Born This Way

Star Trek: Starfleet Academy is dog shit. If you don’t agree with this very basic truth, than I got nothin’ for you. I think the writers of this series are all layoffs from corporate HR departments or refugees from Women’s Studies programs at community colleges.

It’s incredibly rich that Kathleen Kennedy announced that she is leaving Lucas Films the day before the new incarnation of Star Trek dropped. Both events signify the death of two franchises that were once beloved by fans. This was long before they descended into woke self-parody.

I won’t belabor the point about the demise of Star Wars here. At least it is going out on a good note with the second season of Andor. Star Trek had its Andor about 30 years ago when Deep Space 9 was on. With respect to fans of Voyager and Enterprise, everything since DS9 has been downhill. A big part of the reason for this is the fact that modern Trek does not take itself seriously. When you watch any of the six shows from the classic era, you can tell that the writers respected their material, even when it sucked.

Not so anymore. Strange New Worlds had some potential, but it was squandered with musical episodes and material that veered more and more into farce. Starfleet Academy is the end result of this downward spiral.

A lot of the critics who savaged this show asked the same question that I am asking. Who is new Star Trek meant for? It does seem that the writers have gone out of their way to alienate straight white men. Putting aside the idiocy of the writing, this makes no business sense to me. If you’re Paramount, why would you want to piss off a fan base that is comprised of mostly older people who still have an interest in your franchise? I get that they want to attract younger people, but do they really think that younger Millennials and Gen Zers are going to have the heart for this show that us older folks have? Harry Potter was their cultural touchstone; so much so that they are still hanging on to the Potter universe while chucking the progenitor overboard due to her outspoken traditional feminist views. As for Generation Alpha, they are into KPop Demon Hunter; whatever the hell that is.

The people who were fans during Star Trek’s golden era are Boomers, Gen-Xers and older Millennials. We are the ones who have a vested interest in the preservation of Star Trek’s legacy. We are the ones who get angry when we watch Starfleet Academy and see the abject load of dog shit that it has become. And, like it or not, a comfortable majority of us are straight, white and male. In what business universe does this tactic of targeted disaffection compute?

All of the criticisms of Starfleet Academy are valid. Would a military organization enlist people who are obese? Of course not. Let’s see where the body positivity movement is in about 10 years when the long term effects of Ozempic are known. A lot of the comical aspects of Starfleet Academy fall flat, while more dramatic scenes are unintentionally funny. A Starfleet cadet that accidentally swallows her com badge? Wow. Gay, sensitive Klingons who like to birdwatch? Ugh! Hectoring, scolding female characters and buffoonish male characters? Check. Anachronistic dialogue. Check. A captain running around in her bare feet? Yuck. Overt political messaging in place of allegory. Yep. Apparently, the esthetics of the show are pretty damn ugly. Reviewers say that the bridge of the USS Doo-Doo looks more like the interior of an Apple Store than the bridge of a starship. I’ll take their word for it.

I could go on and on about the numerous shortcomings of Kurtzman Trek, but if you want to see this show thoroughly lampooned, you can find abundant resources on YouTube. The aspect I want to touch on is the notion, perpetuated by some of the critics, that disabilities should be obsolete by the 32nd century. So let’s put aside the aggressive momsplaining and try for a bit of respectful reasoning.

Holly Hunter, who plays the shoeless captain of the USS Caca, wears glasses. Apparently, there’s a cadet who is confined to a wheelchair. In the second episode, we meet a Betazoid crew member who is deaf, and she has a sign language interpreter. “Surely, they’ve cured deafness and hyperopia and all other disabilities by the 32nd century,” critics opine. They then point to examples like Geordi, who was blind but who wore a visor (and later, bionic implants) which cured his blindness. Even Bill Shatner weighed in on this point.

Let’s take a closer look at the various times that vintage Trek addressed disabilities.

In the TOS EPISODE, “The Menagerie,” we learn that Captain Christopher Pike was severely disabled after a massive explosion on board a training ship. He is confined to a wheelchair and cannot move or speak. He can only communicate the words “yes” and “no” through a flashing light and audible beep. His condition is so limited that Spock kidnaps him and takes him to Talos IV, where he can live out the remainder of his life in an artificial world of illusion.

Did Spock have the right to kidnap Pike without his consent, even though he was operating from a compassionate place? Great question. I will analyze it another day.

Spock went blind for about five seconds in the TOS episode, “Operation, Annihilate,” but he had a second eyelid that rendered his condition temporary.

In The Wrath of Khan, Bones gives Admiral Kirk a pair of glasses as a birthday present. Apparently, Kirk is allergic to something called, Retinax 5, so he wears the glasses. Presumably, Retinax 5 is a drug that helps to regenerate the retinas, thus preventing deteriorating vision that is common to advanced age. I guess they haven’t cured allergies by the 23rd century. Kirk wears the glasses and they seem to benefit him until he sells them in 20th century San Francisco.

Geordi La Forge was the only main character in any Star Trek series who was disabled from the outset. In fact, he was born blind. He wears his visor as a means of compensating for his total lack of vision. This is an important point. Geordi was born with no sight. His visor is an aid, not a cure. This explains why he is comfortable living as a blind man, even with the visual superiority of his visor. Both Dr. Crusher and Dr. Pulaski discuss possibilities for treating/curing Geordi’s blindness. He responds to them in a calm, patient manner. Every blind person recognizes this. We always get doctors who can’t help themselves and start talking of fixing us, whether we want it or not.

It’s also necessary to acknowledge that Geordi’s disability does not prevent him from attaining his career goals. When we meet him, he’s the Helmsman of the Enterprise before being promoted to Chief Engineer. This is a far cry from the experiences of current day blind people, who get the butt-puckers every time a new software update comes out.

Did Geordi’s disability prevent him from having a fulfilling personal life? That’s a separate question. In the show, he never had a romantic partner. Later, when he got normal-looking eyes, he got married and had kids. Hmmm.

I’ve already outlined the episode, “The Enemy,” in my ‘best of’ list, but Geordi’s blindness is also addressed in the episode, “The Masterpiece Society.” When the Enterprise comes upon a genetically engineered world, they question Geordi’s very existence as an imperfect human being. His response is, “Screw you. Who are you to decide whether or not I get to live or die?” Ironically, Geordi ultimately comes up with the solution that will save the planet from destruction because of a comet fragment.

Two other TNG crew members have experiences with a temporary disability. In, “The Loss,” Counselor Troi loses her empathic powers when the Enterprise encounters a two-dimensional alien. She freaks out and goes through the gambit of grief emotions from anger to denial to depression. By the time she starts to adjust, she gets her powers back.

Worf’s story is more interesting. In, “Ethics,” our favorite Klingon is working in a cargo bay when he is struck by a falling container. He sustains major spinal damage that paralyzes him from the waist down. Worf would rather die than live with a disability, so he tries to convince his son to help him commit suicide. Luckily, there’s a renegade doctor on hand that persuades Worf to undergo an experimental procedure that might restore the use of his legs. The bad news is that the experiment fails and Worf dies on the table. The good news is that, like Spock’s extra eyelid, he has more of those redundant organs that kick in and bring him back to life, thus restoring him to full mobility.

Picard suffered from PTSD after his encounter with the Borg, as well as his imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Cardassians. If the show had been more serialized, this may have been dealt with in more depth.

In Deep Space 9, Nog is badly wounded during the battle of AR-558 and the medics have to amputate his leg. Nog gets a new bionic leg and learns to walk normally, but the emotional trauma runs deeper. He has to spend an entire episode recovering in the holodeck before he can return to active duty.

It’s important to note that all of the characters who become disabled (Troi, Worf and Nog) do not adapt easily. This is very common. Those who become disabled later in life have a much tougher time adapting than do those of us who are born with it. That’s why Geordi is so chill about his situation.

Sidebar: I think Dr. Bashir also falls for a lady in a futuristic wheelchair and spends most of the episode trying to cure her, but I can’t remember for sure.

I’m not familiar enough with Voyager and Enterprise to discuss any plots involving disability, but I do know that none of the main characters from either series had long-term impairments. I sure as hell don’t know or care about the Kelvin movies, Discovery, Lower Decks, Picard, Strange New Worlds or Prodigy.

With the exception of Geordi, you can detect a pattern running through all of the other examples I listed. Whether it’s the 22nd or 23rd century, various characters encounter unforeseen circumstances that cause them to become disabled. It doesn’t matter how good the technology is, they are permanently or temporarily altered in some way.

This is why I am doubtful that disabilities will ever really be cured in our real world timeline. Science can invent technology that will serve as aids to those of us who are disabled, but it won’t cure us. Even if futuristic medicine could eradicate all disabilities in unborn babies, you could never effectively prevent those unanticipated accidents that render someone temporarily or permanently disabled later in life.

It follows that, as the power of technology increases, it will require new, unexplored energy sources to power it. Nuclear radiation was unknown in the 18th and 19th centuries, but it exists today. There will be new forces in the future that will do tremendous amounts of good. They will also cause untold, unknown damage. The delta rays that incapacitated Captain Pike are unknown today, but so is warp speed. It also follows that, if humans continue to embrace risk as a necessary part of growth, they will occasionally meet with accidents that will result in disability. As Dr. Crusher put it, “There are some things I just can’t fix.”

I would be a fool to doubt the potential of technology. When I was growing up, Knight Rider was science fiction. Today, self-driving cars are a reality. When I hear stories of experimental technology that could possibly restore vision, I take a passing interest, but I don’t hold my breath. The doctors and scientists who research for a living get more of a chub over the prospect than I do.

Personally, I don’t celebrate being blind. I don’t loathe it either. I just accept it. I don’t bang the identity drum. My blindness is just a characteristic. It is certainly a dominant characteristic that does have an impact on my life, but it doesn’t define me. For that matter, my weight is a characteristic. So is my height. So is my gender. So is my manly bat’leth, which has caused several women to be temporarily disabled in the afterglow. Some characteristics are static. Others are changeable. All are a part of me.

I think it’s also important to point out that certain characteristics are immutable, but disability is not. I am a straight, white dude. I will never be black. I will never be Latino. I will never be gay. Contrary to popular pseudo-science on the left, I will never be a woman. Other people are confined by these same limitations. But anyone can become disabled at any time. Whether it is a disease such as Diabetes or Alzheimer’s, or a random bullet, or a car accident, or just slipping in the shower, the hand of fate can tap anyone on the shoulder at any moment. In fact, everyone becomes disabled as they grow older. The recent loss of my dad drove home this point with clarity. No matter how healthy or vital you are as a young person, Father Time gets us all and even the Guardian of Forever can’t stop it.

I think this is why everyone is so uncomfortable with those of us who are disabled, no matter how much lip service they give us. I’m pointing the finger at you, activist class. They know that their time could come at any moment. Eventually, it will come.

I’ve said all along that Star Trek is an escapist fantasy. Poverty, war, disease, greed and all of the other lower elements of the human condition will always be with us. But even in the hopeful future that Star Trek projects, why would disability be a curse? It doesn’t have to be a chosen identity akin to the TikTok autistic culture, but it doesn’t have to serve as a lowly burden akin to scripture either. It is simply a reality to be navigated, just like any other interstellar phenomenon. Whether you’re in the 21st or 32nd century, the binary choice is the same. You can either except your disability and adapt to it, or you can retreat. That is a very Star Trek concept.

Some final, random thoughts:

We’ve all had quite a time bashing Wesley Crusher, but don’t you miss him now? C’mon…admit it. He was a kiss-ass and a teacher’s pet and a wannabe and all that. He was also competent, emotionally stable and he believed in the Federation. I sure as hell miss Jake Sisko and Nog, who went from wayward teens throwing oatmeal to a writer and a Starfleet officer, respectively. In the new Trek show, they’d be throwing oatmeal in every episode.

Rachel Leishman just published a piece that says, “Those dudes who are mad at Starfleet Academy aren’t real Star Trek fans.” Beyotch, I was rockin’ out to Gerald Fried’s Amok Time score when you were sucking your chocolate milk through a sippy straw.

Some of you social media assholes love to use the word, “retarded,” when criticizing those whom you dislike. I find this gross. I realize that Trump has made bullying great again, but it’s really an asshole move. I sympathize with your origin point. It’s a slap at the matriarchy, which has turned Star Trek into steaming dog shit. But unlike these woke dipshits who have a choice to be stupid, people with genuine mental disabilities didn’t ask for it.

You know why it was so easy to root for Walter White in the early seasons of Breaking Bad? Because he was the dad who fought for his disabled kid. Remember the first episode when Walt is taking his son clothes shopping, and Walt Jr. (who has CP) is struggling to try on his new pants? A couple of high school kids start mocking him, so Walt beats the shit out of them.

Every disabled kid who gets bullied has a fantasy of their dad running in and beating the living shit out of their tormentors. Then, for good measure, dad goes to the bully’s home and beats the shit out of their dad, just for good measure. Learning to be a blind adult means coming to grips with the fact that no one is coming to save you. For better or worse, you have to figure it out on your own.

You guys who are flinging around the “retard” word as a catch-all for everything you hate are those assholes in the store. You’re no better than the toxic woke crowd who has weaponized every ism and phobia out there in order to shut down the argument. I’m not wokesplaining you. I’m just saying…bitch.

I think Star Trek is dead. Starfleet Academy is the death knell. We are never going to see Star Trek: Legacy. We’ll never get a Captain Riker series since Jonathan Frakes is retiring. I’m at peace with this reality. So, I’ve got DS9 at nine, with “Battle Lines,” guest starring Jonathan Banks in the queue.

Finally, as if Star Trek weren’t bad enough, NBC is about to reboot The Rockford Files. Get ready for next level anger here. I’m talking…Mama Daenerys in the sky kind of rage. I didn’t think I could be any more disgusted than when Queen Latifah came back as The Equalizer. I see I’m being tested.

Live long and prosper.

The Bill

The bill always comes due.

This is a tried and tested principle of conservatism. It is a truism that covers everything; the law, morality, economics, religion, and that great big ambiguity that is the hand of fate. It used to be a maxim that we deployed against liberals, communists, socialists, old school peaceniks and all other activist coalitions who now gather their banners under the umbrella of the progressive movement. The maxim still applies to all of them, from Zohran Mamdani to Pete Buttigieg to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. They all frolic happily in the ignorance of their rhetoric as the cameras record every bromide and performative slogan, but sooner or later, the bill always comes due. Sadly, it is now a tenet that also applies to the new right.

Iran is the perfect illustration of this very basic precept. When you live in a country under an oppressive government that is accountable to no one (the people, the press or the parliament), said government has no incentive to honestly address the glaring problems that accumulate under its dictatorial control. How else can we explain that the Iranian rial lost 50 percent of its purchasing power? How else can we explain the mounting crises of natural gas, electricity and water shortages? How else can we explain that one out of every 15 Iranian citizens has left the country, legally or otherwise?

Some will blame the attacks on Iran from Israel and the US last June, but the looming economic collapse was in the works long before those military strikes. This is why Iran is now facing record high inflation, resulting in the contraction of key industries and unaffordable grocery prices on food staples such as bread, dairy products and produce. Those poor bastards can’t even buy a cheap smoke to destress from no groceries, no air conditioning, no heat and no internet. It is far more likely that the June bombings only exacerbated what was already a mounting calamity.

The bill appears to be coming due for the Ayatollah Khamenei and his fellow Islamic revolutionaries. The mullahs can finance all the terror that they wish against the western hemisphere, but if they can’t afford to feed or employ their own populous, Iran’s model of theocratic oppression cannot be sustainable on a long-term basis. The regime can torture its prisoners, rape its women, beat and murder its protesters and sing its own praises on state-run media, but what weapon can they implement against the immoveable force that is stagflation?

The bill always comes due.

President Trump has waged a one-man war against Venezuela. I have absolutely no sympathy for Nicolas Maduro. He is an illegitimate dictator who thinks he is answerable to no one. As of this writing, he’s in American jail awaiting trial. But who will hold President Trump accountable for his actions in the Caribbean? Can an American president wage an impulsive war against a country with no oversight? Apparently, the Republican-controlled Congress thinks so. But what will the voters think come November of 2026? You can be sure of one thing. If the Democrats win control of both (or even one) of the congressional chambers, they will hungrily rediscover the proper role of Congress in our system of checks and balances.

Even if the Democrats don’t do well next November, who knows what the reaction will be to this strike on the world stage. Reverberations will be felt from Russia to China to Saudi Arabia to Cuba. Then, there’s Venezuela itself. George W. Bush found out that it is relatively easy to invade a country, but it is far more difficult to maintain control once its leader is deposed.

Sidebar: If we have to put boots on the ground in Venezuela, the Democrats will own Congress in November.

The bill always comes due.

It is ironic to note that, even as President Trump waged war against Maduro, he is driven by the same despotic tendencies. Indeed, he has had quite a time ignoring the bill. After all, that’s been his modus operandi since he came to prominence in the 1970’s. And why not? It’s not his own money that he’s playing with, is it? He can weaponized tariffs to his heart’s content, deface the White House, rename institutions after himself, hand out presidential pardons like party favors, hire and fire whoever he wants in his administration, order his Justice Department to follow his legally dubious orders, loose time and again in court when he is sued, and he’ll never have to pay the bill. That burden falls to the American taxpayers, whether it comes at the behest of the IRS or at the grocery store.

The bill always comes due.

We are approaching the fifth anniversary of January 6. That should have been the bill that the GOP was forced to pay with equal measures of chagrin and contrition. Four years of pacifying an overgrown man child resulted in election denials, baseless conspiracy theories, intimidation of state election officials, millions of dollars squandered in court and, worst of all, an attack on our nation’s capital by insurrectionists. Instead, Mitch McConnell, Kevin McCarthy, Ronna McDaniel and other Republican bigshots did what every idiot in debt does. They simply ignored the bill. They deferred on their payments and they now think that they’re off the hook because fortunes appear to be running in their favor.

The bill always comes due.

I can imagine Democrats reading this and thumping their unmanly chests in righteous indignation. “YEAH, YEAH!” they’ll shriek. “IMPEACH THE SO’N BITCH!” I have no doubt that, if the Democrats regain power, they will do just that, and President Trump will give them ample reason to pursue him with ferocity. They have a head full of steam right now, so it’s very easy for them to forget that they are a big part of the reason we now have President Trump 47.

The bill always comes due.

President Biden found out the hard way. He chose to conceal the nature of his decline from the world. His wife, his family and his administration all did their part to cover up the severity of Biden’s deterioration from a public that had the right to know before they voted in 2024. The other arm of accountability, that of the fourth estate, also was largely complicit in the cover-up. But no one could hide the truth from the public when Biden, in an ill-advised fit of hubris, chose to put his cognitive decline on full display when he tried to debate Trump. It wasn’t long before Biden paid the bill when he was forced to drop out.

Others in Biden’s orbit are also paying the bill. Biden’s flagrant abuse of the presidential pardon power on behalf of his family won’t protect them from civil action. Apparently, Hunter Biden has massive debt that he cannot afford to settle. A rich boy drug habit is awfully expensive to finance. Dr. Jill Biden has been vilified by a press that once loved her. Kamala Harris tried to seize upon Biden’s downfall and turn it into a political victory for herself, but she never even got off the ground because she was a fatally flawed candidate. Harris is making noises about another run in 2028. She will fail. Again. I fear that Kamala will always be racking up a bill and will always be unable to bring her account current.

Meanwhile, other 2028 hopefuls are also facing consequences of their own making. Gavin Newsom has done an abysmal job in the wake of the Palisades Fire a year ago. Newsom can fling all the poop he wants at Trump, but no one will let him forget that decades of liberal policies under one-party rule in California lead to conditions that allowed the fire to wrought millions of dollars in damages, displace hundreds of people from their homes and cause untold devastation of the environment. Worse than that, the recovery from the fire has been mired in bureaucratic government red tape and is moving at a snail’s pace. California wealth just ain’t what it used to be.

Tim Walz would love to be our next president, but the little matter of massive fraud in Minnesota involving Somali immigrants will savage him like a rabid pit bull. Worse for him, it plays right into Trump’s narrative that many immigrants are here to rip off the taxpayers, rather than to contribute to our economy. The favored tactic of progressives to charge racism whenever fraud is mentioned is no longer effective, since it is the weaponization of such charges that allowed the fraud to flourish in the first place.

As for Gretchen Whitmer, her bill hasn’t come due yet. It will likely come due when/if she runs for president. No one knows the name, Fay Beydoun, right now, but if Whitmer makes it far enough, you’ll know it.

The bill always comes due.

Ask Kevin Roberts at the Heritage Foundation, the signature conservative D.C. think tank that has been hemorrhaging personnel since Roberts took up for Tucker Carlson. This is the same Tucker who has platformed Nazi apologists, historical revisionists and overt racists since his firing from Fox News in 2023. Roberts is trying to put on a brave face, claiming that Heritage is better off without the, “old guard.” That is sheer bullshit. A think tank runs on nothing but political theory and ideology. That is the entire purpose of a think tank. Roberts is either
Incandescently stupid, or woefully delusional. Either way, he will come to know the hard realities of a conservative philosophy that he has pretended to espouse over the past four years.

Tucker Carlson is the face of another emerging coalition who will soon learn the harsh truths of reality; the conspiracy consortium. Tucker’s bill came due once when he was fired from Fox News in 2023. Now, he’s accruing another one under the guise of America’s brave truth-telling podcaster. Tucker claims that he is, “just asking questions,” but really, he’s planting poisonous seeds. Candace Owens is another example of scum floating with scum, trafficking in gross, anti-Semitic theories about the murder of Charlie Kirk. These folks are having their hay day, in no small measure because of the unconstrained nature of the internet. But, their bill will come due soon enough, most likely in court. Just ask Alex Jones.

JD Vance has hitched his wagon to the cuckoo crowd. A lot of people want you to think that he is Trump’s heir apparent, but I am skeptical. One should never take the voters for granted. Megyn Kelly is certainly all in on Vance. Kelly, utterly unrecognizable from her Fox News days, calls Vance, “48.” But we have three more years of President Trump to weather. Three years is an eternity in politics.

The bill always comes due.

We even saw it here in Omaha. We were a purple city with a Republican administration, but Mayor Jean Stothert got out over her skis and saddled Omaha with a streetcar that nobody wanted. Worse yet, she contracted to pay for the streetcar on spec. She based this project on projected future earnings, which is a decidedly non-conservative way of doing business. She promised that no tax dollars would be spent on the streetcar, but the people didn’t buy it. Warren Buffett didn’t buy it either. When the voters finally got to have their say last May, her bill finally came due. Now, we have our first African-American mayor, and Omaha is officially a blue dot in a red state. I am doubtful as to whether Omaha will ever turn red again. Meanwhile, the bill is literally coming due for the streetcar as local businesses are negatively impacted because of street construction. Thanks a lot, ex-Mayor Stothert. Enjoy St. Louis.

We’ve now come full circle. “The bill always comes due,” is a tried and true conservative maxim used against communists and socialists, like Zohran Mamdani. New York chose to elect an overtly socialist mayor. They’re gonna get what they voted for… Good and hard. The bill will come due for them, likely sooner than later. God knows how many decent folks who did not vote for Mamdani will be harmed in the process.

I can’t even begin to estimate the amount of the bill for those associated with Jeffrey Epstein. I think the cost will be incalculable.

I anticipate that 2026 will be the year of the bill. We simply cannot continue as we have with a heedless, unbridled ruling class pinballing from one trendy socio-political caprice to the next. History proves me right. Current patterns indicate that I’m right. Conservative doctrine has demonstrated time and again that I’m right. Sooner or later, the bill will come due.

When it finally happens, don’t say you weren’t warned. And if you’re applying this stark principle of conservatism only to your opponent, then you haven’t been paying attention.

Happy new Year.

Shut Up, Wesley!

My dear friends, it has been a shitty year. Rather than indulge myself with an overwrought novella concerning all of the bad things that happened in the last 365 days (as I used to do), I’ll engage in something completely different. Here is that entry about Star Trek: The Next Generation that I promised earlier. Specifically, without fanfare or excessive prelude, here are my top 10 favorite episodes of TNG. All two of you may find this entry trivial or inconsequential, but I have to say that, ever since I lost my dad six months ago, Star Trek (TNG in particular) has been a tremendous source of comfort to me.

SPOILER ALERT!!! Yes, the Locutus episode is number one. Duh!!! Any self-respecting TNG fan who doesn’t name the Locutus episode as their favorite is full of gagh.

Note: This was a much more difficult task than it was compiling my TOS list. There are only 80 TOS episodes, but there are 178 TNG stories to choose from. Outside of the obvious choices, this proved to be pretty tough. It actually took me a few months to whittle down the bottom five. Also, I am treating two-part episodes as one entry because…reasons.

10. “The Enemy”:

This is one of those rare episodes in which the blind guy gets to carry a major portion of the story. More to the point, it’s a story in which he actually functions as a blind character, rather than as a sighted guy with a thing on his face.

When Geordi is trapped on a storm-ravaged planet with an injured Romulan, his visor starts to fail, leaving him blind. Geordi has to use the Romulan as a reader in order to modify his visor to emit a beacon so that the Enterprise can locate him. But can he do it before the Romulan’s mother ship shows up and fires on the Enterprise?

This episode is also notable because we learn that Worf is unapologetically prejudiced against Romulans. Humans may have evolved by the 24th century, but Klingons have not.

This was an early episode from the show’s third season and, in my view, provided the first solid evidence that the quality of the series had consistently improved under the stewardship of Michael Piller.

9. “All Good Things…”:

When the series finale of TNG finally aired in 1994, I was underwhelmed by it. I wanted Borg, Romulans, Klingons, battles, and for Riker to nut up and propose to Troi. That’s not what we got.

Captain Picard finds himself flitting back and forth through time. Is he going mad, is he caught in a temporal phenomenon, or…is Q screwing with him? Gee, I wonder.

Three decades later, I love this farewell to the crew of the Enterprise D. Maybe it’s because we’ve gotten so much drek passing for Trek in the interim, but this really was the best possible send-off for Picard, Riker, Data, Worf, Crusher, Geordi and Troi. It really is the perfect bookend to the series premier and it illustrates how the show evolved for the better over the intervening seven seasons.

8. “Reunion”:

This episode contains so much TNG gold, it’s tough to know where to begin. It continues the story of Worf’s discommendation from the Klingon Empire, first started in season three, we see his girlfriend K’Ehleyr again and Worf learns that he’s a daddy. We also get to meet Gowron, High Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, who will play a major role in future episodes of TNG and DS9. On top of all of that, we get to see Worf murder his hated enemy at the climax in a bloody sword battle. What’s not to love?

This episode continues several plot threads begun in earlier installments. This was almost unheard of in Star Trek up to this point. It showed that consequences were not unknown in the Trek universe.

7. “The Offspring”:

Data was probably the most popular character on TNG. This episode showcases him at his peak as he follows in his father’s footsteps by creating his own android child, Lal. Everything is going along swimmingly, until Starfleet shows up and claims that Data doesn’t have the right to raise his own kid. I think a few blind parents can sympathize here.

The episode has everything from overt sentimentality, comedy, conflict and ultimately, heartbreak. I never fail to choke up at the end. If you don’t get a little misty, you have no soul.

You’ll notice that “The Measure of a Man,” did not make my top 10. It’s a good episode, but I’ve written about its flaws elsewhere. In short, if you want to convince my brain that Data is sentient by staging a courtroom drama, you will fail. If you want to convince my heart that he is sentient, give him a child, then kill her off. *sniffles*

6. “Darmok”:

Star Trek is at its finest when the Enterprise encounters new alien species out there in space. This episode is probably the best example. The crew encounters an alien race who can only speak in metaphor. How do you communicate when you have no common frame of reference? Things get extra hairy when Picard is kidnapped by the alien captain with unknown intentions.

The Tamarian captain is played by Paul Winfield, who played another captain who fell victim to Khan’s evil brain worms in The Wrath of Khan.

5. “Q Who”:

This is the episode where Q introduces Picard and crew to the Borg. He does so to teach them a lesson in humility because they have gotten a bit too high on the smell of their own Federation farts. Ultimately, Picard has to beg Q for help, because the Borg have them completely outmatched at every turn. We also discover that Q and Guinan don’t like each other. It may be the only time that we see Guinan get pissed.

“If you can’t take a bloody nose, maybe you should go home and hide under your bed.”

4. “Chain of Command”:

Some of the best episodes happen when the status quo is shaken up, like Captain Picard handing over command of the Enterprise to another, much more hard-ass captain. Picard, Crusher and Worf go off on a mission to spy on the Cardassians, while Riker clashes with Captain Jellico. SPOILER!!! Picard is captured and tortured, while Riker gets relieved of duty for insubordination.

The Cardassians were almost an afterthought on TNG, but they would go on to play a critical role on Deep Space 9. Also, “There are four lights!” became the ‘90’s version of Orwell’s, “How many fingers, Winston?”

3. “The Inner Light”:

The Enterprise encounters a mysterious probe that zaps Picard, knocking him unconscious. In real time, he’s out of it for only 25 minutes. In his head, he lives an entire lifetime on a dying alien world where he gets married, has children, plants a tree and learns to play the flute.

I honestly can’t explain it better than that. The story is so, so much richer than the synopsis I’m writing here. It was so good, in fact, that Patrick Stewart named it as his favorite episode.

2. “Yesterday’s Enterprise”:

At this point, you should just be nodding along going, “uh huh.”

To fully appreciate this episode, you have to understand that Tasha Yar was a regular character who was killed off in season one by a giant lake of chocolate pudding.

At the start of this episode, Worf is having his first glass of prune juice in 10-Forward with Guinan, when suddenly, everything changes. The Enterprise is radically different, Worf is gone, Tasha is back and the Federation is at war with the Klingons. Things get even weirder when they encounter the Enterprise NCC-1701-C in a temporal rift.

… And that’s just the first five minutes. Ultimately, Tasha falls for Shooter McGavin, but she has to go back with the Enterprise C. crew to sacrifice herself in battle in order to restore the correct timeline.

God, what an episode!

And finally, 1. “The Best of Both Worlds”:

It’s my considered opinion that, not only is this the best episode from the series, but it is the best episode from all of Trekdom.

Q gave the Federation ample warning, but they were still unprepared for the Borg threat. This is what happens when you put a civilian government in charge of war prep. So, the Borg show up, kidnap Picard, turn him into a Borg named Locutus, and [proceed to take no prisoners at Wolf 359. Riker has to assume command and give the order to kill his erstwhile captain before the Borg can assimilate Earth. Oh yeah, and there’s a pushy, ambitious, ‘90’s-era professional female type hovering over Riker’s shoulder who can’t wait to get his job.

I tried really hard to hate TNG when it first came out, and they made it oh so easy for me. That’s why no episodes from season one made this list. But when I saw part one of this cliffhanger in June of 1990, sitting in the living room of my grandparents’ house in Beatrice, NE, (the home town of Gene L. Coon), I realized that Star Trek: The Next Generation was the real deal.

It’s worth mentioning that the episode that follows this, “Family,” is also excellent, as it deals with the fall-out from the Borg invasion. Patrick Stewart should’ve won an Emmy for his performance.

Honorable mentions:

You can watch the lion’s share of episodes from seasons three through six and experience TNG at its peak. Exceptional episodes include “Data’s Day,” “Cause and Effect,” “Clues,” “Tapestry,” “Relics,” “Sins of the Father,” “The Measure of a Man,” “Unification,” “Sarek,” “Ethics,” “Half a Life,” “Face of the Enemy,” “Who Watches the Watchers,” “The Game,” “Legacy,” “Deja Q,” and “Ensign Ro.” And these barely scratch the surface.

As far as the top five worst episodes, just watch most any episode from season one. There are a lot of clunkers from season seven as well, when everyone was focused on the big movie coming out or DS9. The material felt phoned in, which makes the finale such a treat. I’ll just list “Code of Honor,” “Shades of Gray,” “Cost of Living,” “Up the Long Ladder,” “Justice,” “Sub Rosa,” “The Naked Now,” and “Emergence,” as particularly, laughably bad.

Should I have mentioned Wesley Crusher? How about Dr. Pulaski? For the record, I liked Pulaski as a departure from Crusher.

Anyway, that’s it, folks. Let’s all give 2025 over to the wind and boldly go forth into the new frontier. Live long and prosper, and merry Christmas.

Prove Me Wrong

I was gonna come here and write about Star Trek: The Next Generation…but…here we are.

I shouldn’t have to put this in writing, but given the perilous times in which we live, I guess it is necessary.

I am unalterably opposed to political violence on an individual basis in a free and open society, such as the one we enjoy here in America. There are no exceptions.

I condemn the attack on the Congressional Republican baseball practice in 2017 that resulted in the injury of Congressman Steve Scalise and others. There are no buts.

I condemn the nation-wide riots that occurred in 2020 in the name of George Floyd, in which lives and property were destroyed. There are no buts.

I condemn the plot to kidnap Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer in 2020. There are no buts.

I condemn the attack on our nation’s capital on January 6, 2021, at the instigation of President Donald Trump. There are no buts.

I condemn the attempted assassination of Justice Brett Kavanaugh in the wake of the controversial Dobbs Decision in 2022. There are no buts.

I condemn the attack on Paul Pelosi in 2022. There are no buts.

I condemn the violent protests on college campuses and in American streets that began shortly after October 7, 2023, and included the taking of hostages, physical assaults and racial and ethnic threats. There are no buts.

I condemn the two assassination attempts on Donald Trump that occurred during his presidential campaign in 2024. There are no buts.

I condemn the cold-blooded murder of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson in 2024. There are no buts.

I condemn the terrorist truck attack in New Orleans on New Year’s Eve, 2025, that killed 14 and injured 57. There are no buts.

I condemn the murders of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Lynn Milgrim outside the Israeli Embassy in Washington D.C. in 2025. There are no buts.

I condemn the firebombing of peaceful marchers in Boulder, Colorado in 2025. There are no buts.

I condemn the murders of Melissa and Mark Hortman, and the attempted murders of John and Yvette Hoffman in Minnesota in 2025. There are no buts.

I condemn the assassination of Charlie Kirk at a college campus in Utah in 2025. There are no buts.

I grieve for the families and loved ones who are left devastated in the wake of these abhorrently evil acts.

I will admit that I flirted with the idea of voting for Joe Biden in 2020, just to get rid of Trump. Y’all see how well that worked out? I never considered voting for Kamala Harris last year. Still, some people who were once conservative now find it prudent to not only stand against Trump, but endorse Democrats. This includes Liz Cheney, the idiots over at the Bulwark, and New York Times columnist David French, who endorsed Kamala Harris last year. That one was really a heartbreaker for me.

While I have occasionally voted for a Democrat politician, I have never explored joining the Democrat Party. We are simply incompatible in too many fundamental ways. While many party values and platforms have shifted over the years (protectionist Republicans were never on my Bingo card), there is one area where the Dems have remained consistent. They are the pro-crime, pro-terrorist, pro-Communist, anti-American party. What’s more, the Democrats have been the gaslight party for decades.

I can’t forget how outraged I was in the summer of 2020 when so-called health experts claimed that racism was a greater public health threat than was COVID. Democrat politicians stood by with meek, tepid reactions as looters and rioters ran rampant in our cities, though they were much more concerned about President Trump’s possible overreaction. I can’t forget how quiet they were on balance during various racial riots in Ferguson, Staten Island, Baltimore, Baton Rouge and Milwaukee. I can’t forget the degree of political cowardice they’ve shown as Jewish-Americans have been threatened, harassed and menaced on campuses and on public streets in the aftermath of the October 7th attacks on Israel.

Before Trump came to power, Democrats were the ones who were sympathetic toward the Soviet Union, Communist China, dictatorial South American regimes (plus Cuba), and oppressive Islamic countries in the Middle East. I can’t forget that it was the Democrats who screamed about Islamophobia in the wake of 9/11, even when it was obviously inappropriate. I can’t forget how the ever-growing feminist influencers within Democrat ranks have championed western feminism, while blatantly ignoring the flagrant abuse of women in Asian, Muslim and African countries.

I can’t forget how the Democrats have defended illegal aliens who have been guilty of murder, human trafficking, drug smuggling and identity theft, all while championing a porous border. Have another margarita, Senator Van Hollen. I can’t forget how scores of hyper progressive mayors, district attorneys, city council members and school board members have come to power in blue cities, resulting in rising crime, violence, property theft and economic downturn. Democrats love to champion the civil rights of the criminals, all while minimizing or ignoring the rights of the victims of crime.

For decades, the left has dominated America’s schools, our entertainment industry, our journalism outlets, our medical industry, our unions and our government employee sector. The result has been a generation of people who no longer believe in things that I have taken for granted. While the Washington Post proclaims that, “Democracy dies in darkness,” young people now hold the basic tenants of democracy in contempt. Poll after poll shows that college-age youth think that violence is acceptable in order to stop so-called, “hate speech,” and that free speech should not be absolute.

Brian Thompson, Sarah Lynn Milgrim, Melissa Hortman and Charlie Kirk are the tragic but inevitable results.

Sidebar: I know most people blame the internet, but I think academia is the chief villain in the lineup. If teachers and professors were instructing our young in the art of critical thinking instead of engaging in ideological indoctrination, they would be able to forge the uncharted waters of the internet with more aplomb.

I also can’t forget how the Democrats are the party that has used gaslighting tactics to great effect. I can’t forget how Democrat politicians and their sympathetic media allies sneered at those of us who knew that Joe Biden was too old and infirm to run for a second term. They call conservatives science deniers for questioning the impact of manmade climate change on the environment, then deny basic biology by claiming that gender is a, “social construct.” Their latest attempt was to hurriedly brand Charlie Kirk’s killer as a MAGA right-wing extremist, long before the FBI and Governor Cox released details from the investigation. Jimmy Kimmel just paid the price for those tactics.

This is nothing new for Democrats. They, along with their fringe elements, are the party that has adopted slogans such as, “words are violence,” “silence is complicity,” “no justice, no peace,” and “From the river to the sea.” All of these declarative slogans have blurred the lines between civil and uncivil discourse. Yet, the Democrats will never acknowledge the distinctions. When they are on the defensive, they love to pivot to championing free speech and civil conduct, but only when another body has fallen.

Anyone who has read this blog or who knows me knows that I have been relentlessly critical of Donald Trump and the Republican Party ever since he rose to power in 2015. Trump has had his role to play in all of this and I make no excuses or apologies for him. But I will say that Trump has been a reaction to the encroachment of the left on the culture of normality and traditional values that Americans have depended upon since our founding. If the local authorities had done their jobs in Washington D.C., Trump would not have had cause to call upon the National Guard for extra protection.

No, my friends. This is why I will never become a Democrat. And it’s also why I can’t even begin to understand what David French was thinking when he endorsed Kamala Harris. If you listen to folks like Bill Kristol, Tim Miller, Sarah Longwell and Mike Murphy, you get the sense that they were always kind of dickish. They like to be in the room where it happens and if they have to change horses to be there, they’ll do it. But David French is a genuinely nice guy who has a good heart and a sound brain. I’ve pasted articles by him in this blog. If you were to ask him, he would tell you that the only way to break the Trump fever in the GOP is to defeat Trump at the ballot box. This may be true, but when French endorsed Kamala, he de facto endorsed the platform of the Democrat Party. That includes all of the things I listed above. French accuses Republicans of making a Faustian bargain in order to consolidate power. This is true, but the sad irony is that David French made the self-same Faustian bargain when he chose to throw in with the Democrats. He has turned toward the same darkness that has consumed the Republican Party, and I fear the costs to his soul will be great.

As for me, I’ve found intellectual and spiritual liberation in being an independent. I will always be a conservative, but I hold no obligation to any organization or individual.

As for the assassination of Charlie Kirk, it’s a red line with me. If you are going to celebrate or justify it, stay out of my face. As I always say, political violence is a poison pill that solves nothing in the long term. You wanna get called out? Tell me that Charlie Kirk brought it on himself. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his murder, I would have continued to write him off as another self-seeking grifter in Trump’s orbit. I’ve taken the time over the past week to watch a lot of his video clips and I really respect the guy and what he was trying to accomplish. He was doing what the American professoriate has failed to do. He was out there on college campuses teaching students how to debate and defend their point of view. For that, he was killed.

I want to hold Charlie’s widow Erika in my arms and cry with her and hug his kids and tell them how sorry I am that they lost their dad. I just lost my dad too, but I got to spend a lot more time with him than they did. It’s not fair, goddamnit! But I’m not built that way. I’m not a crier. I didn’t even cry at Dad’s funeral, even though I was devastated. I’ll just get pissed on the Widow Kirk’s behalf and keep up the good fight.

I feel like this entry has meandered a bit, so let me put a fine point on it. I roundly condemn and denounce political violence without equivocation. The Democrats are the party who have consistently engaged in whataboutism, bothsidesism, moral equivalence, gaslighting, speech policing, strawmanning, sealioning and a lot of other bad faith tactics in the political sphere. Republicans have started doing this more since Trump took power and I’m sorry as hell to see it. They’re winning right now, but I honestly believe that they will live to deeply regret the choices they’ve made. This is why I am a conservative. It is the best reality I can cling to in these foggy waters.

You know what? I wonder if David French regrets his endorsement of Kamala Harris after he read her book. I’ve only read the excerpts published online, but honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed for the poor guy. If he hadn’t blocked me on Twitter, I could ask him.

Cervenka Strikes Back

“I am convinced that my life’s work will vindicate itself.”
Vidkun Quisling

We live in strange times indeed. 2025 does feel as if it is a cursed year. This is the era when Trump 2.0 has come to power, when all the laws of normal politics and morality say that he should not have triumphed. This is the era when people who call themselves LGBTQ wave flags and chant slogans in support of a brutal government that would execute them all if it were able. This is the era when measles are on the rise in the US, thanks to HHS Secretary RFK. It is the era of zombie rabbits, another tepid Superman reboot, Chat GPT term papers and an assault with a deli weapon in DC.

I admit it…I borrowed that last one from Twitter.

Anyway, it’s a wild and whacky time. So it was the perfect time for Stacy goddamn Cervenka to come roaring back into the midst of the blindness rehabilitation community.

In case you don’t have the time or energy to flip back through these hallowed blog pages, here’s a refresher. You’ll remember that Stacy Cervenka was the controversial figure at the center of the sexual misconduct scandal that rocked the National Federation of the Blind in 2021. Stacy lead a group of brave, outspoken victims of assault as they demanded that the NFB make fundamental changes to their three training centers in the name of safety and security for all students. Their demands were crystallized in an open letter that took to task, not only the practices of the training centers with regard to sexual misconduct, but criticized many of the practices at the very core of the structured discovery curriculum itself.

Four years later, from my outsider’s perspective, it looks like the survivors won the battle, but the NFB won the war. To my knowledge, no one of consequence was fired or resigned over the scandals. It did appear that Cervenka was relegated to relative obscurity. Her husband quit his job as director of the Orientation Center at the Nebraska Center for the Blind one step ahead of being terminated. Many believe that Carlos Servan, the director of NCBVI, was retaliating on behalf of Fred Schroeder, who was the only major casualty in the campaign of the #MarchingTogether Movement. Stacy went to work for some organization I’ve never heard of as a policy wonk. The word in the virtual back alleys of the blindness world was that Cervenka had been blackballed by the professional disability community over her actions in 2021. Rumors also abound that, after he was removed from the NFB, Fred Schroeder is still a shadowy figure pulling strings behind the scenes. I know that sounds kind of Alex Jonesy. I’m just repeating the rumors I’ve heard.

Meanwhile, the NFB put some boiler plate language on their website in the form of a “Code of Conduct.” Some of the victims got justice. Many did not. There was an actual lawsuit against the NFB winding its way through court, but I can’t find any information on its current status.

And that’s where things stood as of June, 2025, when I saw a stunning Facebook post proclaiming that Stacy Cervenka had been appointed as the new director of the Iowa Department For the Blind. To say that I was gobsmacked by the news would be an understatement.

In some ways, I’m glad Cervenka got the job. My reasons are purely selfish. My shocked reaction to the announcement proves that I am not past all surprise. In my current disheartened, dispirited condition, I’m glad I can still be jolted out of my lethargic morosity by such happenings. I also admit to a streak of dark amusement over this turn of events. Cervenka’s sudden comeback is very Trumpian in nature. A lot of people probably thought, “That bitch played her hand and she lost. See ya, beyotch! Wouldn’t wanna be ya.” And…here she comes, back from the dead, more powerful than ever, like Freddy freakin’ Krueger.

The news of Cervenka’s appointment left me with many questions. The only one of interest to all two of you who read this blog is, how in the holy hell did she get the job? Governor Kim Reynolds is not a progressive. She’s not even a moderate Democrat. Hell, she’s not even a moderate Republican. She’s MAGA, which makes her hated in leftist circles. Why would she give a revolutionary wannabe the job. All one has to do is Google Stacy Cervenka and it takes about 30 seconds to figure out that she’s way to the left of Angel Ramirez. Was it blackmail on Cervenka’s part? Maybe mind control as performed by the dark arts. Maybe Cervenka is a closet conservative and Reynolds knows it.

It is far more likely that Governor Reynolds saw Cervenka’s name on a resume, saw the name, Sam Brownback, and gave her the job. It seems like a trite, pat explanation, but remember that this is 2025.

Cervenka had barely assumed her new post when rumors began swirling on social media like Cornflakes in a toilet bowl. Frantic posts claimed that Stacy Cervenka was going to abolish the sleepshade policy from the IDB’s orientation center. Furthermore, she was going to strike structured discovery from the curriculum altogether. So much for circumspectly settling into the job.

This was the backdrop of a tense meeting that occurred between Director Cervenka and the NFB of Iowa chapter last Monday night, August 11. I came across the Zoom link and decided to go hang out like a kitty cat in the corner. It turned out that the lurker’s corner was pretty crowded. There were cats there from Colorado, Minnesota, Louisiana and even a few from Baltimore. All of them wore kitty collars that had a tag with the letters, NFB, engraved on them.

Helen Stevens (a former employee at the IDB) ran the meeting. She was about as endearing as a crocodile in a Jacuzzi. Cervenka comported herself with the bearing of a woman who carries an expensive purse with a cute little .32 concealed in it. Helen read questions that had been written in advance. There was very little follow-up after Cervenka answered each one.

The gist of the questions were, “Are you really gonna get rid of the sleepshades? And what is your criteria for making that decision? And did you include center staff in the discussions? And are you gonna stick with the long white cane? And how the hell did you even get this job? I mean really? You’re a policy wonk, not an administrator!”

Cervenka deftly lobbed back retorts such as, “We need more bodies at our center. IDB staff claims that clients won’t come unless learning shades are optional. We’re still in talks. And people with multiple disabilities might be triggered if they wear those shades. And I’ll look at the data before making a final decision. And if you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll open up my Louis Vuitton and put ya down.”

Sidebar: Stacy sounds like a character out of Fargo. When she says the word, “down,” it sounds like she’s saying, “Doane,” which is a college in Nebraska.

After Helen read through her questions, the cats slunk out of the shadows and padded over to the table to get their licks in. I couldn’t help but notice that some of the interrogators were from Minnesota, which had a (ahem) liberal presence on the IDB staff under Cervenka’s predecessor. The dynamic was clear. They all wanted to shred Cervenka. She is threatening the very curriculum on which the NFB has built its identity for the past six decades. The Q&A was a civilized game of cat-and-mouse. Cervenka, the successful insurgent zealot versus the entrenched, stuck-up members of an elite clique who used to run the department for the blind in the former home of Kenneth Jernigan. God, the irony was scrumptious.

The meeting wrapped up around 8:30. Anyone hoping for blood sport went to bed with an empty soul. Anyone hoping for declarative or inflammatory statements from the new director of IDB didn’t get much meat in their dish. The meeting was all about posturing and subtle line-drawing. My only other stray thought is that I found it odd that Carly Prinds, the director at the IDB orientation center, did not speak once during the call.

So, here we are on a muggy weekend in August, 2025, still muddling our way through a foggy landscape with more questions than answers. Will Director Cervenka succeed in transforming the sleepshade policy? Will the NFB stand for any changes Cervenka attempts to implement? Will Minnesota ever get another Blind Inc. so that some of those creatures of the clique can get jobs? And seriously…how the hell did Stacy Cervenka really get her job? Did Governor Reynolds use AI in her job search? We will probably never know.

For my money, no blind person will choose the sleepshades if given the option. Their natural tendency will be to use their residual vision whenever they can. I appreciate the argument that the center needs more bodies, but at what cost? If the question is one of a lack of compulsory shade use, no one ever chooses blindness.

Connie Mendenhall, the Chief Information Officer at the IDB, kept comparing the IDB to a business. I would respectfully suggest that a government agency is different than a business. In fact, it’s usually conservatives that tend toward the idea that government should be run like a business. How’d that work out for Elon?

I’m also curious what Cervenka’s limiting principle would be. If IDB allows the reservations of students over the sleepshades to impact policy, where would it end? Would IDB eventually make allowances for a guide dog user who did not want to use the cane? What about someone who wanted only instruction in text magnification software as opposed to a screenreader? What about someone who wanted to learn cane travel, but not braille or cooking? Where does Cervenka draw the line? In her view, was Stephanie Dohmen in the right or in the wrong 23 years ago?

It’s already a well-established fact that my crystal ball is about as accurate as a weather man’s forecast, but I’ll make a prediction anyway. Cervenka won’t last in the job. She’ll either flame out, get fired, or perish at her desk; possibly at the hands of Helen Stevens. Kevan Worley recently called Cervenka, “a thug,” on Facebook. Considering the source, this is another piece of chocolate cake irony. She’s not a thug. She’s crazy…like a fox. That said, I give her a year before her house of cards comes crashing down. I know many people champion Cervenka and want her to succeed, but I think she’s nuttier than a jar of Chunky Jif. I’ve never met her, but every time I hear her speak, I get a distinctively Taylor Lorenz vibe from her.

Sidebar: Taylor Lorenz is a so-called journalist who resigned from the top two print publications in the country under a cloud. She now spends her time on Substack, freaking out over masks while simultaneously stroking Luigi Mangione.

On the other side of the fence, it’s clear that the NFB learned nothing from the scandal four years ago. This sad truth is high-lighted by an example from my old stomping grounds at the Colorado Center for the Blind earlier this summer. During the annual summer program, the residential manager had loud sex with his girlfriend in his apartment. I am certainly not opposed to loud sex. In fact, I applaud it, but not when it is within the hearing of underage summer students. Some of their parents objected as well. Three of them were pulled from the program early and went home.

To my knowledge, the residential manager has faced no consequences for his actions. His girlfriend still has full access to the apartment complex. Julie Deden is still running things over there.

To quote Billy Joel, “And so it goes…and so it goes.”

In other news, I still miss my dad. Now is the time when I should be at the cabin with him, smoking a cigar and drinking a beer on the back deck, listening to the lake ripple nearby, not talking to him about blind politics. Miss you, Dad.

Dad

Maybe some of you remember a cheesy ‘70’s era song called, “The Blind Man in the Bleachers.” It was originally written as a country song, but it was popularized on the pop charts by David Geddes who called it, “The Last Game of the Season (A Blind Man in the Bleachers.” If you’ve heard it and don’t remember, that’s understandable. It’s very forgettable.

The song concerns a blind father who sits in the bleachers every Friday night while his kid warms the bench on the local high school football team. During the final game of the season, the kid’s blind dad is absent, but no one notices. The home team is losing bad, so they put the kid in at half-time. The kid plays his heart out, the team comes from behind for the win and everyone but the kid is happy. It seems that the kid’s dad has died. When the coach asks the kid, “What made you play so good, son?” the kid answers, “It was the first time my daddy saw me play.”

As I said, this was ‘70’s era pop music; heavy on the sap, heavier on the backup vocals, and light on subtlety. I hated it when I first heard it in 2001, and I still hate it today. The message of the song is supposed to be spiritual and inspirational, tugging at the heart strings of a sighted public who collectively wish that all blind people could be cured. If you read between the lines, what you learn is that the blind dad had to die to make a real impact on his son. Most people don’t get it.

When it comes to my father, Richard Osentowski, we have to flip the script of this song that came into being when he was 29 years old. Where my dad was concerned, I was the blind kid in the bleachers, my brother Jared was on the ball field and Dad was usually sitting next to me in the stands. Jared might have been playing baseball, football or basketball, but Dad was always there, lending quiet encouragement and constructive criticism to Jared.

We spent a lot of time at ballparks, football stadiums and basketball courts when I was a kid. I loved traveling to Lincoln, Omaha and Scottsbluff, but I was usually bored during sporting events. I would drag along my portable tape player or Walkman and listen to a book or the radio. In fact, I gained my love of radio partially at baseball fields around the state. The only real time thing I enjoyed about ballgames was the concession stand. Man, you can’t beat a hot dog and an ice cold coke at a summer ballgame.

To the average reader, this probably raises a question. How could I connect with my dad when we were so different? Dad was an outdoorsman, through and through. He loved to hunt. I loved to hunt for Pringles in the pantry. Dad loved to fish. I loved to eat fish sticks. Dad loved westerns and sporting events on TV. I loved Star Trek, Batman and Matlock. Dad was a physically fit, athletic man. The only time I cared about exercise was in college, when I engaged in certain aerobic activities with girls in my dorm room at UNL. Otherwise, I was a pretty lazy kid.

You might read this and think that Dad was not an important presence in my life. It is true that, as a blind kid, my mother was more attentive. Mom drove me to blind camps, she connected with my counselors and teachers, she served on a couple of blindness-related committees, and she even tried to learn Braille. As the sighted parent of a blind kid, Dad didn’t know how to connect with me. But if you were to conclude that Dad was unimportant in my life, you would be dead wrong.

On Easter Sunday, 1987, our family came home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house, then Dad packed up the truck and left again to make his weekly trip to Crawford, NE, where he loved to hunt turkeys with some of his buddies. That night, I cried myself to sleep in my pillow. There was no particular reason for it. I knew he was coming back in a week. I knew we would be all right without him. I just missed Dad being there. He was a calming, reassuring presence in a house full of boys, dogs, hamsters, guinea pigs, goldfish and an occasional rabbit. When he was gone, we all felt it.

Dad was there for me in many other important ways throughout my life. In high school, he picked me up once a week and took me to lunch. He introduced me to Rush Limbaugh and advised me to pay attention to current events. He urged me to chase my dream of one day being on the radio. When I graduated high school and moved to Lincoln, Dad was there. When I came home from college for Spring Breaks and Christmas vacations, Dad was there. When I moved from Lincoln to Denver to go to broadcast school, Dad carried boxes and drove the Suburban. When I moved from Denver to Omaha to take a job at RTBS, Mom and Dad paid for my move and helped unpack my new apartment.

But it wasn’t just the major events. Dad was always there for birthday parties, for holiday dinners, for nights in front of the TV with Mom, my brothers and a bowl of popcorn, and for lazy afternoons in the backyard with our dog and the garden hose. Dad was there at our cabin at Sherman Lake, he was there when I took my first horseback ride at the ranch at Crawford, he was there for silly musicals at Windy Hills Elementary, and he was there for high school theater plays. When I rode the waves on the tube and got dumped off in the water, Dad was driving the boat, laughing at me. When I came home from college, or from Denver to visit the family, Dad was the one who always picked me up from the bus station. Dad was there when I smoked my first cigar, when I drank my first beer, and when I fired my first shot from a .357 Magnum.

Unlike many of my Generation X contemporaries who came from broken or dysfunctional homes, Dad was a stable, constant presence in my life. But more importantly, Dad was a role model. He was not preachy. He did not indulge in long, windy lectures. He was not a cold, controlling person who gave stern orders. Dad was a calm, collected person who seldom lost his temper. I can count on one hand the times that he spanked me. In all three cases that I can remember, I deserved it.

Dad was not a trash-talker. When he and Mom had a fight, he would never run her down to us boys outside of her hearing. Come to think of it, Dad seldom badmouthed anyone whom he didn’t like. He could certainly be judgmental, but his judgments were usually tempered and more measured than most. Even in the realm of politics, Dad was more soft-spoken than many of his peers. And he certainly wasn’t the kind of guy who yelled at ball players or officials from the stands, particularly when the players were kids.

I won’t tell you that Dad was a perfect parent. There is no such thing. I always suspected that he invested too much of himself in Jared’s athletic success. It is also no secret that Dad was a drinker. He was able to maintain a healthy work-life balance until he retired from State Farm in 2012, but after that, he began to spend too much time at home. His excessive drinking ultimately took a toll on his physical wellbeing, restricting him from doing the outdoor physical activities that he loved so much. I don’t offer this fact to dishonor Dad’s memory or to embarrass the family. Dad was actually a blast to party with at holiday time. I often said that Mom and Dad threw better parties than any of my college pals.

Four weeks ago (the day after Father’s Day), Dad fell and hit his head on the hard wood floor. Mom called the ambulance and they rushed him to the hospital. Mom called the three of us to let us know what had happened. I called Dad’s phones and spoke to him for about two minutes. He was his usual self, laughing at me when I said, “Dad, you need to quit chasing Mom around the kitchen.” It was the last time I ever spoke to him. Two hours later, he lost consciousness.

Dad went in for brain surgery, where the doctors determined that he had massive brain trauma. He spent a week in the ICU, most of that time in a medically-induced coma, connected to life support. On Monday, June 23, 2025, our family came together at his bedside and made the heartbreaking decision to remove him from life support. He lasted barely 10 minutes before he passed away. It was the most emotionally devastating thing I’ve ever experienced. Yet, Dad had made his wishes crystal clear in his living will. After the doctors had exhausted the possibility of him making even a partial recovery, the decision to end his suffering was relatively easy to render. The emotional fall-out, on the other hand, was brutal.

Sidebar: I want to give a special shout-out to my brother Nate and my sister-in-law Missy for doing the most to take care of our family (especially Mom) during the trials of the past month. Dad would be proud.

So now, Dad isn’t here. There will be no more cold afternoons on the back deck with him, enjoying a cold beer and a cigar as we listen to the ducks and geese frolic on the lake. There will be no more Dad, greeting me at the bus station, shoving a cold can into my hand as we drive home in his pickup to see Mom. There will be no more playing three-way fetch with Gracie and Dad on the family room floor. No more phone calls or texts about politics, the weather, the Huskers, or family updates. No more of Dad’s famous fried pheasant at Christmas dinner, or his delicious fried fish fingers at the cabin on Father’s Day. After 50 years of Dad always being there when I needed him, he is gone now.

Or, is he?

Two days after Dad’s fall when he was still in the hospital, I slept in. Mom, Nate and Missy had already gone to the hospital. I showered, dressed and called for an Uber to take me over. As I waited in the front driveway, a turkey gobbled at me from across the street. He sounded almost close enough to touch. He gobbled three times. I was sure it was Dad, trying to communicate something to me.

The other night, I went to an Omaha Storm Chasers game with some friends. It was a loud affair with blaring music, rowdy people and a P.A. announcer who never shut up. But there came a point when I heard a quiet pause, followed by a rousing cheer from the Omaha fans. I could swear that I felt Dad right over my shoulder for a few seconds. It was almost as if, if I’d turned quickly enough, he would’ve been there to hand me a cold one.

The truth is that Dad isn’t gone. You can find him in every word of this blog; even the naughty parts. Dad would always say, “Be a class act,” but he would usually chuckle when I stepped out of line. You can find Dad every time I struggle to do the right thing. You can find Dad in the lives of my brothers and my two sisters-in-law. You can find him in his eight grandchildren scattered across the country. You will find him in the quiet peace of nature, in the cheer of a stadium crowd or in the upbeat rhythm of dance music. You can still find Dad whenever you smell the aroma of a steak grilling in a backyard somewhere, or in the fragrant smoke of a cigar on the back porch. I’m sure his spirit is vibrant out there on the northern prairie of the Rockin’ Oz Ranch. Dad is gone, yet, he is everywhere.

In the teaching spirit of Rich Osentowski, I will conclude with a few short lessons under Dad’s favorite saying, “Life’s about choices.” When you retire, make plans to stay busy. Without descending into a temperance lecture (which was definitely not Dad), be mindful of your excesses and try to moderate yourself. Also, be absolutely certain to have a living will, no matter your age. I can’t emphasize enough how important Dad’s living will was when the time came to make crucial decisions about his medical care. And please make sure all of your insurance premiums are up to date.

The most important lesson that my father taught me is this. Being a good dad isn’t about speeches, or having the right answers, or about being perfect. It’s only about being there for your kids. In that arena, Dad was a resounding success.

Goodbye, Dad. I will always miss you. I love you. Thank you for marrying Mom. Thank you for my life.

Your proud son,

Ryan Osentowski – The blind kid in the bleachers

Richard Alan Osentowski, age 77 of Kearney, Nebraska passed away Monday, June 23, 2025 at Good Samaritan Hospital. Richard’s wishes for cremation were honored. The celebration of Rich’s life will be Thursday, July 3, 2025 at 10:30AM at Prince of Peace Catholic Church. Father Scott Harter will celebrate. There will be no visitation. In lieu of flowers, memorials are suggested to the NU foundation – Osentowski Family Scholarship Fund. Please visit www.hlmkfuneral.com to leave a message or condolence. Horner Lieske McBride & Kuhl Funeral and Cremation Service is in charge of arrangements.

Rich was born September 24, 1947 in Ord, Nebraska to Dorothy (Johnson) Osentowski and Dr. Frank J. Osentowski, DDS. Along the way he played every sport; from grade school to graduation. Rich was an All-State Class B basketball player. He won the Class B Nebraska State Golf medal his senior year. Rich was inducted into the Ord High School Hall of Fame for Golf and All-Around Athlete.

Initially, Rich was headed to the University of Nebraska to play basketball and golf for the Huskers. After a change of heart, Rich and his mother Dorothy paid a visit to football coach Al Zikmund at Kearney State College. Rich played football and baseball with honors for four years. As a quarterback, Rich helped lead the 1967 Lopers to an undefeated season. He was inducted into the UNK Athletic Hall of Fame in 1984.

On August 17, 1968 he married Karen Goble (Miss Kearney as he called her) from Beatrice, Nebraska. In 1969 Rich was drafted in the fifth round by the Minnesota Twins. He played his first summer in Sarasota, FL with Hall of Fame pitcher Bert Blylevin. After a successful summer in St. Cloud, MN, Rich hung up the spikes. Instead of pursuing baseball, he signed a teaching and coaching contract in Grand Island. He taught physical education, coached football, track and field for three years.

In June of 1973 Rich and Karen moved back to Kearney, launching his 39-year career as a State Farm Insurance Agent. Policy holders were his priority. With their loyalty and support, Rich and his staff built and maintained an award-winning agency. In 1979, Rich appeared in State Farm’s “Like A Good Neighbor” campaign. The commercial featuring Rich and his policyholders, Mike and Ellen Keenan of Kearney, aired nationally on NBC, ABC and CBS.

Rich was involved in numerous organizations in the community, fulfilling leadership roles and spearheading fundraising efforts as needed. He enjoyed coaching baseball and football; embracing young players. Rich cheered for all Husker athletics, but was a dedicated, loyal and contributing Loper Alumni. When not serving his policy holders or participating in his community, Rich could be found in his satellite office hunting, fishing, or golfing.

Left to cherish his memory are wife Karen of 56 years, sons Jared (Anne) of Shakopee, MN, Richard Ryan of Omaha, NE, Nate (Missy) of Rose, NE. His grandchildren, Hunter, Josephine, Jackson, Mackenzie, Emma, Ellie, Alexa and Olivia blessed his life and his heart with adoring love.

Preceding him in death are his parents and brother, Francis Eugene Osentowski, Aunts, Uncles and Cousins.

Soft as a Mutt’s Butt

Let us now turn our attention to a story of a bunch of people who are pitted against each other in a vicious, high stakes game of blood sport. No, I’m not talking about the Trump Administration. I’m talking about The Hunger Games.

Maybe you knew that a new installment in Suzanne Collins’ series came out a couple of months ago. Of course, it’s another prequel. This one focuses on Haymitch Abernathy, the prickly, drunken mentor of Katniss Everdeen. This novel seeks to explain Haymitch’s life in District 12, how he was chosen for the 50th annual Hunger Games in The Capital, and how he came to be the wrung-out drunkard who mentored Katniss and Peeta in the original books.

Let me warn my two readers that spoilers abound from this point. I advise you to go read Sunrise on the Reaping yourselves, form your own conclusions, then come back to absorb my obviously correct opinions.

Yes, Haymitch takes center stage in this story. When I first heard about it, I was excited. Next to Katniss, Haymitch was always my favorite character from the books. I should also say that I was less than impressed with Woody Harrelson’s interpretation of him from the movies. Woody’s version played Haymitch as a boozer who was a burn-out, but who was humorous and charming underneath the prickliness. As the movies progress, he evolves to affectionate avuncularity toward Katniss.

I realize that this is subjective, but how many of you who read the original trilogy got the impression that Haymitch was always kind of a jerk, even before he survived the Hunger Games and became an unwilling mentor under the boot of President Snow?

If you took this vibe from the book version, you’re not alone. I too got the idea that Haymitch was never really a warm, cuddly person. This is a perfectly reasonable take. If you know anyone who is of above average intelligence, you’ll often find that they are not particularly nice or endearing people. In my experience, ultra-smart people seldom suffer fools gladly, have very little patience with opinions that differ from their own and are not particularly adept at effectively communicating their inner voice to the outer world. In other words, they may have plenty of intellect, but they are often lacking in emotional awareness or empathy.

That was book Haymitch to a T. Of course, Katniss comes to know him as a tragic, solitary alcoholic who has no tolerance for her willful, headstrong ways, especially when he is proven right in the face of her stubbornness. It is a credit to Collins that, despite the current trend of girl power in young adult fiction, she writes Katniss as a flawed human being who indeed discovers that Haymitch (a man) kind of knows what he’s talking about when she is out of her depth.

I prefer Haymitch, the irascible asshole we come to know in the original Katniss trilogy. What if you peeled back the layers of pre-Hunger Games Haymitch and discovered that he was, in fact, kind of a prick all along? Would that not make him a character worthy of exploration? Would that mean that he couldn’t have a moral center? Think of Dr. Gregory House. Before he experienced muscle death in his leg and used it disability as an excuse to become a pill-popping dick, he was still an unpleasant, unhappy person. Yet, House did have a moral code that helped to redeem him for the audience. Why do we need to sanitize this notion in a dystopian world of authoritarianism and autocracy? In fact, wouldn’t an arrogant, smartass Haymitch be a more lamentable figure when he ultimately loses his battle with President Snow than watching Mr. Nice Guy get owned? Even if he were a full-fledged jerk, Haymitch has plenty of reasons to be prickly, even before the games. He’s a super smart kid living under the yoke of an oppressive regime with a bunch of indigent people who are dumber than he is. Why is that a story not worth telling?

If you agree with my impressions of Haymitch, you may find Sunrise on the Reaping to be a disappointment. When we meet Haymitch for the first time, he’s a relatively normal, happy kid. Like Katniss, he’s taking care of his family in the impoverished, oppressed District 12. He’s also in love with a gypsy music girl named, Lenore Dove. I mean, like, really in love, like, teenage boy love. Love, like, he talks to the spirit of Lenore while he’s in the arena. If you want to give alcoholic Haymitch a run for his money, play a drinking game wherein you take a big gulp every time Suzanne Collins writes the catch phrase, “I love you like all fire.” Take two drinks every time Haymitch says some variation of, “Time to play the rascal.” Take three drinks every time he cries.

Did we really need all that lovey-dovey shit? I’m a big romantic at heart and I dig a good love story as much as the next straight guy, but come on! God knows we got plenty of that in the Katniss Chronicles with her emotional oscillations between Gale and Peeta. Even future President Snow got smitten with his tribute. Why couldn’t Haymitch just be in love with Edgar Allan Poe and have done with it?

Whoa there! I’m putting the chariot before the horse. Sorry ‘bout that. Anyway, as the story opens, Haymitch is actually in a happy relationship with a girl, is nice to his younger brother, loves his mama and only pretends to be a rakish rascal from time to time in order to annoy adult authority figures. But he’s a good kid at heart and it shows. There’s also nothing to suggest that Haymitch possesses brilliance-level intelligence. Sure, he’s a smart kid with some streetwise cred, but he’s not a genius by any stretch.

Of course, Haymitch’s tranquil existence goes shitside up when, through a twist of fate, he is selected for the 50th Hunger Games. He is ripped away from his family, his girlfriend and his mostly peaceful life in order that he may provide the rich, entitled citizens of The Capital with some gladiatorial combat for their amusement.

I should note here that, if you want to thumbnail version of How Haymitch wins the games, you need only consult Chapter 14 of the second HG novel, Catching Fire, in which Katniss and Peeta watch the tape of Haymitch’s experiences. You can capture the entirety of the events in about four minutes, including how Haymitch wins the contest. Collins knows this, of course, so she has to add some extra plot elements and backstory to elevate the emotional stakes for veteran readers. In service of this, we get return engagements with familiar characters like Plutarch Heavensbee, Effie Trinket, Mags and, of course, President Snow. In Catching Fire, we are left to conclude that Haymitch found the edge of the arena containing the force field because he was smart enough to deduce that it was there. In the current novel, we discover that Haymitch figures it out because he is carrying out a mission assigned to him by Plutarch, who is already a clandestine rebel.

If you want more of what made the original Hunger Games novels so dark and gritty, you get plenty of it here. We have a blood-soaked slaughter with many heartbreaking deaths, some of which involve children who don’t even shave yet. There’s a plot involving a tribute named Louella McCoy that is particularly shattering. We get action, treachery, resourcefulness of the main character and random terror from mutated animals (called mutts) that add that extra bit of demonic intensity. We are treated to carnivorous squirrels, electric butterflies, poison apples and a porcupine with lethal projectile quills.

What we don’t really get is a story that we haven’t already been told. We already know that President Snow is an evil, vindictive man who will render Haymitch’s victor a hollow one. We already know that the Hunger Games are terribly, relentlessly savage. We already know that Haymitch drinks to dull the physical, emotional and psychological pain over the trauma of the games. Even with the extra frosting Collins has added to the cake, we don’t really learn much about the bleak and brutal world of Panem.

All that said, Collins deserves a lot of credit. In a world where creative types (especially young adult authors) wear their politics on their sleeves and bludgeon their readers with it, she has always played her hand close to the vest. My limited research has not turned up any interview where she has sounded off about war, class disparity, media propaganda or even climate change. Aside from some general comments in service of her books, she doesn’t use her position as a soapbox. Her messages are evident, but she allows the readers to form their own conclusions.

One of her obvious points concerns state-sponsored media disinformation. When Katniss and Peeta watch the tape of Haymitch’s contest, they are viewing a deceptively edited final product, courtesy of The Capital. The point of Sunrise on the Reaping is that Haymitch’s authentic story can now be shared with the fans. The behind-the-scenes account is meant to be poignant and devastating, but for me, it didn’t really land. The softened Haymitch is too different from the image I had conceived in my mind’s eye.

As is always the case with prequels, we get a lot of box-checking. Where did Madge get the MockingJay pin? Check. Is Mags an extra tragic figure? Check. Did Haymitch know Katniss’s parents when they were kids. Check? We even learn the *real* reason why Haymitch always calls Katniss, “Sweetheart.” Hint: He’s not patronizing or needling her as we originally assumed. Bummer.

It would be the irony of ironies of Collins herself fell victim to media influence in the writing of this book. I’m referring to the Woody Harrelson version of Haymitch from the movies. As I read this novel, it struck me that the Haymitch we come to know in Sunrise in the Reaping would be a dead ringer for the Harrelson version of the character. What if Suzanne Collins gave us unfiltered, undiluted Haymitch in her original trilogy, but then the movies colored even her perceptions of the character? Remember that the last HG novel was published in 2010, almost two years before the first movie. How’s that for irony?

I’m approaching this book with a critical eye, but I really did enjoy it. I certainly liked it better than the previous installment dealing with the backstory of Coriolanus Snow, though I also do recommend that one for HG enthusiasts. In fact, in another paradox, I found A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes to be less entertaining, but more informative than Sunrise on the Reaping.

The 50th Quarter Quell was more straight forward and less circuitous. I guess I just want to know why we couldn’t get Haymitch the jerk, rather than Haymitch the nice boy who’s just putting on an act for The Capital? Could it be that Collins didn’t want anyone (particularly male readers) to interpret her treating Haymitch the jerk respectfully as a tacit endorsement of *gasp* “toxic male behavior?” “How dare you call Katniss sweetheart, you mansplainer!” In a contemporary world where male figures like Donald Trump, Elon Musk and J. D. Vance are viewed as heroes by scores of young men, Collins may have felt it paramount to show Haymitch as a paragon of male virtue; or at least, the leftist stereotype of it.

There is certainly plenty of wiggle room in my theory. Maybe folks should read the book and decide for themselves. Whatever you do, go reread the original Katniss trilogy. Those books hold up beautifully. In fact, I’ve seen a few pundits on Twitter recently crapping on the books as, “Fifth grade level material.” All due respect…go chew on a tracker jacker. The Hunger Games is a compelling piece of fiction that has a lot of important things to say. My compliments to Suzanne Collins for bringing this dark, soul-crushing world to life so vividly.

Sidebar: I read The Hunger Games in 2012, four years before I got my first cat. When I reread it, the scene near the end of MockingJay when Katniss is reunited with Buttercup just wrecked me. I mean…I’m glad Kylie doesn’t judge. I should also mention that Katniss wasn’t a warm and cuddly girl either. She wanted to drown Buttercup until her sister interfered. What kind of twisted freak does that!?

I see that a movie about Sunrise on the Reaping is already in production. It will be released sometime in 2026. I’ll probably go see it. So what’s next on Collins’ list of prequels. Personally, I’d love the backstory of President Alma Coin. Remember her? I bet the progressives won’t like that one. President Coin proved that the resistance often become the tyrants when they win. Even if Suzanne Collins were willing to write it, I bet Hollywood won’t want to film it. Plutarch Heavensbee would be so, so disappointed.

Before I go, here’s a glimpse into my blind world, which is like District 102 in the world of minority intersectionality. I read the audiobook version of Sunrise on the Reaping. The narrator, Jefferson White, didn’t have the right voice for Haymitch. His voice was a tenor with a rasp to it. Think a more refined, slightly more effeminate version of Bob Odenkirk. I got used to him, but it did put a dampener on my reading experience. Santino Fontana was just lousy. He sounds like a glorified voice-over artist doing radio commercials.

Erin Jones, however, the BARD narrator of the original trilogy, did masterful work. You sighted Capital dwellers will have to be content with Carolyn McCormick, who does a good job, but Erin Jones is better. Erin, wherever you are, God bless you. Thank you for bringing Panem to life for us blind folk. Great job, sweetheart.

Trumpsplaining

It’s time for a new feature here in the wild and wooly land of RyanO. We now present the premier of, RyanO, The Trumpsplainer. This segment, geared toward those who are not MAGA or MAGA-adjacent, is intended to serve as a window for those of you who can’t understand how the hell Trump gets away with everything that he does. In other words, why are so many people proving to be immune to wokeism and seemingly approve of Trump’s methods?

First, let me explain that I am not MAGA. I did not vote for Donald Trump any of the three times that he ran for president. I am not a Trump fan, I loathe his personal conduct and I believe he disqualified himself to be president by his behavior on and around January 6th. But, America chose him to be our president, so I plan to spend the next four years calling balls and strikes.

Perhaps some of you in the intended audience feel that you’re above RyanO, The Trumpsplainer. That’s okay. I’m a blind guy. Every day, I encounter people who fancy themselves to be above me. God put me on this earth to educate you, so that’s what I’m gonna do. It might be that you leftists say to yourselves, “Trump is evil. I don’t need to understand anything more than that.” Frankly, that’s an obtuse, arrogant attitude and it illustrates why you just lost a major election. After all, there is no better way to combat your enemy than to understand him…or her…or them…or whatever the hell you prefer.

Topic One: Why doesn’t the Nazi charge land? This topic is dedicated to Beautiful Bethany, from Colorado.

There are three reasons why the right and center-right have thickened their skin against your numerous and spurious charges of Trump being, “Baby Hitler.” No, it’s not because we’re all Nazis. Most of us hate Hitler and Nazism and we don’t condone anything that Hitler did or said. Yes, there are some Nazis imbedded within MAGA world, but contrary to what MSNBC tells you, they are not in positions of great influence.

The first reason is that, for decades, you progressives have been calling Republicans Nazis. You compared Ronald Reagan to Hitler throughout the ‘80’s. You compared Newt Gingrich and social conservatives to Nazis throughout the ‘90’s. You compared George W. Bush and Dick Cheney to Hitler after 9/11. You even compared Mitt Romney (one of the nicest guys ever) to Hitler when he ran against Obama. In other words, you folks have been crying wolf for decades. It’s no wonder that many of us just shrug when you do it to The Donald or Elon Musk. We’ve heard it all before.

Sidebar: it’s ironic that you now love Dick Cheney and his daughter. Oh, and Mitt Romney. The only good Republican is a powerless Republican.

Second, you progressives and progressive-adjacent folks have been a lot closer to Nazism than MAGA since October 7, 2023. You are the ones who quickly downplayed and justified the mass rape and slaughter of Israelis. You are the ones who excuse and defend tearing down hostage posters of children in western cities. You are the ones who turn a blind eye toward antisemitism on college campuses and on public streets while shrieking about tolerance for other minority groups. You are the ones who have leaders who flirt with holocaust denial. If you want to understand how this behavior echoes Germany in the 1930’s, try reading a book or watching a documentary. Until you folks clean your own house, you have no business wringing your hands over Trump or Elon Musk.

Third, you’re endowing Trump with abilities that he doesn’t possess. At its core, Nazism is an ideology. Trump is the most non-ideological president in my lifetime. His lizard brain can only process what benefits him from moment to moment. He is flatly incapable of writing a book like Mein Kampf. No matter what you may hear on MSNBC or NPR, Nazism and white supremacy are still vastly unpopular here in America. As long as that is the case, Trump won’t subscribe to Nazism. He may play nice with figures on the far right, but that’s only because they kiss his ass and bring him votes. His motives are purely transactional.

Until you progressives reckon with these truths, the accusations of “Nazi” and “white supremacist” will be met with a hale and hardy, “SCREW YOU!”

This is RyanO, signing off for now, returning you to your normal programming of Trump Derangement infotainment.

President O.

I declare that the 29th Amendment to the Constitution is the law of the land. As of now, the following points are incontrovertible facts of life:

• As of now, I hereby decree that the cat is the official national emblem. Dogs will still be permitted to exist, but cats may not be disparaged or harmed in any way. Anyone who abuses a feline will waive their right to trial and receive immediate death by a thousand cat bites.

• As of now, all vending machines will carry Peanut Butter M&M’s at a reasonable discount. The only restaurant permitted to be served on Capitol Hill will be Raising Cane’s. Runza will be catered for all official state functions. The name of The White House will be changed to, The Runza Hut. All vegans, food allergy nuts and health Nazis can go live in Canada if they don’t like it.

• I hereby proclaim that all federal funds formerly earmarked to Diversity, Equity and Inclusion will be diverted to my new national “Help men get laid,” program. Many of the problems in the world would be solved if more men would put down the game controller and go out on a date.

• I officially decree that Breaking Bad is the best TV show of all time. I further outlaw the making of any new Star Trek, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings or comic book projects. Hollywood is now on enforced shutdown until they can get an original idea for mass appeal.

• I order that all Rap and Heavy Metal noise be permanently outlawed. I further order that all historical texts be altered to change the word, “Music,” to “Noise,” when referencing same in the name of truth and accuracy.

• I hereby proclaim that George Strait be crowned as the new Poet Laureate of America. Those who don’t like George Strait can spend time in solitary confinement, watching Cats (2019) and Battlefield, Earth on an endless loop.

• I hereby proclaim that Louis Braille’s birthday will now be a national holiday. We’re all still hung over from the holidays anyway, so why not take an extra day?

• I hereby decree that all pot dispensaries be immediately closed and replaced with cigar bars. If the potheads don’t like it, they can take their Cheetos and be illegal aliens in Canada or Mexico.

• I command that every business in America hire at least one blind or low vision worker. No exceptions. No bullshit excuses. Employers who try to dodge this very overdue law will quickly come to know the wrath of the claw.

• I decree that Elon Musk be forced to sell Twitter to a group of conservative entrepreneurs, then get his ass to work on building an autonomous, affordable car for blind people.

• I hereby proclaim that the name Karen will no longer be used as a pejorative term. My mom’s name is Karen, so when you insult the name, you’re insulting my mother. Those of you who resist will perish with Karen on your lips and the smell of raw liver in your nose.

• To show that I am not hard-hearted, I will give progressives more than they asked for. I offer a compassionate decree that, rather than a 32-hour work week, all progressives will be guaranteed an eight-hour work week with commensurate pay. The money formerly paid to them will be diverted to defense spending.

• I hereby decree that the participants of all televised confirmation hearings must be completely naked for the entire proceeding. Let’s see how you politicians like to play for the cameras while the public is laughing at the size of your disco stick or the sad state of your female funbags. You folks like to screw people for a living? Let them see why you’re a politician rather than a porn star.

• Finally, I hereby decree that the Transfer Portal is vanquished. If coaches, parents or high school punks care to defy me, then I hope you can play football after having your vitals gnawed on by your most feral fans.

Many of you will read this and say, “Ryan, you’re silly. You’re not the POTUS. There’s no 29th Amendment. This is true, but Joe Biden hasn’t been POTUS for a long while, so there’s no 28th Amendment either.

It Pays Big Money

You probably know that President Jimmy Carter passed away recently. If you tried to do a little day trading last Thursday and couldn’t, blame Carter. That’s kind of the mantra of my young life. Blame Jimmy Carter.

What you may not know is that, at his funeral, among the eulogies and farewell speeches from grandchildren and American leaders, we were treated to the laborious musical spectacle of Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood singing the worst pop anthem of all time, “Imagine.” It reminded me that Garth is the Jimmy Carter of country music. If country music sucks today, blame Garth.

I will be the first to admit that Garth Brooks got me back into country music in the early ‘90’s. I grew up with my parents playing Kenny Rogers, Waylon Jennings and The Oak Ridge Boys on their 8-track tapes, but by 1983, Top 40 radio had banished them to the dusty bin of used music.

Then, sometime in 1991, my brother started playing, “Friends in Low Places,” over and over again. After that, my pal Shane started inundating me with Randy Travis, Alan Jackson and Keith Whitley during our time at summer camp. That fall, “The Thunder Rolls,” gave way to, “Rodeo,” and soon, I had cassette copies of Garth’s first three albums in my tape case. For my birthday in 1992, I bought albums by Doug Stone and Trisha Yearwood with some birthday money I’d gotten, and the rest is history. Soon after, I had stopped listening to Hits 106 and migrated over to 102.3, KRNY.

Life in 1992 was really an endless loop of playing Garth Brooks’ first three albums. His debut album was a solid country album with a few great high-lights. The two follow-ups, No Fences and Ropin’ the Wind, are rightly considered country masterpieces. With this in mind, all of us waited with baited breath for his fourth album, The Chase, which dropped in September of 1992.

To say that reviews of The Chase were mixed to negative would be an understatement. Shitkickin’ country classics like “Two of a Kind,” and “Papa Loved Mama,” gave way to the opening track, “We Shall be Free.”

“This ain’t comin’ from no prophet
Just an ordinary man.
When I close my eyes, I see
The way this world will be
When we all walk hand in hand.”

Then, up comes the southern gospel choir, in comes the piano and organ combo, and we’re off.

“When we’re free to love
Anyone we choose
When this world’s big enough
For all different views,
When we all can worship
From our own kind of pew,
Then we shall be free.”

Ladies and gentlemen… Boys and girls… Garth Brooks… The John Lennon of country music!

A lot of the fans weren’t having it. My dad summed up the reaction the best. “Too much churchy stuff.” The song created controversy because of its perceived touting of gay rights, so Garth made a video trying to explain it. It landed about as well as a balloon full of pig shit.

The second track on, The Chase, was another Garth Brooks power ballad in the style of, “Shameless,” or “If tomorrow Never Comes.”

“Somewhere other than the night
She needs to hear I love you.
Somewhere other than the night
She needs to know you care.
And she wants to know she’s needed,
She needs to be held tight.
Somewhere other than the night.”

It wasn’t just the cringe-inducing, pandering lyrics. Garth’s formerly humble, modest down home delivery had given way to performative, theatrical vocals that often bordered on overwrought. He were singing as if he were auditioning for a musical reality TV show, which wouldn’t exist in the main stream for about another decade.

In 1993, Garth gave us his fifth offering, “In Pieces,” which amped up the arena rock element that typified his concerts. “Ain’t Going Down Till the Sun Comes Up,” “American Honky Tonk Bar Association,” and “Standing Outside the Fire,” took the place of more introspective and preachy fare. The audience seemed to love it. For me, Garth had jumped the shark. My feelings were only validated when we got “Fresh Horses,” in 1995, and “Sevens,” in 1997. By the time we got to his sad attempt at a crossover pop album under the name, Chris Gaines, all I could do was shake my head in disgust. I don’t even have the heart to talk about “Scarecrow.”

The Chris Gaines album, which was meant to be the teaser for a movie starring Garth Brooks as a pop singer with a sex addiction, really shows Garth’s true colors. He may have started out as a musician, but somewhere along the way, he bought into his own public image and transformed into a blatant marketeer.

It wasn’t just the Chris Gaines project. Anyone remember his compilation album, “The Collection,” that you could only buy at McDonald’s, featuring album tracks from the stuff that everyone had already bought? Anyone remember his, “Double Live,” album, available with six different covers? Anyone remember the TV specials that got more and more lavish and slick with each new installment? Remember how he refused to distribute his albums to any music store that sold used CD’s? Jesus! Anyone remember when he tried to play professional baseball!?

And then, there were the interviews. Garth was ubiquitous in the press throughout the ‘90’s and, if you paid attention to him, you came away with a guy whose public musings were a strange blend of Johnny Cash, Oprah Winfrey and Deepak Chopra. An interviewer might ask him, “Garth, when are we gonna hear your new album?” He might respond with, “Well, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad must go to the mountain. The music can’t be ready until it’s ready. But we’re shootin’ for September, which is when we usually try to put out a new record.” You get the idea that the album is coming out in September, but if it doesn’t, at least you’ll be watching. Profundity masquerading as bullshit, which is the hallmark of a real salesman.

The best way for a listener to study the trajectory of Garth Brooks is to compare and contrast two of his songs; “The Dance,” and “The Change.” In order to do this, you’ll have to buy a subscription to Amazon Music, as Garth can’t be bothered to offer his catalog on Apple Music, Spotify, Pandora or YouTube.

Sidebar: Garth tried to start his own music service, called GhostTunes. It went over about as well as his first marriage.

“The Dance,” is a country classic that serves as the final track on his 1989 debut album. “The Change,” is the sixth track on “Fresh Horses,” from 1995. Both songs are written by Tony Arata and sung by Garth Brooks. There, the similarities end.

“The Dance,” is a quiet, melancholy song about taking stock of your life in the face of regret. “The Change,” is a purple, preening song about a man’s refusal to be bowed by a world full of pain. Garth’s vocals on “The Dance,” are perfect. They are country music at its best; understated, modest and introspective. “The Change,” is Garth at his worst. His vocals are pompous, pretentious and entirely unconvincing. Those two songs bookend the rise and fall of Garth Brooks in my view.

If it had only been about Garth, my interest in country music would’ve been short-lived. However, in May of 1992, I began playing the three Greatest Hits albums from George Strait on repeat right along with Garth’s first three albums. By the time I graduated high school in 1993, I owned every George Strait album. George just put out his latest album, “Cowboys and Dreamers,” a couple of months ago. He’s definitely older and has lost a step, but he’s still George and I love him.

Meanwhile, I hear that Garth opened a bar in Nashville. He still sells Budweiser there because he feels that everyone should feel welcome at his bar. He was also recently accused of sexual harassment. I don’t know if he’s guilty, but if he is, I wouldn’t be surprised. Garth is the product of the Clinton era, after all. Much of his later music was infused with that metrosexual male sentiment that suggests a deep, empathetic sensitivity, all while concealing a predatory nature just beneath the surface. Take a listen to today’s country music, dominated by overgrown frat boys, and let me know how that worked out.

When the historical record is written, you can’t dispute the fact that Garth Brooks put country music back on the map in the 1990’s. But let’s imagine that there was no Garth. The more soft-spoken artists like Alan Jackson, Clint Black and Vince Gill might not have succeeded in passing the torch, but Reba Mcentire certainly would have. She is also a master marketeer and she has succeeded in transcending the boundaries of country music, all while maintaining her artistic integrity. You also can’t minimize the contributions of folks like Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, Brooks and Dunn and Martina McBride. And, sadly, you also can’t ignore overrated fluffballs like Shania Twain, who just goes to prove that our world will never outgrow the T&A factor. They would have been just as successful with or without the contributions of Garth.

Can we blame Garth for wanting to expand his audience? Nope. Many artists have crossed over successfully. Taylor Swift could conduct a master class in how to shuck her country music roots in favor of pop appeal, including the grand marketing strategy of repackaging her early albums. You also can’t blame Garth for wanting to be an actor. Chris Kristofferson, Dolly Parton, Tim McGraw and Reba have all done it with greater or lesser success. But why the unnecessary shtick of Chris Gaines? I think Garth just gets off on the marketing gimmick.

As for “Imagine,” I find it ironic that he’s now singing a song that touts no religion, after cutting his teeth with lyrics like, “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers, so remember when you’re talking to the man upstairs.” Maybe he evolved. Maybe he’s an, “enlightened Christian.” Personally, I think he’s just playing to a new audience. That’s what all great salesmen do.

Like him or not, I appreciate the fact that Garth brought Chris LeDoux out of obscurity. “Whatcha Gonna Do With a Cowboy, When He Won’t Saddle Up and Ride Away?”