Friends, fellow inhabitants of planet Earth, I’m not breaking up with you. I just think maybe we ought to see other species for a while. You like dogs, right?

I’ve spent so many years trying to talk with you, and you haven’t heard anything. So, we have the same conversation over and over and over. Let’s just take a little amicable break, OK?

Naked Imperialism

Barely one in five Venezuelans knows who Juan Guaidó is. His newly minted international supporters have trouble pronouncing his name. Yet that is the man whom the Donald Trump administration wants to make President of Venezuela – by any means necessary.  White House national security adviser John Bolton has already floated a trial balloon of “5,000 troops to Colombia.”

History in blackface slaps the present moment awake.

What? The governor put that picture on his yearbook page? In 1984? The wave of outrage, the demand for his resignation — from Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam’s own party, the Democrats — can’t be dismissed with a shrug and an apology. His career may be over, thanks not simply to an act of youthful stupidity but to the context that made it possible: good old American racism.

In a society where world population is on the rise and citizens are increasingly connected through technology, theorists claim the infamous “six degrees of separation” has narrowed to “three degrees.” How many individuals know someone who has battled cancer, struggled with diabetes, dealt with seizures or contracted HIV? Likely everyone reading this knows at least one person dealing with one (or more) of these severe health concerns. The need for consistent access to healthcare increases significantly when combining those challenges with environmental factors such as: pollution, pesticides, volatile chemicals and shrinking biodiversity. The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that one in eight deaths worldwide is linked to air pollution exposure.

One month ago, I moved from my beloved Arcadia Avenue to the suburban paradise of Upper Arlington. I had my reasons, and I don’t regret the decision. But I do miss the noise and life of the city. There has also been something of a learning curve – dumping metal debris in my front yard for scrappers to pick up is not OK. I also had to buy a snow shovel.

As my consolation for the move, I decided that I was going to take advantage of my nearly doubled square footage and indulge myself with a real music room. A good chance to consolidate the drums, pianos, ten or so guitars, pennywhistles and other miscellany that was formerly stashed in every corner of my old house. And a place to put that duct taped together couch.

I hope so much that I will stay musically active and, unlike a lot of basement bars and man-caves, the room will be more of a functional space than a shrine to a past life. But hanging guitars on the wall got me excited, and the next thing you know I’m installing vintage style sconce lights and buying lava lamps. One thing led to another, culminating in a whiskey fueled online poster shopping spree at 1:00 AM.