summer of hate

The current stretch of history is so engrossing that a simple working-class lad like myself can barely keep up with current events. With summer and forest fire season here, I have been splitting my time between trying to be an informed citizen and building a fire shed with pond dock. I need no motivation for my construction project. We’ve already had a fire 75 kilometres (47 miles) from us that was contained fairly fast. That’s one of the many advantages in living near the Pacific Ocean.

In 1967 San Francisco was celebrating the Summer of Love. Countless hippies and wannabes converged on the Bay Area to heed Timothy Leary’s mantra to turn on, tune in and drop out. Regrettably, I wasn’t able to attend. I was in Marine training to go to Vietnam.

The City by the Bay now has a mammoth problem with crime and homelessness. Newly departed televangelist Pat Robertson could have called that. Long a fervent homophobe, he was the first to inform us that Hurricane Katrina was caused by gay people.

Speaking of hate: Donald Trump. Aging Orange has grown even more strident in spewing his special blend of bile as his legal woes balloon. I want to believe that the new indictment will be the coup de grace, but his skill at evading consequences is nonpareil. Unfortunately, there is a distinct strategic advantage to having no ethical moorings.

The difference this time, though, is the specificity of the charges. He could lose significant support from active duty military and veterans as the weight of his transgressions becomes more defined. McCarthy and his minions have little to work with. You can’t convincingly say “bathroom doors have locks” to counter a photo of a ballroom stage full of boxes of documents.

Well, there is this gem of a distraction: George Santos wants to censure Adam Schiff because “we must preserve the integrity of the U.S. House of Representatives.”