Fashion Trends That Confuse Me

 Back in the 1990’s a new fashion trend emerged among young males which featured the wearing of pants sagged low around the behind, revealing one’s underwear of choice. To many of us this seemed preposterous, not to mention diabolically uncomfortable. Largely this particular trend has run its course, although you still see it occasionally. 

But then a couple days ago I ran across a photo of singer Billie Eilish giving her acceptance speech at the Grammy’s. The reason the photograph was so widespread was because of her now infamous “you can’t be illegal on stolen land” line. But that’s not what drew me to the picture. No, what I noticed was something I haven’t seen before. Ms. Eilish seemed to be wearing three belts—for no apparent reason whatsoever, since none of the three were secured to anything. They just were hanging there, flapping this way and that untethered from any conceivable function. I can only assume they were there for mere decoration . Maybe they were intending to make some sort of statement—that she had been freed from the shackles of the patriarchy? 

Maybe this is a one-off, it won’t become the female version of the sagging pants thing for young men in the 90’s. Or maybe this will become all the rage among the cool kids? Time will tell.

Bad Bunny and Me

 As a man of a certain age, I am quite aware that mine is not the preferred demographic of institutions like the NFL, or anything else for that matter, except pharmaceutical companies hawking cures for unheard of ailments. I am also keenly aware of the fact that much of popular culture has passed me by. It is a natural progression for older generations to lose contact with every new thing that comes along. I have bigger fish to fry than being in the know on the latest sensation of the moment. So several months ago when the National Football League announced that this year’s Super Bowl halftime show would be in the hands of Bad Bunny, I had no reaction whatsoever. I had never heard of him.

One of my young friends texted me yesterday about something he saw on the recent Grammy’s awards show. Since I hadn’t watched it I Googled the highlights. Lots of political speeches and awareness pins, that sort of thing. There was Bad Bunny winning a bunch of awards. Then the next day Roger Goodell gave a pre-Super Bowl press conference where he referred to Mr. Bunny as “one of the great artists in the world.” High praise indeed.

So this morning I decided to check out a few samples of his work. It wasn’t hard to find. He has been churning out hits for almost ten years now, each of them accompanied by a slickly produced video. I chose a couple from a list of his “top ten” hits. Both songs were in Spanish. The first featured Mr. Bunny washing a pickup truck across the street from two gorgeous women sunbathing. Nice beat. The second video was in an Italian restaurant and featured what looked like Al Pacino sitting at a nearby table admiring Mr. Bunny as he ate a variety of delicious Italian dishes. Again, a nice beat but with a slow dance vibe. I must here confess that I didn’t watch through to the conclusion of either video, not because I was offended or repulsed, but rather because I was bored. It didn’t help that I didn’t understand anything because I don’t speak Spanish. It’s just that artists like Bad Bunny don’t make music videos for guys like me. This is the way it should be.

So, what to make of the alternative halftime show being planned as an alternative to Bad Bunny?

I watch the Super Bowl out of some weird sense of American obligation. It has become more of a spectacle with each passing year. The food is the best part. The commercials are always interesting. The game itself is sometimes of interest to me but increasingly less so. I’m a baseball guy. As far as the halftime shows go I usually sit and stare open-mouthed trying to figure out what’s happening. The last one I remember enjoying was the one with Bruno Mars. I will probably watch at least for a while then roll my eyes. As far as the alternative show, I probably won’t bother, not because I object to any of the performers or anything. It’s just that it feels like one more thing that separates us. Blue States, Red States. I don’t feel like I need an alternative halftime show. Why? If I have some serious objection to the Bad Bunnies of the world I can just turn down the sound, take a prolonged bathroom break and refresh my supply of nachos and pigs in a blanket. I’m not about to let any halftime show ruin the one occasion every year where I allow myself multiple beers!

Of course, there’s the chance that I might regret writing this. Maybe the Bad Bunny halftime show turns out to be a “I hate America screed”—some sort of call for violent overthrow of American Imperialism. Maybe his dancers will all be pride-flag wearing, blue haired middle aged women blowing whistles or something. Who knows? 

But I’m not planning on losing any sleep over it. Are you?

The Bleak Mid-Winter

 Tomorrow February begins, the official kick-off of the bleak mid-winter. I have written many times of my disdain for the month of February, so I will not rehash all of that again. We have all been trapped in our ice-encrusted neighborhoods for a week now. How worse can it get? February just looked at March and said, “Hold my beer.”

At this point I have exhausted all of my errand runs. Yesterday I wore out a second vacuum cleaner. Then I spent two delightful hours on the telephone with the IRS. I am here to tell you that if you want something to distract yourself from the chaos and confusion of Minnesota, try having a tax payment you made in 2025 recoded from the third quarter to the fourth quarter. Poor Gloria, my tax-payer assistance professional, placed me on hold no less than six times with the rehearsed phrase, “I’m going to put you on hold for 5 to 7 minutes.” Each time she did not disappoint. 

Looks like we are set up for our second hilariously busted forecast in a row, the much hyped 8-10 inch snowfall having morphed into a possible dusting. Despite the introduction of cayenne pepper laced bird food into our fancy new Bird Buddy device, the local squirrels seem unfazed, three of whom have already been picked off by my trusty Daisy Powerline 35 for their impertinence, one of the very few highlights of the past week.

And now my little grandson has his first ear infection…typical pre-February treachery.

But I am reminded that no matter how dreadful or delightful life can sometimes be, change is always right around the corner. Actually, I wrote something about this dynamic years ago. Yes…here it is:

In the summer no one thinks about the snow. Sitting at a feast table no one recalls the famine. In the season of peace no one listens for the drums of war. No one except me. I am always moved on to the next thing. And the next thing is always different. It is tiresome to receive a gift of new shoes and only being able to imagine them with holes. But, my gift has benefits. A run of bad luck or ill health is always about to end. It's always on to the next thing. If life seems bright and grand, it's about to turn wicked and dark. But a sick child is about to recover, the long miserable winter is about to give way to spring, crushing grief is about to melt into tender memory. It's what happens next that matters. Always... what happens next.

Day Six of Cabin Fever

 

Day Six of Cabin Fever

Day 6 of cabin fever. The streets in my subdivision still glisten with solid ice, a rutted milky white mess. I walk across my lawn without leaving any evidence. Its currently 6 degrees. My office—the Cafe at Hope Church—has been closed all week. I have been denied my coffee, Asiago cheese bagel, and all of my amazing Cafe peeps for a fortnight. 

Pam is thriving under these barbaric conditions. She drinks her hot chocolate, texts her friends, performs productive work on her computer and creates beautiful cross-stitch/crochet things while the Hallmark channel plays in the background. She wears warm sweaters and makes homemade soup for supper, perfectly and completely content. I stare out the window and come up with excuses for venturing out to “run errands”.

One such errand was to go next door to thank them for shoveling my sidewalk and driveway. As a “thank-you” I brought them a can of some “special chips” I had bought in Columbia that were gluten free and super delicious that I was sure they would love. When their youngest, Sully, eagerly opened them a giant coiled snake shot out of the can and across the room. Sully burst out laughing but her Mom ran from the room screaming. Good times!! Later they sent me a couple of videos of other family members who opening the can with similarly hilarious results. So, I’ve got that going for me.

I did manage to pick up my whimpy friend Tom from his house so we could have breakfast at Waffle House a couple days ago. And yesterday I did run by CVS for reasons that now escape me. While I was there I picked up some toiletries that I will no doubt have need of at some point in the future. I managed to drop by my old office where I enjoyed harassing them for thirty minutes or so. The other day I dragged Pam with me to have lunch at Los Panchos. Today I’m thinking maybe the house could use a complete and proper vacuuming.

I have managed to do my exercises every morning. I’ve also logged 24 miles on the stationary bike. Despite this I have gained even more weight, bringing my 2026 total weight gain to four pounds.

All the while an ominous weather forecast has been looming. Each day I wake up to learn the latest predictions. A week ago there was talk of up to a foot of new snow coming this weekend. A couple of days ago it had morphed into barely a dusting. This morning, the pendulum has swung back to impending doom.

My buddy from Maine texted me yesterday morning. I had been bemoaning the horrible weather we have experienced. He responded with, “We had 18 inches yesterday and this morning its -16.” There’s nothing worse than having a smart ass friend from Maine.

So today is another day. I am trying to wrangle a clandestine visit to the Cafe for an Asiago Cheese bagel. I’m willing to sign a waiver holding Hope harmless if I should end up ass-over-tea kettles walking across the parking lot. Sacrifices have to be made in this life.

Outrage Fatigue

 I have developed a severe case of outrage fatigue. Am I the only one?

I open my computer and read the news, then scan through social media. There is a torrent of indignation pouring forth. ICE. Trump. Minnesota. Somalian daycare. Church invasions. The NFL is fixed. The Dodgers are destroying baseball. Pedophiles running amok in the halls of power. It is a dizzying menu of anger. But lately there has been a new wrinkle thrown into the mix. I’m not sure what to even call it but it’s there in plain view. It’s a strange new performative guilt-shaming aimed at people who aren’t sufficiently outraged. 

Suddenly, it’s not enough that people feel the need to daily broadcast their rage on social media. Now they feel compelled to disparage those of us who have remained “silent”. Our lack of daily memes castigating Trump or AOC is now taken as proof of something sinister. Perhaps we are closet Communists or mouth-breathing MAGA’s. If we aren’t out in the streets blocking traffic or boycotting this company or that we are clearly not down for the struggle. Our perceived apathy is not sufficiently equal to “the moment.”

I would like to offer a counter explanation for my lack of an acceptable level of zeal for this “moment”. I simply don’t have the emotional bandwidth required to be in a perpetual state of apoplectic, spittle-spewing rage 24/7. I just don’t. Psychologists claim that a human being is only capable of deep emotional connection with roughly 100-150 other human beings. This sounds right to me. But even if I could manage a huge reserve of empathy and indignation about say…2,000 people, my ability to do anything of substance for them is severely limited. So, what exactly does posting all day every day of social media actually do to move the needle? Nothing. That’s what. Actually, that’s not entirely true. It does accomplish one important thing. It makes the angry poster feel good, enhances their sense of moral superiority—and that is a powerful rush.

Although I can literally do absolutely nothing to change events a thousand miles away from me, I can do something about the Asian lady who got her car stuck in the snow at the entrance to her culdesac. I can take a friend to a doctor’s appointment because they don’t want to drive on the icy streets. I can remember to check up on the members of my family to make sure they are ok when the temperatures plunge into single digits. I can annoy my friends with texted dad jokes. In other words—for those who God has given me the motive and opportunity to be a blessing to, I need to act on those opportunities. I will keep informed on all the other lunatics running wild through our country. I will pray for peace. But I’ll leave the performative rage to others.

Minnesota and My Neighbors

 After a week of keeping up with a seven month old my back is a bit of a mess. Perfect timing right? There’s snow and sleet piling up outside, meanwhile I’m sitting here in my recliner with the heating pad set to STUN when I hear an odd scraping sound coming from outside. I get up and walk over to the window about the time that Lucy begins an all-dog alert by barking like a maniac. I look out and there they all are. My neighbors, Stu and Jamie, along with their kids shoveling my sidewalk and driveway.

I’ve spent much of this morning catching up on the news, which seems to be dominated by killings in Minnesota, the current epicenter of turmoil surrounding the roundup of illegal immigrants by ICE and the Department of Homeland Security. It seems to me that I’ve been writing about immigration ever since I started this blog 15 years ago. So, I actually searched the archives and sure enough I’ve written over twenty times in the space about this issue. Surprisingly, my views on this topic have been unusually consistent. I have found that over these fifteen years my thoughts on many hot-button issues have changed along the way, but on immigration they have remained steadfast and include the following:

I am very much PRO-LEGAL IMMIGRATION, and very much against illegal immigration.

I am not an open-borders guy. I believe it is reasonable for any country to control the integrity of its borders.

I have NEVER been in favor of any “solution” to the problem of illegal immigration that involves rounding up the 10-15 million people in the country here illegally and kicking them out. 

I have always been 100% in support of arresting and deporting people who have committed violent crimes while here illegally.

The President with the best record of deporting illegal immigrants was Barack Obama who averaged over 400,000 such deportations every year during his second term in office. He even awarded a medal to Thomas Homan, his ICE director at the time. Yep..that same guy that many now accuse of being the new Gestapo. Trump’s response to the unprecedented surge at out southern border under Biden has been to unleash a newly expanded ICE with new, seemingly unlimited powers that have in recent weeks resulted in the killing of United States citizens protesting their law enforcement operations. Regardless of the circumstances of each of these shootings, it is a disturbing and un-American look for law enforcement officers to be taking out their fellow citizens.

Here’s something I wrote in June of 2016:

What to do with the 10 million or so illegal immigrants already here? I have no idea actually. I wish there weren't 10 million illegal immigrants here. How they got here is a great shame to the rule of law and a black mark on the resumes of those who presume to lead us. But now they are here. The notion of rounding 10 million people up and herding them back to the border has a trail of tears quality to it that no decent human being wants to witness. They are human beings, not cattle. Any politician who says that this is what they want to do is an idiot and worse...a heartless idiot.

In other places I have written of various encounters I have had with immigrants over the years. In each case I was impressed even though I had no idea whether of not they were here illegally of not. After each such encounter I came away with the idea that we have to find a different way to speak about Immigration…a way that doesn’t make enemies of the “other.” Many of them are our neighbors. Probably the kind who would shovel your walk if your back was out. Being part of a community means taking care of your neighbors, looking out for them. If that’s what these protestors in Minnesota are doing, I understand completely. If they are instead protecting known criminals in their midst against deportations because they hate Trump, then that’s just misguided stupidity. 

Watching it all play out and the divided reaction to each killing that always falls neatly along party lines makes me think that we are watching our nation ripping itself apart. This is the exact opposite feeling to seeing your sweet neighbors caught red-handed in an act of kindness. 

Beautiful Symmetry

 Last night our sweet neighbor sent us an old photograph of her as a young mother holding her son in her arms. Now that little boy is almost as tall as his dad. She made the comment that she would do anything to be able to spend just 24 hours with any of her children when they were that age just one more time. I looked at the picture and felt the same emotions. Pam responded by sending her a picture from 39 years ago.

It is impossible to underestimate just how little we knew about how our world was about to be transformed by the arrival of that little girl. All we knew was that we were in love with her and fascinated by every little thing she did.

Now, that little girl has brought another child into the world, and Pam and I are in love with him and fascinated by every little thing he does.

There is a beautiful symmetry to this life if you live long enough to recognize it.