July 4: Move Slowly Off, Independence Day, Bornean Orangutan

Santiago is towed by the fish . . . 

Nothing happened. The fish just moved away slowly and the old man could not raise him an inch. His line was strong and made for heavy fish and he held it against his back until it was so taut that beads of water were jumping from it. Then it began to make a slow hissing sound in the water and he still held it, bracing himself against the thwart and leaning back against the pull. The boat began to move slowly off toward the North-West.

The fish moved steadily and they travelled slowly on the calm water. The other baits were still in the water but there was nothing to be done.

The old man literally becomes a parade float on the ocean in this passage, slowly being dragged along by the fish.

It is officially Independence Day, and I did something this morning that I rarely do:  I slept in.  I didn't get out of bed until well past 9:30 a.m.  Some of you may be thinking, "Big deal."  But, for a person who is usually awake, dressed, and out the door by 7:30 a.m., those extra couple hours of lounging felt a little like gorging myself on a quart of Ben & Jerry's.  

When I finally did get up, I read a little.  Watched TV a little.  Ate some cold pizza for breakfast.  Then, I got dressed.  Again, really unusual for me.  The last time I did that, I had COVID in January and was alternating my time between sleeping on the couch and watching Love Hard over and over on Netflix.  (If you haven't seen that film, don't judge me.  It's compulsively rewatchable.)

The only thing I did today that qualifies as commemorating the holiday was attending a parade with a good friend of mine.  He and I have known each other for going on 30 years.  We worked together at a local bookstore back then.  Nowadays, every July 4th, we usually attend the local parade and catch up on each other's lives.  Due to COVID, we haven't done this recently.  The parade was cancelled two years ago.  One year ago, my friend was in Chicago with his wife, I believe.

So, today, he and I sat and watched the usual array of motorcycles, high school bands, dump trucks, and campaigning politicians.  A horse-drawn wagon clopped by, and, surprisingly, the horses did not lift their tales in front of us.  (I seem to be jinxed by animals with loose bowels when I attend parades.)  It was a wonderful couple hours spent with a person I care deeply about.  We commiserated about the sad state of the Supreme Court and the country in general, as two aging progressives are wont to do when they get together.  

In the evening, my family and I had a barbecue with my sister.  Hot dogs, bratwurst, homemade mac and cheese, and watermelon.  Then we all watched an episode of Stranger Things.  It was a lovely way to end the holiday weekend.

As I sit typing this post, I can hear some neighbors setting off fireworks.  It's raining, so I'm sure the rockets aren't exactly lighting up the sky.  It's just loud enough to make my puppy moan and shift in her crate.

That's a pretty good metaphor to end the final post of this strange Independence Day weekend where independence and freedom need to be put on the endangered species list.  Right next to the black-footed ferret and Bornean orangutan.  We're all sort of shifting in our crates uncomfortably, listening to the distant explosions, wondering what's coming.

Even though Saint Marty didn't see any this weekend, there's a lot of horseshit going around.

October 6: Midnight Aloft--Thunder and Lightning, Susan Collins

The Main-top-sail yard - Tashtego passing new lashings around it.

"Um, um, um. Stop that thunder! Plenty too much thunder up here. What's the use of thunder? Um, um, um. We don't want thunder; we want rum; give us a glass of rum. Um, um, um!"

Okay, let's get this out of the way:  this chapter is incredibly racist.  No gettin' around it.  Racist in the way that the depiction of Native Americans in Disney's Peter Pan is racist.  Of course, you must put this in context.  Melville is writing at a very unenlightened time.  The plights of African Americans and Native Americans were not in people's consciousness at the time Moby-Dick was written.  That is not an excuse.  It is an explanation.

Now, had Moby-Dick been published in 2018, I would venture to say that it would not be received with rapturous reviews.  In fact, it would probably not even see the light of day.  Perhaps Melville would have self-published it as an e-book.  It's difficult to get around its inherent racism.

Today, in Washington, D. C., it seems that the Republican members of the Senate are not going to have a problem embracing unenlightenment.  I spent a good 40 minutes yesterday afternoon watching Republican Susan Collins (a senior-ranking senator) justify her decision to vote for the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh as a Justice of the Supreme Court.  Collins was considered a swing vote.  She swung alright, or should I say all right.  Her speech, in turns, made me angry, sad, indignant, and angry again.  It was an example of the worst kind of partisan politics that I've witnessed in the last couple years.

The part of Collins' speech that struck me hardest was when, almost in the same breath, she spoke of her compassion for Christine Blasey Ford, saying that she believed Dr. Ford was the victim of sexual assault.  Then Collins quickly pivoted, questioning the details and substance of Ford's story.  It was almost as if I was listening to Lindsey Graham or Mitch McConnell in drag.

In a time when there is such a spotlight on sexual assault and discrimination in this country (and across the globe), the vote today, which I'm positive will result in Brett Kavanaugh getting a life-time appointment to the Supreme Court, is evidence of how much things really HAVEN'T changed.  Rich, white men are still calling the shots, putting a privileged white frat boy on the bench in the highest court of the land.

Now, if you're reading this post and thinking, "Kavanaugh was cleared by the FBI investigation," let me point out that the investigation lasted a total of four or five days, and dozens of potential witnesses were not interviewed.  Dr. Ford passed a polygraph test.  Brett Kavanaugh NEVER took a polygraph test.  And, if that isn't enough to convince you that Kavanaugh doesn't belong on the Supreme Court, let me remind you of his deportment when he was being questioned last week.  He cried, yelled, spoke of having a vendetta against Democrats and the Clintons.  His testimony itself proves his inability to remain calm, level-headed, and impartial.  That alone should disqualify him for the job he wants so badly.

Yes, I'm angry.  We are not in the 1860s or '70s.  Moby-Dick contains elements of horrible racism.  And Susan Collins and Brett Kavanaugh are proof that rich, white men are STILL in power, as they have been practically since the founding of the United States.

I am not proud of my country at this moment.  When "The Star Spangled Banner" is played, I don't feel like rising and removing my hat.  Go ahead and post angry comments to/about me, if you want.  I honor the American men and women who have fought and died for the preservation of democracy and freedom in the world.  Unfortunately, the people in power in Washington, D. C., right now are conflating patriotism with these higher ideals.  They aren't honoring our veterans.

I feel like I need to apologize for my country all the time now, because of the decisions being made by its President, senators, and representatives.  Now, it seems, I may have to apologize for the Supreme Court, as well.

Saint Marty is thankful this morning for Senator Susan Collins because she cast a huge, glaring light on all that's wrong with the United States at this moment.