• Bread and Circuses

    Let’s cut to the chase about the “Inflation Reduction Act of 2022,” which the U.S. Senate passed today after a debate occurred at night and in the wee hours of the morning.

    Here are the numbers.

    • 97.2 percent earning between $100K-$200K will see a tax increase
    • 91.3 percent earning between $75K-$100K will see a tax increase
    • 61.7 percent earning between $40K-$50K will see a tax increase
    • 24.6 percent earning between $10K and $20K will see a tax increase
    • $389B on energy and climate efforts
    • $300B-plus in ‘green’ load guarantees
    • $80B to increase IRS staffing
    • $60B for environmental justice initiatives
    • $9B for wealthier* families to buy electric vehicles
    • $2.6B to protect coastal habitats
    • $1.5B to plant trees

    *Based on an average of .32 cents a minute to charges or $19.20 an hour. A full charge at eight hours is $153.60.

    Next year, taxes will increase by $16.7 billion on taxpayers earning less than $200,000, a nearly $17 billion tax targeted directly at low-and middle-income earners next year. The proposal would raise another $14.1 billion from taxpayers earning between $200,000 and $500,000. Over half of all new tax revenue raised next year will come from those earning under $400,000.

    By 2031, when the “new green energy” credits and subsidies take effect, those earning below $400,000 will bear as much as two-thirds of the additional tax revenue collected.

    Meanwhile, we have a compliant propaganda machine in the media that is pushing stories about monkeypox, Brittney Griner, and the J6 hearings.

  • My Cousin Elmo says, “One minute you’re young and have everything going for you, the next you’re old and turning down the car radio to see better.”

  • The Hidden Staircase

    The noon-time siren had already sounded when I found my way to C Street, delivering the last of the Comstock Chronicles. I was on foot that Friday afternoon as Hot August Nights was in Virginia City for the weekend, and the street was full of classic cars and trucks.

    Leaving the Ponderosa Saloon, I paused to check for traffic that might be coming down Taylor Street. It is a habit as I have nearly had unsuspecting motorists hit me, and I have almost hit unattentive visitors.

    The only thing on Taylor Street between the Ponderosa and the Crystal Saloon, now the Virginia City Tourism Commission, was town folk dressed in period attire. As I passed, a woman in a colorful period dress tumbled from the top of the street where it intersects with B Street.

    She had a wild-eyed expression and looked more puzzled than hurt.

    “Are you okay?”

    “Yes.”

    “That was quite the fall.”

    “It was.”

    That’s when it occurred to me that she had dropped from a height, but there was nothing tall near where she’d landed.

    “How did you…” I started to say as I turned to the woman.

    She was gone.

    “Did anyone see where the woman in the fancy gown went?” I shouted.

    No one had. I raced to the boardwalk to look, but with no fancy gown to be seen, I returned to Taylor.

    “What’s wrong?” one of the old-timers asked.

    “I’m trying to figure out how that woman fell from about here,” I said, pointing to the side of the building. “It doesn’t make sense.”

    “Yes, it does when you know there were wooden stairs against the building back in the 1990s when it was still called the Sharon House.”

  • Sun Mountain (a Haibun)

    Thank you to my friend, Paul Vincent Cannon, for the inspiration

    watching Sun Mountain
    witnessing a burning bush
    coffee has gone cold

    Noon had just passed, and a wind was blowing down the slopes of Sun Mountain.
    “Lets go have a cup of coffee,” Trevallions suggested, “we’ve got some talking to do.”
    “Seems to me all you do is drink coffee,” Will complained…

    Comstock Lode, Pg. 185
    Louis L’amour, 1981

  • The Better You Exists, But…

    “This can’t be all there is to my fucking life,” I think.
    “This is it?” I add. “A few more colorless years spent working, consuming media, doing hobbies that will never find a place in the sun.”
    “There is no ‘third act,’ no starring in a fantasy adventure, no gaining ‘Superpowers, no happily everafter,” I continue. “I’m an incomplete package sitting on life’s doorstep expecting the kid next door to kick me or some damned dog to piss on my wrappings.”
    “I’m trying to be happy, be better, stay focused, get upset, overreact, overthink and be emotional,” I whine with finality. “I’m broken, imperfect, so don’t expect me not to be.”
    Then I remember: No one owes me anything. Life is a series of choices that become habits, decisions made by no one else.
    Damaged, we tend to see ourselves as the product of what happened to us, but we are not that. That was only our starting point — not the destination.
    Want to heal? Figure out what hurts, where it hurts, how it hurts, and who, if not yourself, hurt you.
    Want a healthier relationship? Learn how to communicate what you need.
    Want a better you? Remake yourself every day by using what happened to you to your advantage.
    For growth, do the fucking work. A shitty thing to say as advice goes, but it is supposed to be hard, so stop whining.
    Instead of waiting for others to give you gifts, be the gift. As for “superpowers,” you were born with them.
    Your secret identity is borne in life’s multitude of pains, hurt, unfairness, and disadvantages. Those powers are for you to use on yourself before attempting to use them for others.
    Above all, be extremely honest with yourself as you work life out.
    Happily, no one told me this when I was a kid because soft children only become soft adults. Fight for yourself, damn it!

  • My Cousin Elmo says, “If I wanted solutions for my excuses, I’d have thought of them myself.”

  • Failed Advisement

    One afternoon shortly before my seventh-grade school year, I was helping my Dad with a dump run. We were by ourselves, a good time to talk.

    He was trying to explain some of the ‘other’ facts of life to me as we rumbled south on Highway 101 and over the Klamath River.

    “Question everything,” I recall him instructing me.

    “Why?” I asked.

    “Don’t be a smart-ass,” he returned.

    Yeah, even then. And now you know why I am the way that I am.

  • Don’t Fall for It

  • Tea versus Coffee

    From Reno’s Radio Row & the EASY 104.1 studios…

  • The Wisdom of Solomon

    Before his traffic accident, my son was training to be a fixed-route bus driver. It ended when he was struck from behind while driving his vehicle, resulting in a prolonged case of whiplash.

    One morning two women got on at the same time. Both headed straight for the last available seat, and when neither got there first, they began arguing.

    My son did his best to break up the squabbling before it led to all-out fist-cuffs. He eventually had to stop the bus and separate the two women from each other.

    As he returned to his seat, the pair started in again. This time, he didn’t stop the bus but instead announced calmly over the public address system, “Let the ugly one have the seat.”

    Both women stood for the remainder of the route.