m polishing and adding where I need to. I could write much more. The Internet still isn’t connected here, so I know very few people outside this area know the truth about what’s going on. Who will tell them?

Power comes in all forms, and what makes it truly magical and “powerful” is knowing how to use it wisely. Those who wield it poorly, are corrupted and consumed by it. Wielding it intelligently & compassionately can move mountains. The Man can keep me off-line for a few more hours, days, weeks, or whatever, but it can’t hold back the truth forever. The world is too interconnected, and too many people are genuinely interested in how this story ends. The last the world heard from most of us in Florida was Sunday evening, just as everything was about to be shut down, then locked down. Electricity returning on Tuesday afternoon was a huge triumph at the time for us, but it came with an asterisk– no Internet. That means you can be comfortable and sleep okay, you just can’t tell anyone what’s happened until the Black Hand says so. It won’t be “assessed” in our favor until they’ve moved on with a different narrative somewhere else, and people have grown tired looking at this one. The point of all this writing is that no one should be forgotten, and that’s exactly why it’s censored.

I follow a few celebrities on social media, and a few of my female favorites are releasing (or soon releasing) biographies of themselves. Why don’t they contact me to be their writer? Oh, yeah– I’m blacklisted. I see this hype on my Iphone, which is a primitive computer, as that’s all I’ve got right now for going online. I have long since been able to make any Ric Size updates on it, as those Iphone privileges were revoked for me years ago. Watching the flatscreen at the bar last evening I commented to those working there, that without electric at home, none of these spectacles can occur. Modern technology allows incredible athletic achievement, but it’s only of interest to people if they are living in enough comfort to enjoy & appreciate it.

When the power is out, I don’t care about the Padres, Danica, Sharapova, or anything else in the sports & celebrity world. I write about these particular subjects because they are stories that other writers miss or avoid, and it gets me traction. I also do it to reveal hypocrisies in sacred institutions, analyzing everything through a Marxist prism. No one else does it like me, and that’s why I have fans. If I sucked, no one would be censoring me. As I type this, I observe my computer screen keeps jumping around crazily, every time I try to connect to the Internet. I know everything I type into my word processor is being instantly transmitted to Langley, the Pentagon, NSA, Five Eyes, and the rest of the intelligence community for their immediate analysis. Why don’t my fans and other concerned people get to read my analysis is real time too?

No one can enjoy a movie or ballgame without electricity. The working people who labor to make all these circuses possible, need to recognize more of what they actually are, while they are sitting in the heat. They are the only ones who produce anything of lasting value. I am proudly part of this exploited working class, that seeks to topple this house of cards and re-prioritize man’s resources for the benefit of all. This is in contrast to the current capitalist setup, that self-selects the sickest & richest few, whom are actually the worst forms of “leaders.” We must stop obeying their misanthropic orders, and halt this destruction we are inflicting upon ourselves as a species. That is what is means to be a revolutionary socialist, which is actually the most courageous form of leader.

!:00 PM: I’m just back home from maneuvers on the Internet front. Yellow tape still hangs off the Internet cable that was hoisted 10-15 feet back up into it’s original position. Remember, this took over two hours to do last evening, but they got it done before the sun went down, and it’s fixed. It was never broken, but the point is it’s now fixed, I saw it last night. I tell everyone in the library as much as I’m too loudly inquiring about Internet service at the Information desk. “SSHHHHHH” is glared back at me from the ladies behind the desk. Not a chance, bitches. I should be more quiet, but the patrons online seem to be so interested in what I’m saying.

Every public inquiry is first met with red tape and then hostility, by all those mixed- up in this charade they’re selling us. Many are simply doing as they’re told out of paranoia & fear for their jobs. That’s the case at the library. The court house is even worse (no surprise), as the female security rent-a cop working the metal detector at the inside entrance is in my face with questions and “No’s” from the start. I finally ask her if this is the place to talk to someone about Internet service? Is there a sympathetic judge or public defender available for a public grievance hearing? I know there isn’t, but I’m testing her intelligence, and it’s limited. She spits a few more “No’s” at me with increasing hostility, as I refuse to pass through her metal detector. I’m the fly walking up to the web of the black widow to taunt her. She’s not getting her prey, and is about done with all this, when I change to a softer tone of voice and ask if I may ask her a personal question, or is it not okay?

She doesn’t quite know how to respond at first, but then acquiesces– conditionally. I then inquire if she has Internet service at her home? She says, “No.” One more question, “Do you have water & electricity?” She says, “Yes.” That’s the best I’m getting with this Whoopie Goldberg-wannabe security clown. I thank her & leave on that. I’ll compare myself in manner here to Lt. Colombo, as I always have one more question that’s been bothering me… I scratch my head and sometimes dramatically throw my hands up, as it just doesn’t make sense, and then look cross-eyed at her. I do know that these people are always very helpful in getting me to the bottom of all this, and I couldn’t do it without them.

On to City Hall, where law & justice are always fair, if you can get to them. Not as easy as you might think. They’re open today, and I’m not working. The hurricane was gone by Monday morning, and it’s now Thursday afternoon. I’ve been coming by here everyday, and I still don’t see anybody working. This feels like too much work, just to get in the door. I’m now actually inside the building, wandering around like a buffoon character Fletch would mimic. Yes, I’m Dr. Rosenpenis…. looking for the Internet service department… It’s nowhere to be found. .. Why is that, do you know…?

I’m finally met by a city employee, a skinny plain-ish thirty-something, who really likes what she sees. That’s what I need. She leads me to the obese blue-haired bitch behind the security glass, who gives me nothing but “Call Spectrum” flak, and the run around. She’s obviously one of the main secretaries to the big cheese, and not the one he fucks. Her job is to say “Fuck you” to anyone looking for help from City Hall concerning their utilities for which we pay monthly. She is good at her job, but has no idea what she’s up against. I’m going to make this fat bitch sweat, and fast. I start leaning into her about the manipulation along class lines going on everywhere, that is too obvious to ignore.

Her BP is now 200+, but this conversation is going nowhere.  City Hall will not act in the interests of its citizens against corporate behemoth Spectrum. She acts like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, to which I inform her that she’s part of the problem too, and leave. Busted down to her panties, and rolling in perspiration from her larded folds underneath her blouse & down her slacks. I’ll bet it smells really nasty too. Fat bitches are the worst for me, as they hate me because they know I’ll never return their affections. Not my fault, but I’m hated for it anyways. That’s how it goes when payback comes due.

Yet another fag tries to surprise me from behind, as he briskly walks past me with a fetching smile and the rest of this warmed-over bullshit. I’m just stopping & looking straight through these phonies at this point. It doesn’t matter if it’s a creeper trying to make me, or fire trucks that are finally waving (instead of blaring the sirens and horns) at us, and expect to see a heroes’ salute from an adoring public. Where would we be without them? They are starting to recognize this contempt more broadly, as regular people are seeing this. Poor black folks aren’t fooled one bit by any of this. I explain this stuff to them and they get it right away. “What did you expect?” is their response to me.

It’s a shit show until the end. I’m optimistic the end is near as far as this campaign goes. I saw a few beer trucks pulling up to the bars earlier, and most experienced partiers know the weekend starts on Thursday evening. If there’s no Internet for everybody by tomorrow, that could dull the party scene and nobody wants that. Book it, if you can get a ticket and find a bookie that won’t welsh.

These puppet-masters have no lives, and rely on the contact of others whom they control in this sick game. This is apparently how you live, when you sell you soul. The best pussy is working class, as the nasty blue-haired ladies don’t even register on the excitement meter for many married men. The wife is the ball-and-chain that lets you cheat on her, as long as she’s taken care of and it’s kept quiet. A woman’s reputation is everything, you know.  All this points towards beer & Internet for all– tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. The rich assholes need to be able vulture as much desperate prey as possible. There’s plenty out there now, didn’t you hear, as a hurricane just came through. If I had let myself become an asshole, I would have been a legendary pimp.

The fag is moving back in my direction, and starting to close in again. Evasive action needed now. Suddenly I feel a stone in my sandal, a big one. Perfect timing, as I stop and pull off the path onto a giant boulder. I diligently sit and unstrap by leather
clog. A good-sized rock falls out as just as he passes by, showing him he’ll never get closer than this. Ever. Not with that crap. It feels good to confront these liars face-to-face, in a silent way.

I’ve got to go down to the leasing office and pow-wow with woman who helped me get the power back on line for us on Tuesday. It wasn’t too long after we had that loud outdoor discussion, that the power came back on. She knows it too, and fist bumped me when I stopped in a few hours ago. I said to her and the other young ladies working there to call those motherfuckers at Spectrum, and harangue them to get us back online today.

I tell them I’m Ric Size, and I have vital information that must get out. The survival of humanity depends on this brilliant work of art finding the public, but no pressure. They’re laughing and loving the show I give them. Waves and kisses to all of them as I walk out. I’m a performer and I know that’s the best I can do at that time. Now it’s time to reappear and see if any of this is working. I am the stick, kicking ass downtown & everywhere else. She is the carrot who knows how to cajole & sweet talk on the phones. You need both to win in this war. I’m optimistic, except for that we’re up against motherfuckers.

7:00 PM: I had to make the end run I didn’t want to make, and drove out to Tavares to see Tom for an upload on a secure server. Still no Internet in most of Sanford. It’s the only way I’m going to get this journal online in time for it to be useful to anyone looking for news on what’s going on. I waited as long as possible, but it’s clear the longer you wait for mercy, the less they show. Now the truth of what’s going on can be known outside Florida. There are still too many suffering without power & water.

Epilogue Friday 9-15-17 10:30 AM: I crashed after my cloak & dagger job last evening. My biggest concern driving out there was getting into a fender-bender with someone on the road. I’m carrying a flashdrive with a story that is being viciously censored by the Black Hand. If someone dings me and the cops notice, I’m screwed because this is a lockdown situation and I’ve already been fingered. This is why I have to drive a hour to securely post an article on my own website. I’m an easy rider in the car by nature, and that works best for avoiding the cops.

It was a few minutes of copy & paste, then final paragraph and media links, before it’s online to the world. Tom cooked a great dinner with a splendid cup of tea. His kids are awesome too. The youngest is in second grade, and she wants to play. She’s leading me outside to a play fort she built with a neighbor friend, down the street after the storm. As we walk out, I remark to her, “You know, we used to go outside all the time, before Internet… what would you do if you didn’t have Internet?”  In an instant she replies, “I would DIE.”  Second grade.

His ex-wife is staying there also, because she has no power at her place. I’m most comfortable with my own computer, as I can work lightning fast, and I know how to do everything I need on it. I’m sure I amaze more-than-a-few NSA & other intelligence hacks when they are watching me work. Tom treats me better, as he set me up with a Mac wireless keyboard– nice. I didn’t have the energy to do my usual editing, and I finally tell myself, “this is good enough.” I haven’t slept in a day-and-a-half, because I know what’s at stake. Publish. The drive home featured an intense rainstorm with impressive lightning flashing up the sky everywhere. “There’s some light for those without power,” I think to myself ironically. “And some more water for people who don’t need it…”

I try the Internet again at 8:30 this morning. and no connection. Time to wash up and visit the management office. I walk in around 10:00, and ask to see my working partner. She’s out on the property, may I help you? I sit down in a chair and say, “Internet.” She gets the main manager, whom I’ve never met. We introduce, and she bursts out, “We have Internet here, since late last night. Thank God!” I look up at her and give a deadpan reply, “It wasn’t God.” Anyways, I am pleased with this outcome, and we all celebrate. I’m looking forward to running into my working partner again, to discuss what’s happened.

I get back to my modest apartment, and unplug my modem & router for 10 seconds, then plug back in. The computer comes on as normal, and is ready to go online in less than 15 seconds. Tom set me up with a new SSD drive. I don’t even know what that is, but it’s nice. Fast with almost no noise, because the drive isn’t spinning. Less heat. It’s able to work in higher heat too. It’s time to connect, so I click on the icon and boom– Yahoo!  Ain’t that something? That sure is something. Did anyone get a marker down on that? You coulda made some money.

I’ve posted 14,000+ words here, which are hard for even me to believe– as it’s been surreal. This is a militarized drill using police, fire and utility vehicles as weapons against the population. It wasn’t hostile action, but a soft takeover, for lack of a better term. It was a psychological operation to terrorize and strangle predetermined red-lined areas. Last night I had to travel over an hour away just to access the Internet and upload this story onto my own website. It was the only way, as Sanford, FL was locked down. This morning we have Internet. Florida is a disaster, with many areas still having no power or water. Relief & rescue workers are being held back (by class forces), instead of being dispatched to where they are most needed.

I’m out on my porch in the morning sun, swinging a Louisville Slugger baseball bat, Tony Gwynn factory signed. It’s getting hot… Nobody here minds too much, as we have power so everyone nods & waves as they go by. My catnip pile has only traces left around it, as I picked it up and threw it into the bushes last night after still no action. That’s how you work it, boys & girls. The cicadas are in & out with each other all day, until their penultimate atonal evening chorus.

Since I’m online and everything is cool, I’m running a movie in my head– just like everyone else. What is it? After a few seconds it comes: The Terminator, only I’m not Arnold. I’m John Conner; and I’m teaching you how to first identify, and then smash these motherfuckers, because this is total war to the end. I can’t be killed, and we need your help & protection– just as you need ours.

I’m back online, and I can work again. Internet is essential to everybody who works today. I run my business out of my home, as does everyone else. You are your business, and most must be online to succeed. This was all done for censorship & economic purposes, and the decisions are made at all the highest levels. The media is most complicit in this vast conspiracy against the working people and the poor.

6:00 PM: I’m at my watering hole, and the place is getting full already. I start at the bar and converse with (mostly) the help about everything, including their living situation. A few cooks & servers still don’t have power. One just had it turned on an hour ago, but no Internet. Eventually, you-know-who sits down and tries to move in. I give him two minutes, then cash out & relocate outside.

I’m now sitting with my back to the establishment. It looks like this brewery was a converted garage. They’ve opened up one of the roll-down doors for evening ventilation. That feature also helps with performing bands, as this place has good sound. My music comrades are mostly working in the Oak Hill Drifters now, and they played here a month ago. They sounded great, and the place was full until close. It helps when you have real musicians. I usually try to be in & out before the music begins. Sometimes (often) the best part of the show is watching them set up. It can range anywhere from sad & comical, to informative & thought provoking. Sometimes you’ll notice something from a “nobody” musician that strikes you as a good idea, and inspires you. Everyone should respect that.

No bands tonight, and I’m sitting alone facing the street. It’s a nice night– if you have water, power & Internet. Traffic is picking up. It always slows down at this intersection, as this is one of the hotspots of Sanford. Sanford is the northern-most borough of Orlando, as this city ends at Lake Monroe & the Saint John’s River. It has been racially & socially divided since it’s establishment in 1877, just a year after the Reconstruction of the South was abandoned. This is Jim Crow meets modern capitalism; with blacks, working poor, youth & low-income elderly being mercilessly squeezed out of existence.

A middle-age couple walks up and seat themselves at the table across the sidewalk from me. They both angle their chairs outwards, enveloping me in a triangle. This social nicety signals they are interested in engaging me in a discussion. They are definitely together, so I’ll go along. “How are you?” the woman asks. I’m swirling the last of my favorite brew in its 8-ounce glass, and look to both of them dryly, “I have my beer.” The are mildly struck for a few seconds, until they both smile & kinda laugh at that drinking cliché’.

They are still waiting for their server, so I clearly ask them, “Do you have power & electric?” They both are stunned, and insist I repeat the question, as they claim they didn’t hear. I know what this response now means too, so instead I reply, “Do you have Internet?” The woman jumps in, “We lost it for an hour during the storm. How about you?” I wryly smile and nod in a slow rhythm which dissipates into a stare, “It was longer for me… until this morning.” Expressing concern in her face, “That’s still a long time to be without Internet.” I’m looking into the last sip and how delicious it will be, and then ahead, “Yeah… it makes you wonder.” I’m blankly looking at & through them. Their chairs are now angling back into line with each other. Two minutes later I’m leaving.

Saturday 4:00 PM: I keep promising myself this is going to be the last entry, but I have a much stronger feeling this time. I went out for an early afternoon walk to review all the sites I’ve described above. The regional hospital has flood waters in its parking lots, with orange cones and yellow tape “barricading” it off. That shit ain’t gonna hold. Lake Monroe has taken on over two feet of water, and is now lapping over the seawall in places, where people use to sit and dangle their legs off. I can approximate this rise in height by a bank of weeds, which used to stand about three feet above the water, and now are no more than a foot above the surface. More rain is coming.

Utility workers I talk to are all saying it will be weeks to get most people back on the grid. What about the rest I ask? They all shrug their shoulders… Most really don’t know. This shit parade never ends.

City Hall is closed on weekends, and this one is no exception. The only recent posting on any of their doors concerns a millage rate meeting, which has been postponed due to Hurricane Irma. The meeting was supposed to have been held on Monday. On Monday no one cared about millage, and the same applies today, but there it is. The courthouse is always open but I’ll bypass it, even though there are still a few things that have been bothering me. The converted bank, that secretly hubs Sanford’s Internet sits quietly. It has a blind open on the inside which allows you to see through one of its windows. A workspace with lots of impressive technology is stacked around it. Most people don’t look twice at this building, if they ever pass it.

Downtown has festivals & street vendors hawking their wares, yawning lazily in their outdoor chairs. You only yawn like this, if you have A/C at home. I reach my saloon, and notice the same creeper at the bar again before he sees me. Take evasive action. I look at the servers in the tabled section, and ask if it’s okay to seat myself at one of them. They say yes. They’re all cool with me now, because they know I care for their interests. I’m sure at least a few who work here have read this online, somehow. Most still don’t have Internet.

I’m lucky, I get the most beautiful server. I’ve been wanting to tell her I love her for weeks, and today might be the day. But first, I ask about everyone’s living status. It appears everyone who works here at least has water & power for now. Their faces look a lot brighter & cheerful.  A few customers are here to escape the heat of their homes for a few hours. It’s starting to fill up again, and I’m taking up some serious space at this table-for-eight all by myself. I’m spread across two four-seater tables that have been moved together. I have one beer and a small dessert, which is decadent.

When it’s time to settle up, the amount due is less than $10, and the latest love-of-my-life asks if there’s anything else she can get me? Oh yeah. I pull out two tens, and look up at her to say, “Here’s all the money I have on me– the change is all yours. And if you ever decide you want everything else I have, just come through my door.” She wasn’t expecting that, and is a bit flustered for a second as she takes the money and rings the bill. She looks back and asks with her eyes if I’m sure about the tip? I smile at her and say, “I was serious about everything I said.” She’s bursting with a smile, as she scurries into the kitchen.

She’s back in a minute and laughing, along with me. She’s just told all her girlfriends what’s happened, and they’re in a tizzy. She keeps passing by busy, and anytime our eyes catch we’re giggling, while she’s shaking her head. Always my luck. Later, I playfully ask her, “How’s your shift going? Do you normally get men desperately throwing themselves at you? You have to watch out for that, you know…” More giggling… The place is really filling up, so I need to roll. As I slip out, I point to my empty table and whisper to her, “Make some money, woman.” For me it’s like always– maybe next time.


Hurricane Irma Diary

Thursday evening:  Here’s my hurricane readiness, take a lesson. I go on with my normal life until Saturday, as it doesn’t hit us until late Sunday/early Monday. I don’t go shopping, because I already have everything I need. In fact everyone should be using up existing refrigerated & frozen stock, in case of an extended power outage, unless you have a backup generator. That’s a costly & wasteful mess to avoid, and panicked last-minute shopping contributes to it.

A gas generator just isn’t practical (cost or living circumstance-wise) for most. During extended outrages, most likely you’ll run out of gas, even with siphoning from your vehicle. It’s for refrigeration and fans, as central A/C can’t be run off of most generators.

Crises bring out the best and worst in people. This means many acts of selfless heroism, mixed in with stealing and other acts of selfishness. I can tell you that if you’re caught looting in Florida by the owners, there isn’t a good ol’ boy anywhere that won’t shoot you dead, or worse.

Inland (Orlando,FL) means no storm surge, so the dangers are water damage from accumulated rain (expected 10-15 inches here) & high winds. I gassed up the car last night, as prices were increasing & supplies diminishing. I never met an oil company that didn’t exploit a crisis situation. I don’t expect to have to go anywhere, but I’m ready if I have to. I’m done working for the week and holding plenty of good bud, so that’s the best I can do…

      1. Rolling Stoned - Ric Size


Friday: A major reason Florida is so hurricane unready & vulnerable to catastrophe is its low tax rate. Seniors move down here because of the weather & low taxes. They largely don’t care about things like schools (their kids are grown up) or long-term environmental consequences (global warming), since their outlook is mostly self-interested & short-term. These “snowbirds” also have the money to leave during the heat waves & hurricanes of the summer months. They are watching all this from their homes in Ohio, New York, Michigan, etc… The elderly who live here permanently, are the most at-risk during a hurricane.  They are also the most difficult to evacuate. From a business standpoint, Florida has been completely deregulated. These are unique contributing factors to what’s about to unfold in Florida.

Saturday 11:00 AM:

This song is for all those living ocean front in the path of the eye of this hurricane. Storm surges predicted on BOTH sides of Florida, which is unprecedented. This “natural disaster” is global warming under capitalism. If allowed to continue much longer, Florida will eventually have to be evacuated, as it will become increasingly uninhabitable until finally submerged by the rising oceans due to arctic ice melt.

Out west, wildfires burning out of control out. It’s the hottest year on record I’m told.

11:50 AM: Right now in Sanford, FL the air is heavy with moisture. Low-hanging clouds are swirling in the breeze over head. The outermost bands have finally reached us. The ground is already soaked from weeks of heavy rain. I went outside earlier and said out loud, “if the eye hits here, we’re fucked… just so everybody knows.”

12:50 PM: Just got my last glimpse of the sun, for what will probably be several days. It hadn’t yet peaked in the sky (due to daylight savings), and quickly was swallowed up by the ever increasing & descending swirls of clouds. Still no rain, but there’s no doubt about what’s coming. The birds have finally stopped their chirping, and have either taken shelter or moved on. The cicadas are at it now, as the breeze is beginning to pick up. Usually they wait until dusk to rule the evening with their incessant buzzing, but even the insects sense today is different.

A feral cat grooms itself in front of my parked car. This reminds me to lay out catnip. I need all the luck I can get. I quickly slip inside, grab the can in the cupboard, and return to my porch to pour out a pile in its sight. It takes notice and continues grooming itself… then disappears behind my car. She then appears from under the closest car and presents herself as a female. Nice! She walks to within a few feet of the catnip, then turns away and moves on out of sight. Just like a woman…

The apartment complex I live in is modest, to say the least. I picked it for its location, as I work in Lake Mary– about 20 minutes away by car. There is an international airport just up the road, so there are many flight attendants here. Most live in “crash pads” with multiple people rotating in & out. Right now, they’re all out.

The demographic is all races, and defined economically as working poor, or living poor. The flight attendants here are mostly male and (FYI) notoriously gay, so I get stared at and whispered about a lot. There’s very little savings, and few have possessions that are of much value, as this is considered a transient area– a way stop to wherever anyone is going next. Most don’t think about the future very much, as it’s day-to day survival & partying going on.

I knew the biggest risk was flooding from a major storm when I signed this lease. I still have just about everything in boxes, if that tells you anything. It all off the ground, but I’m not sure it will be enough to keep everything that is essential, dry. I’m sticking it out.

There’s only so much you can do, as you can’t run from a hurricane if you live here, because you don’t really know where it’s going to go.  You can make things MUCH worse by panicking. Too many people are still driving around, just adding more global warming & energy to this massive system, for it to throw back at all of us.

The garbage men just came this morning and cleaned out all the bins (thank you), and yet there are people throwing their new trash into them and walking away like it’s cool, when it’s really just more litter for everyone to clean up after it’s washed out & blown away. It’s quite remarkable how little people are respecting this hurricane, and how blissfully unaware they are of it’s causes & consequences.

2:40 PM: The cicadas (bad-ass punk rockers) continue their songs, and A/C units hum as background noise. Getting your home as cool as possible is recommended, before the power goes out. I always leave mine off during the day. The air has begun cooling due to the moisture buildup.  Residents here are not allowed to board up their windows, and there are no storm shutters. This busy two-story apartment complex is about 2/3 empty now. We are right next to Lake Monroe, which is a large body of water connected to the St. Johns River– which outlets to the Atlantic Ocean. Storm surge could impact us from that side.

This complex was built on swamplands and is surrounded by water. It has a huge pond in the middle of it that is connected to Lake Monroe through an underground spring that runs under Highway 17-92. Residents enjoy fishing there, even though it’s mandated catch-and-release. This is NOT the place you want to be for the most violent hurricane ever recorded, but I’m here at ground level because I need to protect my home & its possessions.

That’s why you stay. This could get messy if the waters start to rise quickly. I believe you have a responsibility to protect where you live (if you are able), unless you are called out to work. The Central Florida Regional Hospital is right next door, which is good. That’s always a priority area, and this complex gets some benefit from that due to its proximity.  Every little bit helps. I just saw another glimpse of the sun, then it disappeared…

And why am I talking about the cicadas so much?  Maybe it’s because knowledge of entomology becomes important in flooding, as you can see in this memorandum I found taped to my door last Tuesday.

Interestingly, it doesn’t mention alligators, so I will. “If you ain’t a gator, you’re gator bait,” is the local color expression. Also note that fetid waters contain filth & disease. Mold and other microorganisms cause the most damage from flooding.

4:00 PM: Watching the wheels go round, listening to the VU & Nico while I still have electricity.

At the first thunder & lightning, all non-essential electric goes off. The lights aren’t on, and won’t be used except as needed. Charged old Ipod for music, unless I feel like strumming the guitar– and I don’t expect I will. Cell phone needs to stay charged so text only, unless an emergency. Computer use will have to be intermittent, if at all by tomorrow evening.

6:00 PM: My record collection is organized alphabetically, with Simon & Garfunkel – Warren Zevon on the bottom. When I pulled out the banana album, I switched all my Velvet records with a few Beethoven box sets, located up top in the classical section. I hope I don’t have to switch any others.

Pictured above is the record that changed my life, when I first heard “Heroin.” I found it at a used record store in San Jose, CA in early 1986. Their albums were only then being re-issued, after being unavailable (deleted) for over a decade. Can’t lose that.

Hygiene tips: All recyclable waste is placed into a bin, and kept to a minimum. All food waste is stored in the refrigerator, as usual. We have no composting here, which is another mistake no one notices or mentions. Rationing food intake is advisable, as what goes in– comes out. If the power is cut, the toilet soon stops working. Water should be rationed in the same conservative manner. Essential intake only to minimize waste, which will contaminate flood waters.

People shouldn’t run their electrical above what’s needed, as lowering the overall stress on the grid reduces the chance (slightly, but significantly enough) for brownouts & blackouts. Falling asleep early is the best scenario, as this could be the last night of A/C for awhile. I’ll listen to the NASCAR race (Richmond) on my laptop, as that puts me to sleep nearly every time.

I expect to wake up with high winds lashing rain at my windows in the morning. My ground-level next door neighbor left with her elderly mother to seek refuge in a public shelter. She left a few poorly-placed sandbags at her outside doorstops. Those will get stolen by those in desperation, if it comes to that. My neighbor above has visitors moving in for refuge. The first sprinkles have arrived, and they evaporate away invisibly making the air heavier with water by the moment. The outdoor ambient temperature is at least 10 degrees below what it normally has been this time of evening. The cicadas continue their audio dominance from the trees of the swamp behind us, while the pile of catnip remains undisturbed save for the moisture absorbed. Time to pack up my folding chair and call it a day. This is the calm before the storm.

7:30 PM: The sun becomes most visible in the sky at sunset, producing a rainbow on the opposite horizon.

…a miracle of physics.

About to get underway at Richmond, so signing off for the evening…

Sunday 8:00 AM: Slow drizzling this morning, with no wind & gray skies. The eye currently is spinning just south of Key Largo, FL. This slow-moving system is supposed to turn north today, and track the west coast of Florida. It’s now watch & wait.

The local airports stopped flights in & out as of 5:00 PM yesterday. The roads are now mostly empty. On Friday, I bicycled to my local produce stand and picked up some fresh fruit & veggies. I have enough food (perishable & non-perishable) to get through the week without spoilage. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Brita pitchers are filled, with spare water in buckets. At this point, you need to have a plan every time you open the refrigerator, as rationing & conservation of refrigeration will be the priorities.

10:30 AM: Back from my daily 3+ mile walk. Isn’t it funny how you can see something different every day, if you just take the time to notice?  Not too many walkers out this morning. The first one I encounter is a gay man, dressed sharply, eying me hard all the way as we pass by. I even turned away and then glanced back at him– still staring in. Boy, he was SERIOUS– LOL!

The next person is an woman in her forties carrying an umbrella, with it at full snap blocking only half the wind & rain coming at her. She’s in a cotton t-shirt, shorts, running shoes & socks, while holding on to her bumbershoot for dear life when the wind gusts.

Next is a younger woman taking her dog out to relieve itself. It’s a terrier and it’s owner has already picked up the poop, and is anxiously waiting for her dog to finish piddling. I give her a thumb’s up as I pass, and she returns a smile. Pets are a problem, just like everything else, during an emergency situation. You have to be able to take care of them, while being responsible to others. Many aren’t, so it’s nice to see someone doing the right thing when it counts most.

Next is a gay couple, or at that’s what it appears to be. They pass in a different direction, then suddenly appear across my path again a few blocks later. Yup.  And this is on a slow day, wearing a slicker & hood, with a hurricane coming!

The roads are less busy, but filled with the same stupidity that exists daily. People not signaling, slowing down for no reason, tailgating for no reason, driving recklessly with no purpose, pretending they’re a gangsta, etc… Burger King & McDonald’s are closed, so you know almost nothing else is open. Just a few gas stations & stray convenience stores, so none of these people really need to be out driving. They’re “checkin’ it out,” because they’re too lazy (or afraid) to walk. They will be the first ones to turn into wild animals when things go bad. It helps to recognize them and prepare yourself mentally, since you can feel it coming. It’s way worse than the storm itself.

The sprinkles have now turned into a steady light rain, with gusts of heavier moisture. It never completely stops. When the rain lightens by evaporating into an ultra-fine mist, the cicadas begin their drones. The sidewalks & streets are already puddling up with water & moving streams. This is how Lake Monroe looks at 9AM:

The ducks seem to be enjoying themselves in front of the community pond,

This is only the prelude.

For all those fashionably conscious hurricane survivors, I recommend walking in poly-nylon (waterproof) shorts and leather sandals. Strip off the outer layer when arriving back home, and hang them inside to dry out. Your t-shirt & underwear will be dry, which is most important. You can’t afford to get yourself sick at this time.

11:45 AM: My folding chair is out on the porch, and I’ve already seen the feral she-cat again. She looks at first at me, then the soggy catnip before cautiously slinking by. You know you want it.  Cats don’t like to get wet, so she’s probably more interested in rummaging a meal from one of the open dumpsters. I’m sure she’ll find one too. Who knows where the container will end up?

I like cats, so I mess with catnip. You have to be hard AND playful with cats, if you want to master them. That’s not an easy balance, and that’s just to earn their respect. They also require patience & persistence, as they are always on their own time. They are also very possessive & territorial. Like I said earlier, just like a woman.

Sirens are beginning to become more frequent. As I mentioned, there’s a hospital next door. Only a few of it’s windows are boarded up, and there’s minimal staffing, as can be seen by the relatively few vehicles in it’s parking lots.

1:00 PM: Rain is now moderate-to-heavy, continuous, and starting to lash more. The cicadas are silent, while the wading birds are having themselves a day gorging on grubs, snails & stink slugs. I’m hoping I don’t see any of their favorite meals, up close & personal in the next day or two. I’m probably living somewhere between 1-2 feet above the water table. Last forecast I saw was for 8-12 inches of rain. I blaze up outside, because it’s officially “Smoke ’em if you got ’em.” time. It’s also time to pack up the chair and move inside.

3:00 PM: Rain is getting steadier & heavier by the hour. No thunder or lightning, just water.

I lived in Mount Dora for 20+ years, including 2004 when 4 hurricanes hit Florida. Hurricane Charley missed Lake County, while Hurricanes’ Francis & Jeanne both left our home (and many others) without power for several days. For some it was weeks & months. We were lucky that was the extent of our inconvenience. A few privileged people tried to prove to others they had learned their lessons, and installed backup generators or converted to solar– for themselves. Unfortunately that’s not good enough, as it will take everyone converting to solar power for us to have any hope of alleviating global warming. In the Sunshine State & everywhere else, there is no coordinated & progressive solution to our energy needs, and there never will be under capitalism.

Among the 2004 storms, Hurricane Irma most resembles Ivan, which was the most destructive of the four. Irma is of even greater intensity, and it’s going to level everything in its path and then flood it. This is an irresistible force of nature, compounded by human arrogance & short-sightedness. Politicians and their mass-media accomplices are already preparing their best PR campaign yet, so be prepared. CNN-to-Fox will be all about: “Donate & volunteer: no politics” while militarizing the disaster zone to punish the population and keep those who can most-help out. The truth of what’s unfolding will be censored, as the ruling class seeks its next narrative to jump on to.

This is the face of class war in 2017. Little material aid (government or otherwise) will reach those most-impacted & most in need. Coastal area residences & businesses will be drenched in seawater & rain, windows shattered & roofs torn off. In short, horrifying– if you are caught in it and live to survive. They’ve got saltwater crocodiles & Burmese pythons to boot down there, so you better have (at least) a sharpened machete on hand if you’re sticking out the aftermath. For those who make it through, everything is gone, or ruined. Insurance says they won’t pay for “Acts of God,” which this is always defined as. Or they go bankrupt, to limit their liability, allowing them to start anew elsewhere. No one asks, “How can anyone rebuild here, when these super-hurricanes are assured to happen again & again?”

It appears Orlando will be lucky, and miss the eye. Knock on wood. It’s still too early to know, as this storm has a mind of its own, and will go wherever it pleases. What is certain is that an east coast storm track would have smashed O-town which (like the rest of central Florida) is surrounded by lakes & rivers outletting to the Atlantic Ocean. Storm surge would have been much more of a factor, with devastating consequences even this far inland. I’m not celebrating, even if it does miss us, and we stay completely dry. Luck is two-sided, and for every good fortune, someone else is ruined. This is only the beginning. Hurricane Jose’ is out there, and even it that one misses, there’s another & another… until eventually it’s our turn.

The moral is: people don’t want to live with a gun to their head. They don’t want to have to make choices that sacrifice their safety & material well-being, just to make a living. We all are being forced to do this by an irrational economic & political setup. Each crisis is a disaster, but also an opportunity to learn and plan for something better. It’s the only way we’ll survive.

6:00 PM: The bands are really starting to pick up in intensity and rainfall. My catnip pile is now soaked from the concrete below, but still intact. I’m guessing it’ll be gone by morning– either washed or blown away. It’s much darker at this hour than normal, due to the clouds completely blocking the sun. No cicada buzz either, just dragonflies feasting on mosquitoes. There will be quite a hatch for awhile, which is another issue.

The “eye of the hurricane” is often used in cliché. Let me describe what it really is. If you’ve ever stood outdoors in the eye of a hurricane, it is one of the most shocking experiences you could ever imagine. The violent winds & rain which have been mercilessly beating down have miraculously ceased– almost instantly. Dead calm, with clear skies. If it’s daytime you can see the sun again, and if you didn’t know better you would think it’s all over. A well-defined eye has only a few minutes of calm until the counter-rotational winds start up again, depending on how fast the system is moving. Everything that was bent one way, is now blown in the other direction. Even though the velocity of the winds are slightly less than the front of the eye, this is the most dangerous part of the storm. It’s when all hell breaks loose, and you just hope you can hang on. You’re that helpless.

The eyes of Hurricanes’ Francis & Jeanne weren’t as well-defined as Irma. There is no one who should attempt to stand in the eye of Irma, as the flying debris & flood waters in its wake are deadly. When an eye of this magnitude passes, everyone instinctively freezes. The biggest fear is if it turns in your direction, because you won’t be able to outrun it. Florida is a peninsula, and you are basically trapped here in a hurricane. Either get out early, or you’re in for the duration.

An eye looks at you.  An eye passes judgment on you.  An eye for an eye.  Everything that gives you religion comes up in a hurricane.  Can you see this in you mind’s eye?

To be continued…


US Open Tennis & Bitch Factor

Bitch factor (noun): Something to never ignore or underrate. If you do, it will emasculate you– viciously.

Men’s tennis needs Federer-Nadal in the semis (and we all hope it happens), but it’s just to keep pace with Maria Sharapova taking on the rest of the women– which is now the ONLY story at the 2017 US Open. For the record, I’m a tennis fan, so unless they are match fixing or behaving Nick Kyrgios-bad, I cut them some slack & love them all– really. But this following fact must be pointed out, and fully understood by ALL sports fans: Venus & Serena Williams have therapeutic use exemptions (TUE’s) for prednisolone– a steroid, and oxycodone– a narcotic pain-reliever [1]. A TUE is a medical permission slip to use banned substances.

Is it fair they were/are allowed to compete against others, with that chemical advantage? Why doesn’t anyone at ESPN (or anywhere else) ask them about it?  Last I saw, over 100 players (ATP & WTA) are competing with TUE’s.  Meldonium is a caffeine pill compared to that, and yet Maria Sharapova (alone) is to be made the poster-girl for doping in tennis. It’s so obviously political at WADA, ITF, IOC, etc– and your position on it betrays your interests. That’s what a lightning rod like Maria Sharapova does to people, and that’s why she’s jealously hated by her colleagues. Lot’s of bitch factor here, which has raised everyone’s interest about 1000%!

More people should respect (and let themselves be amazed by) the interest Sharapova instantly delivers, as that’s a true force of nature. In a word: mesmerizing. That has major value. She is giving everyone a chance to express themselves, and if she had been denied the wild card for this US Open, then none of this passionate dialogue would exist. No story, because there’s no real interest. You must respect that, even if you don’t like her game on the court. If you can’t do (at least) that, then you’re a hypocritical hater.

CoCo Vandeweghe believes Maria Sharapova’s wild card could’ve been used on American player

Bitch factor went up early, when CoCo Vandeweghe (below) was asked about Maria Sharapova getting a wild card, which she needed in order to play in the event. CoCo has a right to her opinion. And once she expresses it publicly, fans then have the right to criticize CoCo for her nationalist chauvinism, and inability to see the bigger picture.

In the last 6 months or so, Maria Sharapova has been featured on the cover of People, Vanity Fair, etc… She lives in the US, and is as “American” as anyone on the WTA. CoCo’s prejudiced comments betray a hidden agenda, that is ugly & all-too-common. Does anyone believe ESPN has the guts to investigate further, seek clarification, etc… or would that cut across their narratives?

Putting Maria Sharapova on center court ‘doesn’t set a good example,’ Caroline Wozniacki says

After Caroline Wozniacki went down in the second round, she dragged Sharapova though the mud (again) in her post-match comments to the media, essentially blaming Sharapova (at least in part) for her loss to another opponent, as well as the court assignments.  Being a bitchy sore loser doesn’t set a good example, I say.

To all those venting on Maria Sharapova, consider this. The most-commented-upon ESPN tennis articles this US Open are the ones featuring her. Even Roger Federer and Venus Williams don’t provoke the reactions Sharapova does. Serena Williams gets some love [!] for having her baby, but then it’s right back to Sharapova. Women do get jealous on that, a FYI for you young boys & clueless guys.

Maria Sharapova advances, returns shot at Caroline Wozniacki

Maria Sharapova’s response to Caroline Wozniacki criticisms, after winning her third-round match:

“That’s not what matters to me. All that matters to me is I’m in the fourth round. I’m not sure where she is. With regards to scheduling, as you know, I don’t make the schedule. I’m a pretty big competitor. If you put me out in a parking lot of Queens in New York City, I’m happy to play there.”

Let’s add it up. Five-time Grand Slam champion, stunning beauty, and quotable. Yeah, that belongs on Center Court.