Protest is BACK!!

As most of you know, I'm not a fan of our President-Elect. I'm fully prepared to be in permanent cringe-mode these next four years every time he opens his mouth or cranks up Twitter. However, and life is always about the "howevers", his election has had one positive effect on the country, namely, the reemergence of dissent to its rightful place as the "highest form of patriotism." During Barack Obama's presidency dissent had become synonymous with racism and therefore been slung back into the dustbend of history, especially in Hollywood. Now, with Trump's ascendency, it has made an uproarious comeback. Good.

Protest has now become the obligation of all citizens. We must all be shaken from our complacency, aroused from our moral slumber to combat the dangerous man in the White House. The Reverend Al Sharpton has called for "100 days of civil disobedience." A series of protests are planned for the Innauguration. Yesterday's confirmation hearings for Sen. Jeff Sessions were interrupted several times by Code Pink folks dressed in Klan robes. Meanwhile, in Tinseltown, political acceptance speeches will be taken to new heights at the upcoming Oscars as our nation's finest actors and directors will try to outdo Ms. Streep's performance at the Golden Globes. Resistance to the Washington establishment is about to enter its golden era, and I for one couldn't be happier.

In the spirit of this new season of speaking truth to power, I have stumbled upon the ultimate protest for the artistic community in our country since they seem to be the ones most troubled by Donald Trump, and for good reason. Perhaps no one who has ever occupied the White House has been a bigger artistic Phillistine than the Trumpster. I mean, seriously, have you seen how he decorates his house?? Well, here's my idea. How about the entire artistic community in America refuse, absolutely REFUSE to accept any endowment money from Washington while Trump is President? No grants, no subsidies, nothing! This is the time for grand gestures, not small measures. To accept money from such a corrupt government headed by such a dangerous racist, homophobic, misogynistic President would be to elevate financial expedience over principle and that would be unthinkable, would it not? Now is the time to cut the chord of dependency on taxpayer handouts. For artists, I can think of nothing more powerful, nothing that would send a clearer message to Mr. Trump that he is not OUR President, and we can not be bought! 

Just an idea from a humble blogger...

The Crazy Reaction to Yesterday's Blog

I'll never understand this blogging business if I live to be a hundred. Yesterday, I simply responded to something in the news that I thought was interesting for irony purposes. A Hollywood Goddess claiming victimhood status practically is begging to be written about, after all. So, I pounded out a few paragraphs, pressed publish, and went on with my day.

It was a full day, jammed with the boring but technical work of entering client data into a risk management computer software program which I am attempting to learn. Add to that several phone calls with clients, and some bill paying and there isn't much time to check back in to The Tempest. Around noon I managed to do just that and was shocked to see what had happened while I was away.

Before yesterday, the most traffic this blog has ever seen in one day that wasn't artificially aided by the sneaky French was about 400 page views. Further, the most popular single post I had ever written had roughly 950 views. Then, Meryl Streep happened. Yesterday, 2900 souls came to my blog, 2700 hundred of whom read about the peerless actress. When I woke up this morning, that number had climbed to 4600. Ok, this is about as close to going viral as this blog will ever get, and for the life of me I don't understand it. Listen, I have written way better stuff than this Streep thing and lots of it didn't even get a sniff!

I'm certainly not complaining, so thanks for sharing. As you can imagine, my Facebook page attracted a lot of comments, the majority of them respectful and courteous. But then some guy I didn't know chimes in with some gratuitous slap at African Americans complete with a couple of strange memes which I didn't fully understand but could tell they weren't very nice. A lot of back and forth ensued and finally, I did my best Big Brother imitation and wiped out the entire thread. I did so with no regret. Yeah, yeah, I know. The First Amendment. But my blog belongs to me, and I can be a real jerk at times when it comes to free expression, especially when that free expression starts getting ugly. I'm just not going to tolerate overtly racist remarks. I don't want my name associated with it. So I reserve the right to edit racists memes. Sorry. There are plenty of places you can go to post that sort of thing. Not at The Tempest.

Meryl Streep

This morning the internet is abuzz with talk of Meryl Streep and her acceptance speech for a lifetime achievement award from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association last night at the Golden Globes. It has been decades since last I endured a Hollywood awards show, So I had to find a video of it to get up to speed. I did. Wow.

Let me begin by admitting to a fondness for Streep the actor. I have seen her in many roles and she has always been excellent. I have never concerned myself with her views on politics. Why should I? She is an actor. She emotes for a living. Why would I care about who she votes for or what her views happen to be on immigration or the minimum wage? That makes about as much sense as me asking my plumber what he thinks about French poetry. But, there she was last night boldly expressing the only opinion anyone who knows what's best for them in Hollywood is allowed to have. . . Trump is a very bad man!!

Actually, there was a kernel of truth to some of her thoughts. It wasn't moonbeam crazy or particularly unhinged. But one line was truly astonishing to me:

"You and all of us in this room really belong to the most vilified segments of society right now. Think about it: Hollywood, foreigners and the press."

Ahh yes, the horrible vilification of Hollywood actors has got to stop! When I think of the savage way we treat our thespians I can hardly sleep at night. Why, just look at the way we force them to dress up in $100,000 designer gowns and fawn their beauty in front of the nation on those red carpets this time of year. Not to mention how we throw money at them in such obscene amounts that they are practically forced to purchase multiple estates all over the world. Then we have the gall to give them bad reviews when they appear in Fast and Furious IX. We disrespect our Hollywood folks so much, we only devote 70 billion dollars a year to their care and feeding through the purchase of movie tickets. At some point these poor, disrespected people are going to say, "enough" and move to China or France or anywhere they might be able to live their lives without being the targets of such oppression. Then, what will we all do? Ms. Streep offered a glimpse into such an artless existence when she suggested that we would be left with nothing to watch but "football and mixed marshal arts...which are NOT the arts!"

I watch this sort of thing and marvel at the astonishing lack of self awareness. She insults half of the citizens of her own country, who incidentally, just changed the channel from a football game to watch her speech, and then wonders why a guy like Trump is in the White House. I suppose it makes her feel good, makes the people in that ballroom feel good to cast all of themselves in the roll of the good guys and everyone who voted for Trump as the bad guys. But, I feel pretty sure that nobody in that hall has to worry about losing their manufacturing job to cheap foreign labor. Nobody drinking Dom and eating gluten free caviar has to worry much about illegal immigration. For most Americans, illegals aren't the ones mowing our lawns or cleaning our toilets. Those guys all work for the people in the $100,000 gowns.

So, by all means Hollywood, use every chance you get over these next four years to denigrate the 60 million people who voted for Trump. Keep referring to yourselves as a vilified, put upon minority. Keep making fun of all those knuckle-dragging, football loving morons out there in fly over country. Let's see if that helps in 2020.

Snow and our Doofus Dog

The view outside the window of my library was beautiful this morning. There was four inches of snow on the ground and it was still falling gracefully and unhurried and at seven in the morning, in stone cold silence. There was no wind. Each flake made its way to the ground at its own pace, in a hypnotic rhythm. At this hour no one on my street had stirred. The kids and the dogs hadn't yet disturbed the landscape. This is the part of snow that I love, the beauty and serenity it brings to the world. Everything stops for a day or so when it snows here. We aren't like people from places like Atlanta who lose their minds in the stuff. We get enough snow every year that we more or less keep our cool. But neither are we like people from Maine or Montana for whom a six inch snowfall wouldn't change a thing. In Virginia, we are still able to marvel at the beauty for a while.

Of course, like everything else in life, there's a down side. Removing all of this snow from drive ways and decks gets harder every year. Driving around in it tomorrow after it drops down to 3 degrees tonight will be a challenge, not for my car necessarily, but from the hazard of avoiding any encounter with those first time four-wheel drive morons who are under the false impression that their rugged all-terrain vehicles render them immune to accidents. I always take way too much pleasure from the sight of some 30 year old suburbanite with his Dodge Durango, ass over tea kettles in a ditch, back wheels spinning like a whirligig! Yes, I'm aware that this isn't a very Christian attitude, but nobody's perfect!

Probably the best and worst part of snow is having a Golden Retriever. Lucy, as you know, is our skittish girl, afraid of almost everything. Everything that is, except snow. I took her for a leash-free romp this morning and she had the time of her life, running, jumping, dancing and rolling around with abandon. Thirty minutes later, she was covered head to toe with what I can only describe as snow burrs, small balls of snow that have gotten tangled up in her fur in all the wrong places. Removing them is a laborious project that is never completely successful so after she goes inside, she leaves a trail of melted snow burrs all over the house. But, it really is worth it to watch the unrestrained glee with which she attacks her time in the snow. It's as if there is nothing in the whole wide world more thrilling than running at full speed in grand circles all over the yard, her enormous tongue wagging stupidly out of the side of her grinning mouth. What a doofus. What an adorable, heart warming fuzzball of a doofus dog we have!

Now, the house smells incredible because there's been a roast in the crockpot for several hours. It's some recipe that some woman posted on Pinterest a while back and it ended up making her a millionaire, or something. It's called the Mississippi Roast, I'm told. It's what's for dinner at the Dunnevant estate tonight. I'll be watching football and eating meat.

Feeling very masculine at the moment!

An Entrepreneurial Failure

As many of you know, exactly a year ago I monetized The Tempest by allowing Google to place ads on my blog. Consequently, I was cajoled by Google Adsense to allow them to run analytics on my first year to determine "strengths and weaknesses" of the advertisement program. Result? The Tempest sucks as a money maker!

To explain just how awful it is will require a combination of literary precision and the ability to explain mathematics, so I'm sorta doomed. But nevertheless, let's plow through this, shall we? Trust me, it's hysterical.

Ok, so in 2016, The Tempest was blessed with right at 60,000 pageviews, in other words 60,000 times somebody saw one of my blog posts and thought, "Hmmm...that sounds interesting," dropped what they were doing and read the post. Cool. Exactly 180 times someone felt so moved to actually click on one of the advertisements running down the side of the post. That means that my click rate is a staggeringly abysmal 333:1. Apparently, that rate is breaking new ground for futility, so bad that even as we speak teams of cyber-analysts are combing over these numbers in amazement seaking to discover the cause of such ineptitude. I'm like two floors beneath mediocre. I've got to aspire to pathetic! To illustrate how stunningly inept the Tempest has been as a profit generator, consider this factoid. The numbers say that I have roughly 180 hardcore readers, that is, those who read practically everything that I post. If these 180 people clicked on one ad per month, my click rate would be 26:1.

There are several explanations for this. First, the ads are terribly unconvincing, unimaginative and boring. Second, my readers are so sophisticated they have evolved past crass materialism. Third, my writing is so captivating, readers simply can't divert their eyes, even for an instant, to glance at mere advertisements. I'm going with number three!

Moving on to more interesting topics. . .it appears that the enfant terrible of meteorology has won the day with his snow forecast. This morning brings predictions of 4-8 inches of the white stuff from most of the TV weather people. DT will no doubt now have a field day with his vitriol-filled I told you so rants. My favorite one from last night was his post that some meteorologist from Norfolk should "be arrested for impersonating a moron." Great stuff!

About that horrible video from Chicago showing four black teenagers abusing a disabled white guy. I didn't watch it. Neither should you. What possible reason would anyone have for watching such a thing? What purpose does it serve? Doesn't reading the story make you sad and furious enough? I get it...people can be cruel and barbaric. But, I'm done with wallowing in human depravity by giving it an audience. Enough already!

Weather Wars

The first snow of the winter is in the forecast here in beautiful downtown Short Pump. I know this because word of it has spread like wildfire on my Facebook feed. It's the lead item on the local news, and local weather badboy Dave Tolleris (DT) has started up his shtick again, calling all of the TV weather folks morons and idiots for disagreeing with him. It's all great fun and a source of fine entertainment all through the winter here. It's works like this. . .

DT alerts his faithful followers of a potential blizzard brewing up in Canada someplace. He warns that although it's early, this one might be off the charts. He warns that it's still two weeks away but not to worry, he's keeping a sharp eye out and all of the TV people aren't saying anything about it because they are either A. idiots or B. gutless weasels. A week out his warnings become even more unhinged and shrill. "We might be looking at 20 inches here people!!" By this time, poor old Andrew Freiden over at WWBT is forced to talk about what looks like a chance at 2-3 inches of snow a week or so away but adds that there are a lot of factors that might diminish the accumulation numbers so he wouldn't lose any sleep over it just yet. DT immediately goes on the attack. Freiden is a hack, even worse, an incompetent hack. Hell, he can't even get hackery right!!

Then suddenly, 48 hours out, a confluence of upper level winds, El Niño, solar storms, and that handiest of all excuses, global warming all mysteriously combine in ways that no one could possibly have predicted to shockingly reduce the forecasted nor'easter to anywhere from a dusting to 2-3 inches. Andrew Freiden always refuses to gloat or even make mention of his deranged freelance tormentor. Meanwhile, DT fans rush to his defense, claiming that even though he missed this one, at least he, like, works hard and stuff. It's must-see internet!! If DT didn't exist, the local weather people would have had to invent him. He makes them look so reasonable and professional by contrast.

So, the Dunnevant house is bracing for what might be. . .nothing or 5-7 inches of snow Friday night into Saturday morning. Actually I hope DT is right on this one. That will just encourage him to go nuts for the rest of the winter. I'm getting the popcorn ready!

...Up The Country

Something weird has been going on with me lately, well, I mean, more than the usual garden variety weirdness that I deal with on a daily basis. Suddenly, it seems, I have become obsessed with the goings on of my cousins who live up the country. These are all people who were a big part of my life . . . when I was ten, but since then not so much. Like all large families, ours spread out and drifted apart so I lost touch with most of them for the longest time. But then three things happened. My parents both passed away,  I went to a family reunion, and. . . Facebook.

When you lose your parents you become more introspective, I suppose. You begin to think about your past, where you came from. Both of mine came from Buckingham County, Virginia. When I was a kid I spent lots of time there and it was a wonderful experience. In my memory, my grand parents were giants. The farm was big and green and full of animals and open spaces. It was also a little scary what with it's oddly painted rooms and dim lighting. Little things stood out. There was always Dr. Pepper in the fridge. My grandmother seemed forever in the kitchen cooking something, wearing an apron and patting me on the head.

Then there were my cousins. There seemed to be a million of them. There was Bootsie, Bubby, Peggy and Joanne, Brenda, Donna and Bertha Sue, Derrick, Michael and Caroline. My Uncle Harry had a couple of boys too but I didn't see them much so I forget their names. One of them was Kent, maybe?  It was a large and impressive brood. For a five year old boy, they were all great fun to be around.

But as life progressed I lost touch with most of them. We moved to Richmond. They stayed up the country. There were family reunions and I went to a couple of them over the years, but reunions were for people like Mom and Dad who never seemed to tire of them. I tried to avoid them most years and honestly can't tell you why, I just did.

But, this past October there was another one and this time, I went. It was amazing. I wrote about it at the time so I won't go through it all again but suffice it to say that seeing them all sparked something in me. When I got back to Richmond, I friended many of them on Facebook so now I feel more connected to their lives. Second and even third cousins now routinely pop up in my newsfeed. I look at the things they care about and the things they are involved in and I feel very proud of them. It's as if when Mom and Dad passed, something in me has longed to find a new link to them. That link is the James River State Park where my mother's homeplace used to be.

Now, Peggy, Joanne and Bubby all have kids with kids of their own. I'm getting to know them on Facebook, which is weird, but better late than never.