"Parade" - Broadway Sacramento - May 6, 2025

Rachel and I saw this show Thursday evening. An interesting recounting of the Leo Frank lynching.

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Eat It Tesla!

One of my new signs.

It's interesting to watch people's reactions to our protests at the Tesla dealership. There are many people who honk in support as they pass by, but there are a fair share who throw fingers too. I'm always amused by the people who throw fingers but honk anyway. There are a surprising number of people who honk in support but also clearly work at or have other business at the Tesla dealership. I make a point of staring down people driving into the dealership. Some people don't care, but others look down and refuse to meet my eyes. The Trump guilt is palpable. 

As the protest was winding up today, it was just me and this other guy - same as last week. We both immediately noticed a MAGA truck pull into the dealership. The truck had driven past several times and when it entered the dealership parking lot it proceeded to make an indeterminate ramble. It appeared as if they were deciding whether or not to *do something* against us two remaining protesters. Ultimately they drove off. A strange couple of people. The driver looked like Curly from the Three Stooges. The woman in the passenger seat looked like a corpse - Gothish makeup with a splash of green on her chin that made gangrene look healthy. 

Make America Great Again, ya'll! Bring Moe next time!

An Old Crow's Miracle

My neighbor told me about an old crow that visits her sidewalk garden. I finally caught a glimpse of the crow today. 

My neighbor placed a small bubbling fountain in her garden. The crow seems to regard the fountain as miraculous and gathers small bones (from KFC discards and other sources) to leave as an offering. 

In other bird news, today (May 6th) is the third day I’ve seen the bright-yellow budgie show up for dinner. The escaped pet seems in no immediate danger. I hope it’s well-fed. 

 [UPDATE: I saw the bird three days in a row and then it vanished. I’m not despairing though. If it was hanging out with triple crowned sparrows it might have moved around or even migrated. I’m anticipating seeing the bird again.]

Climbing A Tree

I worked as a substitute teaching assistant at the Club M afterschool at the Montessori school on Thursday afternoon. It had been two weeks since I had last been there. This time, I didn't see any kindergartners until quite late in the afternoon. Instead, I mostly watched 6-to-9-year-old kids. 

As it happened, there were too many assistants and not enough kids to watch. Too many helicopter-parenting assistants for the air space. I was sent to watch a fairly-sparsely-inhabited patch of playground, where nobody but two girls, about nine years old, were whiling away the afternoon. The girls were talking about the coming summer. 

"I'm going to have a babysitter this summer. She's thirteen. I don't like her," one girl said. "What's wrong with her?" I asked. "She's got too many beauty products," the girl replied. "She's thirteen?" I asked. "You should get her a gift card," I said. The girls started imagining revenge against the supposedly-vain babysitter. "I can take all her makeup, crush it together, and put it in a shower head, so when she takes a shower she'll get covered in her makeup," the girl said. "Even better," her friend suggested, "you could delete her YouTube channel!" 

This sounded too horrible - YouTube channels are sacrosanct - so I moved across the playground. When I returned, the one girl was climbing into a tree on the playground. She was climbing just a short height - just enough to exercise those monkeylike instincts all kids have - but high enough to attract the attention of one of the senior teaching assistants, who told her to get out of the tree. Not wanting to undermine his authority, I reluctantly followed up with a request: "I am going to have to ask you to stay out of the tree." 

The girl was indignant. "What kind of place is this? This isn't a school, it's a child detention facility!" The girl's friend began imagining that nothing on the playground was actually real - the swing set was fake and the playground equipment too. Just props for the police state. They should use spray paint to post messages for help on the playground tarmac that might attract the attention of passing aircraft. I replied, "Kind of like several weeks ago, when there was paint all over the pavement, from celebrating the Indian holiday, Holi Day." "Oh, but that was a powdered paint," the girl replied. "I painted my friends faces with that!" 

The treeclimbing girl got nostalgic for daycare days, back in the distant past, maybe as far back as 2019. "We could do whatever we wanted. We could have as many snacks as we wanted. We could climb in all the trees too." I replied, "This sounds like a scary daycare! But then I guess you got too old and ended up here." Both girls nodded. Things used to better back in the old days. 

The treeclimbing girl began climbing into the tree again. This time, I let her. Just then, one of the Deputized Girls happened by. "Wait. Whoa! Is that allowed now?" she asked. "Absolutely not!" I replied, as the treeclimbing girl dangled from a branch a short distance above the ground. 

It was late. Playground activities were halted and we joined the kindergartners in the portable classrooms. The littles are always so much fun! The older kids were harder to please, though. I discouraged the pursuit of rodents - you never know, with hantavirus - in favor of pursuing lizards, of which a few were present outside. 

The treeclimbing girl was among the very last to go home. She shared what amounted to Dad Jokes. "Where did the pig rest? - In the hammock! How does the corn plant feel? - Amaizing! What did the chick say after running back and forth forty times? - It's egg-sausting!" 

As everyone went home from the child detention facility I talked to one of the senior teaching assistants. "I think I'll do it different next year. I'm here every day, all day. I get really picky about every little thing, and the kids push limits hard, all day long. Next year, maybe part-time." I replied, "Yes, maybe a good idea. I'm not here very often, so when I'm present, it's pleasant."

Knocking

As my father aged he became quieter. It wasn't that he stopped communicating; it was that he was talking more and more to the voices in his head. He conceived of these voices as a college of warlocks. They told him stories from early 20th-Century northern New Mexico, particularly from the hills all around Santa Fe, told him jokes, and generally buoyed his spirit. 

I'm now at the age where I should be hearing voices too, but so far it's just a grim, voiceless sanity late at night. 

Nevertheless, I've started hearing knocking sounds in the wall of my kitchen. There's a small door there that's been painted shut. Behind the door is an old chimney. I need to open that door. I note that the chimney is open at the bottom, in the basement, and for all I know, it's open above the roof too. It's quite plausible that a rat, a possum, or some other small mammal has taken refuge there. 

Last night at 1 a.m., I brought out the battery-powered megaphone. I was yelling loudly at the knocking in the wall and generating harsh, loud feedback to scare the perpetrator in the wall. 

I was reminded of "Breaking Bad": about Jesse's story regarding his cancer-addled aunt, who called the police concerning a possum (an O'Possum) she called Scrabble that she heard making noise in the basement. The prequel "Better Call Saul" showed police detective Roberts taking her call. The general consensus was that there was no possum; it was just her. 

Perhaps there is no knocking in the kitchen wall late at night. Maybe it's just me. 

My father dwelled in silence. I dwell in noise. Anyway, it's time, you know?

A Budgie?

Dang! Feeding my various wild birds (near 21st St. and Second Ave.) I see a domesticated bird too!

David Cronenberg’s "Shrouds"

I went to see David Cronenberg’s “Shrouds,” because I liked his “Crimes of the Future,” a novel concept about the near-future, where people get plastic surgery more-readily than they get tattoos today. It’s all facilitated by great drugs. Get your abs scalloped on the way to the market. That sort of thing. 

Unfortunately, I don’t think “Shrouds” is as clever. Various implausible conspiracy theories about surveilling the dead are layered upon one another until you stop caring about the outcome. 

Still, Cronenberg has a unique viewpoint. He’s fascinated by the grossness of the human body, which helps explain how he ended up making horror movies.

 

It’s Fun to be in a Protest Where Public Opinion is on Your Side!!

If It’s a Day Ending in “Y” it’s Time to Protest This Shit