David William Pearce's Blog

Though I’ve watched nearly all of them—I don’t remember the first two and missed a few while out to sea in the Navy—I’ve never been in a city that was hosting the big game as the big game was set to happen. That changes this year, as I am in my palatial digs down here in Mesa, which is part of the Phoenix megalopolis, as is Glendale, where the big game will be played at the home of the Arizona Cardinals.

I’m trying to get excited.

Not so much for the game, it should be interesting enough on its own given the teams, but the over the top production of things that have nothing really to do with a football game and are more focused on extracting revenue from visitors here for the scene rather than the game itself. The city is plastered with signs and imagery designated as allowable by the No-Fun-League less ye be summoned before the court of righteous lawyering. No dollar shall go uncollected; pro ball being an expensive business. (I don’t even know if I’m allowed to use the TMed term Super Bowl or the roman numerals associated with it without a license. Let’s see: Super Bowl…XLII. I think? Sorry, LVII.)

That doesn’t mean there won’t be a fun cat and mouse game of find the purveyors of inauthentic NFL gear amongst the authentic. It’s whether I want any. A buck’s a buck’s a buck.

Then there are the usual lamentations and exultations on the effect of prices here in the valley over things like ticket prices, the cost of a hotel room, and a decent meal. But that’s normal for this event: part of the buildup. There’s also the big economic upside debate between those who believe and their sceptics. Year in, year out, it’s all the same as the big game rolls through the same subset of NFL cities. Sadly, Green Bay will never get to experience this.

Then there’s betting! Perhaps the most interesting part leading up to the big event are the many, many bets you can place on the game, aspects of the game, possibilities of the game, and related ephemera. Props they’re called. I’m going with number of hair tackles and celebrities in the crowd.

The rest of it I have no interest in. I feel bad about that though I don’t know why. For reasons unknown, my interest in the buildup to the games—this includes all sports—the talking heads, the pregame, midgame, and postgame analysis, the recitation of clichés by the coaches and players, the singing of the national anthem, has plummeted.

I just watch the game.

Don’t care about the biographies, hagiographies, controversies. Just the game. Which makes my being here somewhat ironic. If it had been twenty-years ago when my kids were younger, I would have gone to stand next to a fake Vince Lombardi trophy, wrench my neck looking for former players, the unrelated concerts, and bustling about with all the other lookie-loos. Now it sounds like a big pain in the ass.

On the plus side, it ought to be a good game, and I have a nice big TV.

On a personal note: Unlike Aaron Rodgers, I will not be going on a darkness retreat to consider my future. This is mostly because I already have a small house and if I wanted darkness, I’d go back Seattle: it’s that time of year. I know we all have our own problems, but for someone so successful to let us all know he needs to go on a retreat to figure out whether to keep playing football is deeply unimportant and, quite frankly, silly. Just say whether you’re going to play next season and call it good.

©2023 David William Pearce

The malaprop above is curtesy of Kelly Bundy, the dimwitted teenager from Married With Children. And I think it, sadly, is representative of the modern malaise we find ourselves in. We know something is deeply wrong, yet we struggle to adequately put the right words to it, or describe it such that the light of the world will illuminate the way out of our present darkness.

I’m not terribly hopeful.

We are in the midst of an orgy of murder on all sides, from the usual cast of narcissistic loners, aggrieved agitators, “loved ones,” and over-zealous members of our public safety system. (Despite what the entertainment industry depicts, deaths associated with criminal activity like robbery and sexual assault are nowhere near the percentage of murders and suicides.) Into this dives the media with their look-but-don’t-look mélange of too much visual excitation and too little usable information. Answers? Fuhgeddaboudit!

It was sunny this morning. Really quite nice.

Which got me thinking: it’s too bad we abandoned being adults. Too much work. Too much responsibility. Too few pats-on-the-back. Now we have adulting, a pale substitute, and a host of problems that are resolvable, but won’t be due to a lack of effort by the “competent authorities” we’ve elected. Instead, we have actors. It’s one thing when it’s on some unctuous movie or TV show—which anymore are one and the same—it’s another when the health and well-being of the country is on the line. Everything is entertainment, look at me, look at me theatrics for the purposes of base arousement and fund raising. Yet they are there because we voted them in. Mirror, mirror.

It’s nice out, though. I think I mentioned that.

Since police killing are in the news, let’s take a peek. If we were adults, we’d recognize that public safety, as currently constructed, leaves a lot to be desired. The public is armed to the teeth; the police have been militarized; prisons are big expensive warehouses, and we kill ourselves and each other with a vigor found nowhere else in the world. Gun are fetishized toys waved around by half-wits and brandished by anarchists, insurrectionists, and 6-years-olds at school. Can’t beat that. The public fears the police; the police fear the public; nowhere is safe. For all the MAGA talk, I don’t hear anyone intoning the old bromide that firearms are to be respected and kept safe. Running around with an open firearm was deeply frowned upon and labeled you a goddamned idiot. Not anymore. And no self-respecting actor seems to mind. Pissed off? That’s what guns are for.

It’s a beautiful morning. The sun feels so good on my face. A great way to start the day.

Of course not everyone with a gun is, as we used to say, a nut. Most of us are careful with with our firearms, recognizing that a lot of bad can happen if you’re not. But too often they’re a means to settle a grievance. Like all the time, everyday. And it used to be a joke to “shoot first and ask questions later,” but if every encounter by the police might end in their being shot…well, why take the chance. This then applies to being pulled over for the proverbial broken taillight. Am I to be the next breathless 30 seconds on the evening news: This just in… Everyday.

A new day.

We could try to ban guns—won’t happen, we love the things. Besides, there are too many. We could enact more laws, but there are plenty of laws on the books. Plug the loopholes? Sure, why not? Ask the actors, sorry, our legislators, aka our politicians, to do their jobs? Good luck with that. The ones that care don’t have the support of those that don’t. Thoughts and prayers are all they have to offer. That and how there’s nothing we can do. Besides, it wouldn’t play well on TV: poor rating and all that. Better to stick to bromides and nonsense.

Is there anything?

My suggestion, which isn’t unique, is to recognize the role of responsible behavior. And yes, I know how that sounds, but so long as we elect actors who are more interested in the sound of their own voices, expecting them to do something, the longer we’ll be stuck in the nightmare. It’s simple: guns are not toys. Be responsible. Society should demand that all gun owners be responsible for the storage and use of their weapons. No exceptions. Gun owners should stand up and demand that anyone with a firearm be responsible. Along with that, we should demand that we behave like adults. Elect adults, not spineless personalities. We’re not five anymore. But that assumes anyone in the media would listen to us.

Really? That’s what you’ve got? Sorry, I lost my head.

On to public safety.

The police shouldn’t fear the public. The public shouldn’t fear the police. Public safety is supposed to be a joint effort between all of us. If we fear each other what’s the point? Dead cops and dead civilians don’t save any of us. It’s simply more lives to grieve. The answers are there if we’re willing to sit down, work out something better, and act. Turn off the bad actors and the dilettantes and the liars. Accept that we’re not all the same, but want the same basic things, one of which is going to the store and not worrying about it being the last thing you ever do because of someone acting out his perceived grievances.

I’ll freely admit this is me whining. I do what I can. I don’t keep a loaded gun lying around. The one I have I keep safe. I try to vote in reasonable persons. And I accept that there’s nothing that will save me if someone decides to murder me as I shop at Home Depot. It is the way it is.

Still…

The sun rises everyday, and will for the foreseeable future. Nothing says we have to be a part of that. The earth isn’t going to save us. It may laugh at us, though. It is always up to us.

©2023 David William Pearce

About that new Monk book…

Monk Buttman Mysteries

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! Some might associate that with Christmas, but they’re generally kids, or adults who can’t give it up. But for me, it when I can crow about a new book release featuring that nefarious nobody named Monk Buttman.

Book 5 in the series, The Fist Inside the Glove, finds our nobody in the tight grip of physical restraint caused by his neck being broken in a car accident. He is not happy about this. It, and the neck brace he’s required to wear, is crimping his style. His wife, Agnes, is not happy either. Her long-time employer, Johnny D, is closing up shop and moving back to Colombia, and her already fraught relationship with her father blows up in spectacular style at her son’s wedding.

In the midst of this, Monk finds himself in possession of a book with the quaint title…

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After a fairly long break, I’m back with tons of energy, sort of, and ready to sally forth…

Hoy hoy there. Well wasn’t that a trip? And now that it’s over and we’re holding hands again and singing round the campfire, we can go back to the good old days and let bygones be bygones. Yes siree, Bob! It’s all good.

Sure, there are those who are worried and concerned—on both sides of the isle, (As examples, please see the following: American myth. Many countries rather than one. Apocalyptic America. Ungovernable.) but I’m going to go out on a super positive limb and say that everything’s going to be super positive.

Why not?

Naturally, there are those who will point out that some of the country is still in the thrall of wackos and cranks, that—especially for the crypto bros and those so enticed—market corrections, recession and inflation are rearing their ugly heads, and the whole planet is doomed by our lackluster approach to climate change. Then there’s all of our culture war fights and whether it’s good or bad to offer the house of dudes across the street some homemade chili. These are all important issues on which to issue screeds on social media, which I will do as soon as I jimmy up enough interest. Plus, we have two wonderful years of asinine comments to look forward to by you know who.

It’s all good.

Some of you may think I’ve lost the last of my marbles; other will not get the marbles reference, which is kind of sad, particularly for those of us who prized our clearies, but that’s the way it goes with toys and fads. The same goes for gamers who miss the now rather lame games of the 80s. Time marches on, and the past must be subsumed by all of our present preoccupations. (If you found that last line profound, please feel free to put it on a tee shirt.)

And however many marbles the rest of you may still possess, you have to admit that life continues down its meandering path, and we, the people of this vast and varied country, just can’t turn away from this week’s, this month’s, this year’s s**tshow, whether its the Congress, all the terribly important twitterers worked up by the head twit, or the fiasco taking place with the Denver Donkeys and their new QB, Rusty.

Life, as it must, goes on, inextricably, to whatever noble end fate has in store for it. So pull up a chair, grab a Bud Lite, and enjoy the show! Or go for a hike, or a bike ride, or simply go stand in the sun for a while.

Works for me.

©2022 David William Pearce

After Labor Day, I took my flag down. As you can see, it was generally in a state of being all wound up. And no matter how many times I would get the ladder and straighten it out, moments later, the wind would pick up and bind it up again. Technically, this was due to the top ring having no interest whatsoever in spinning around as it was supposedly designed to do. No amount of oil or silicone lubricant could change its mind.

I gave up.

If you watch the “News,” you might think all is not well in the land of the free and the home of the brave. You probably think that whether you watch the News or not. I certainly don’t think so… But, if I may be blunt, beyond the news cycle, there ‘s that wholly appealing or unappealing world that is one day at a time. This is the one where the sun rises each morning in the east and sets each night in the west. For those possessed of 24-hr action, tweets, texts, Tik-Toks, emails, or if you’re of a certain vintage, the all-day wall-to-wall barrage of essentially the same story told in wide-eyed “Can you Believe it?” near hysteria cable TV, I’m surprised you haven’t had a heart attack or seizure by now.

And, to make matters even worse, there’s the putrid glop of the same tiring political messages repeated ad nauseum on every channel every day until the blessed time, 8pm EST (or EDT, I forget) when we count votes, watch to see if revolt takes place where freaked-out wackos run wild, and look forward to one day of rest before we’re bombarded about what the 2024 presidential election will bring.

All fall down.

But that’s if you spend your days glued to whatever means of media exposure you prefer. I prefer to turn it off. This affords me the opportunity to take stock of all the little things around the house I will be ignoring for as long as possible. The sun’s out, it’s reasonably warm—sorry to those of you in the heat wave, why not sit outside and read a book? I’m reading No Country for Old Men. A light tale of drugs, murder, and how you can’t outrun fate. Did I mention the sun is out? A slight haze of smoke from wild fires is in the air, but you can’t have it all.

Meanwhile the moles are tearing up the yard, and NFL Redzone will soon be back, thus allowing me to waste the entire morning and afternoon as they jump from game to game. And no political ads! Not too bad. Certainly the times they are a changin’, and the Queen is dead, and the southwest will soon be out of water, but that’s just the way it goes. Soon, the leaves will be falling creating another mess. No time for the weary.

Where is this leading? Like I know.

What I do know is that the sun is out and I have a book to finish.

©2022 David William Pearce

Got a new book coming out, pt 1.

Monk Buttman Mysteries

As is increasingly becoming the norm (this is a good thing), I’ve finished the work to get book 5, The Fist Inside the Glove, of the Monk Buttman Mystery series, out to my adoring public. This means editing for serious things like plot continuity, character dialog tags, and all those possessives that go unnoticed till it’s too late; cover design; PDF mistakes, which happen, and the general wonderment that, wow, this is going to happen. It’s a lot of work, and mostly on me as I’m not a big named author…at least not yet.

The writing, the creating of another chapter in a longer story (the Buttman books are sequential, carrying on in time) is the most fun. Initially, a theme comes to mind, in the case of The Fist Inside the Glove, it’s the power that comes with money, and the belief that having wealth confers a…

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It’s my understanding that the rest of the country is mired in heat. Here in the PNW-Pacific Northwest, we had our first day of actual spring. Prior to yesterday we had 5 HOURS of 70 degree temperatures for the whole of 2022. Hey, we know how to live. But yesterday it got all the way to 75.

I know, right?

I’m sure the rest of the sweltering country just shakes its head, but, believe it or not, June-uary, as we call it, is the worst time of the year. Why? Because it’s been a long gray wet 9 months. And we’re tired of it!

Sure, everyone is sorta miserable in January—maybe not in the south (I personally run away to Arizona)—so it’s not so bad. But June, when it’s nice, or nice and hot, we’re mired in “when” summer might show up. And maybe every once in a while we get a long summer; I know we had one in 1988, but mostly, we huddle and curse the sky and the clouds till the 5th of July, when summer traditionally come around.

The only question typically is whether the 4th will be cold and miserable before the clouds part, or whether the great God of the Pacific takes mercy on us and throws a little sun our way early. And I say the great God of the Pacific because like everyone along the west coast, we are at the mercy of the Pacific. Ours, up north, has been an unusually cold and wet spring, while the south has been hot and dry, watching its water reserves diminish.

Probably not good long term, but I’ll whine about that later.

Today, I stare at the clouds and hope the phone is right and summer is here. That might be true, or in a few days the weather changes and swamp us. It has before. Tomorrow, because I long to believe, I’ll pull the covers from the table and chairs on the deck in anticipation of good things to come. I’ll clean my nearly 40-year-old BBQ, maybe, in the belief that soon the burgers and steaks and shish kabobs will be a cooking, while I let the evening pass with a cool refreshing beverage.

Good times.

Hopefully…

Soon…

Maybe…

P.S. Reportedly, it will be 90 on Monday, which around here is the equivalent of 110. If we don’t make it, have a great summer, whatever that means now.

©2022 David William Pearce

At some point, like with Covid, we will all be touched by firearm violence (Sorry, but I’m not a big fan of the term guns). As the latest murders of children sadly will attest, we have given up or are helpless in trying to stop these kinds of horrors. Much as we grieve, the ugly truth is we are stuck in a cycle of violence that will not abate.

Something is terribly wrong here. How has the land of the free and the home of the brave come to this? How did firearms become more important than our lives? The dead merely collateral damage collecting all around us.

That’s a hard thing to come to terms with, but given how nothing is done, whether it’s an atrocity like Uvalde, a police shooting, domestic violence, or suicide, the truth is right there in front of us. If we cared enough, felt empowered enough, felt we were listen to, we’d vote in those who would address the problem—a firearm violence problem. That a majority of Americans know this, want something done, and are exasperated that nothing happens is one thing, yet brings up the more intransigent one: The political forces that control the legislative process in this country aren’t going to do anything. Nor are they going to be honest with us.

So I will be.

Firearms are more important. More important than family, friends, coworkers, everyone. It makes me heartsick to say it, but it’s true. Politicians won’t say it, but the majority of them are cowards. Given the choice between life and firearms, they choose firearms. And they have done this time and time again. Why would they change now? What are a few more murdered children? What are a few more heartbroken families? They won’t be the last.

There are many things we could do to get a handle on this. More than anything we need to be honest about the degree to which firearm violence is a part of American life, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s everywhere, big and small. And firearms are not going away. The arguments don’t go anywhere. It doesn’t matter that Australia ended mass killings after outlawing military style firearms, because we aren’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. It doesn’t matter that Switzerland has lot of firearms and few murders because they legislate nationally that firearms be registered, that national service is required, and that concealed weapons permits are tough to obtain. We’re not going to any of that.

That’s not us.

We grieve and hope for the best.

And this isn’t a screed to ban all firearms, but the increase in firearms out there hasn’t made the problem go away, it’s only exacerbated it, so that’s not the answer.

So, I don’t know, tell your kids you love them, get your affairs in order if you think that kind of thing is important. Pray that today isn’t your day. Hopefully, it won’t be…but it touches us everyday, in ways big and small, and it is slowly and methodically killing us.

©2022 David William Pearce

As some of you know, I engage in an annual contest with my yard and grass to see who gives in first. Sadly, my record is not good. This brings out the rather pertinent question of why I continue to engage in behavior that doesn’t always provide me with the satisfaction I crave.

Good question.

To answer this, let’s step back a bit, shall we?

I have this deep personal problem where I feel the need to understand what the hell is going on here. This results in two things: I do find that the answers are out there, and that there are solutions to all our many and varied problems. This is most uplifting. Then, of course, is the practical matter of most of it never happening because it might make the world a nicer more equitable place, but requires our politicians to work, talk to the other side, compromise, and where’s the fun in that? This is the most bumming.

Deep cleansing breath.

And to be honest, knowing why the world is as it is, and why people do what they do, while elucidating, is not helpful, unless you like to exasperate the people you know who don’t care, don’t want to hear about it, or desire to be corrected factually in any way, shape, or form.

Just stand over there and please (stated occasionally, but often not) be quiet.

That we’re being manipulated by the privileged elites on one side or the other (or both) as they fight for dominion is just a part of how business is done these days. So, pick a side, bub!

This brings me back to my somewhat sordid conflict with my lawn. It’s similar in that there are practical solutions that should make everything nicer, certainly for me, yet, paradoxically, only makes me nuts that every year I must continually fight this beast, while my neighbors do nothing, and yet have perfectly serviceable yards. It’s not fair I tells ya!

(I will add that some of that is due to other circumstances. In this case, the fact that it turns out wood is not forever, and after 60 years our deck needed to be replaced. And we all know how careful construction guys are on lawns. No doubt the people who buy this house when I can no longer afford the taxes will appreciate that. (They better!))

Anyway, if nothing else, it’s a quiet conflict that allows me to wallow in whatever playlist I’ve selected on my beloved iPod, which those bastards at Apple have decide to no longer make. Totally bummed… What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, grass.

Well, at least the rest of the yard looks good.

Small favors.

©2022 David William Pearce

Ed. note: Periodically our intrepid man of the people gets asked riveting questions on the lastest, most explosive questions. Because of that, we will be providing timely answers to today’s most provocative concerns! In order to best answer these, there will be an “official” answer and a “this is how it really is” answer.

Where do you stand on this Twitter business?

Official answer (OA): I’m sure it will all work out.

This is How it Really is (TIHIRI): First off, I waste enough time on FB, Instagram, and YouTube. Secondly, I prefer to be badmouthed to my face. Third, I’ve got no money in the game. If Elon Musk want to turn Twitter into his own echo chamber, they’re his billions to waste. Personally, I think it’s better to be happy and have time to read all those classics I thought my kids would read. I don’t see how that can happen if I waste my time on Twitter. But mostly, I don’t care.

What about all this CRT business?

OA: Oh, you’re not sucking me into that mess. I’ve moved on to flatscreens.

TIHIRI: This is the best explanation I have. A long time ago, a resort was built, but the owners didn’t want the “disabled” using the place so they purposely built it so it had limited access. Only certain “healthy” people could enjoy it. Now today, no one would think that’s fair or right, but the building hasn’t changed so the same restrictions apply. Read into that what you may.

The TV told me Disney was bad, so we can go anymore, but my daughter, who’s is bigly into Disney princesses, is mad at me and called me a wacko. What should I do?

OA: Sit your daughter down and explain how we have to be culture-warriors and stand up for what we believe and if that means she can’t be Cinderella or Sleeping beauty or one of the characters from Frozen (like I know), then that’s what we have to do. I’m sure she’ll understand. Besides, Disney is too expensive anyway.

TIHIRI: I think you’re doomed. But take heart, because it doesn’t matter anyway: in 50 years Florida will be under water (see next question).

What’s really going on with this climate stuff?

OA: It brings together all that exciting science stuff you avoided like the plague in high school. Put simply, the planet gets hotter, storms get worse, ocean levels rise, insurance goes up, and all that ocean front property…well…

TIHIRI: It’s either the end of humanity (And who doesn’t want to be part of a big moment in human history?), or God is an unhappy camper and we’re paying the price for our…something. But hey, nothing lasts forever, and how many people get to say they were there for the end of it all? Take it all in my friends, it’s just a matter of perspective.

What about that super big question? You know, Supreme Court…

OA and TIHIRI: Oh, I must have missed that. Let me get back to you…

And finally…

I hear we’re being overrun by aliens from beyond the moon!

OA and TIHIRI: That’s absolutely true.

©2022 David William Pearce