Space oddity

April 3, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment

More than a few folks in the media have expressed surprise that NASA’s reboot of a flyby round the moon hasn’t engaged more eyeballs.

Huh. Well. …

It could have something to do with the fact that we are at wa … pardon, on “an excursion” … in the Middle East. Again.

Or that a third-tier reality-TV character put us there, when he wasn’t busy cheating at golf, stenciling his accursed name on everything, and/or lying through his false teeth.

Maybe the suckers that voted for him are too busy trying to squeeze their eyeballs back into their sockets after a glance at the latest gas prices, or a peek at his 2027 wish list for the Pentagon — $1.5 trillion, about a 40 percent jump from the last military-industrial goodie bag.

Can’t have guns and butter, of course, so better learn to like your toast dry. If you still have the bread to buy bread.

Me, I still like watching our tentative steps at space exploration. We caught the burn that took Artemis II — or Orion, Integrity, whatever the fuck this thing is called, Christ, no wonder nobody’s paying any attention to it — out of Earth’s orbit and toward the moon just before dinner last night. A missile launch that isn’t intended to kill someone, or a bunch of someones. Feature that, if you can.

So remember when you’re feeling very small and insecure, how very unlikely is your birth. And pray that there’s intelligent life somewhere up in space, ’cause there’s bugger-all down here on Earth.

Rocket, man

April 2, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 20 Comments

Off we go, into the wild blue yonder. … Photo courtesy NASA/Bill Ingalls

It was nice to take a break from the Dingaling Bros-Barnum & Beelzebozo Circus yesterday to watch NASA pitching a high hard one at the moon.

When my sis and I were sprouts we often got to catch NASA’s act. The old man was a big fan of the space program (three of the seven Mercury astronauts were Air Force flyboys like him). So I remember the Mercury and Gemini programs from our time at Randolph AFB at San Antone. And of course Apollo, which took off after we’d transferred to Bibleburg, with the first crewed flight in 1968.

The old man collected autographed pix of the astronauts, and I built models of the craft they flew, even got into model rocketry for a time. Also, and too, “Star Trek,” because of course “Star Trek.”

Apollo 11, the first time a human set foot on the moon, was the crowning achievement. Nothing NASA did afterward thrilled me in the same way, possibly because I was too busy being a space cowboy with Major Tom.

Too much science fiction, I suppose. No lunar colony, no base on Mars, no interstellar travel … did my old B-burg bro’ Robert A. Heinlein live in vain? Here it is 2026 and we’re still stuck down here with the eejits, murdering each other and crowing about doing a hot lap around the moon, samey same as in 1968, when we got the famous photo “Earthrise,” from Apollo 8’s William Anders.

Ah, well. I still like to watch. And dream.

April pool

April 1, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

¡Agua free-, ahhh!”

They said it might rain. But then they say a lot of things, don’t they?

I don’t see any mention of precip’ in my 2026 training log since a bit of snow on Jan. 25. This morning, our weather widget reports 0.08 inch of rain overnight, and we will take it, with gratitude.

Maybe some of this will fall on War Piggy’s parade this evening, when he is expected to either declare victory in his oil-burning Excursion and then run away with his armor all soiled like Sir Robin, or go full Curtis LeMay on Iran, bombing it “back to the Stone Ages,” which I suppose is where he thinks Fred and Wilma live.

Either way, the goal is getting back to the important stuff: turning the White House into a whorehouse with casino attached; flushing our health care down his golden loo to pay for all his impeachable offenses; and slapping his punk-ass name on everything, including the money he’s stealing from us.

The only good part about having this pendejo as president is that it frees up a lot of time you might otherwise waste listening to, reading about, or watching anything he has to say. If you see his name followed by a verb like “says,” well, you can just go about your business. Because whatever he says will be (a) incomprehensible without Mr. Spock’s Universal Translator, and (2) what George Carlin described in “40 Years of Comedy” as “bullshit” — top to bottom, stem to stern, inside and out.

Of course, George was speaking back in 1997, when American presidents cared enough to put some thought into the tales they told, a soupçon of savoir-faire, delivering what he called “high-quality bullshit, world-class designer bullshit, to be sure. Hospital-tested, clinically proven bullshit.”

War Piggy just brings the stink, and it’s hard to tell which end of him smells worse.

That’s just the way it is

March 30, 2026March 30, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

The title track from Bruce Hornsby’s new album.

Bruce Hornsby is having a moment, and good for him.

Once you start looking beyond his only No. 1 hit, “The Way It Is,” you realize the guy has been playing in your background for years. Decades.

Hornsby has worked with almost everybody worth listening to. Leon Russell. Clannad. Bonnie Raitt. Bob Dylan. The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. The Grateful Dead.

He co-wrote “The End of the Innocence” with Don Henley and played on the track with Henley and Wayne Shorter.

That’s a tune with legs, and you can still hear them kicking ass 37 years later:

O beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
They’re beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king
Armchair warriors often fail
And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers clean up all details
Since daddy had to lie

Some of Hornsby’s playmates appear on the new album, “Indigo Park,” due out April 3. Raitt, who sings on “Ecstatic,” told The New York Times that she treats herself to a live recording of her friend performing “Dreamland” before taking the stage each night.

“The guy is just still diving deep and improving and playing hours a day and stretching,” she said. “He’s the one musician I would have if I could only have one on a desert island.”

The new album came, as new ideas often do, when Hornsby had been hoping to take a break. Nope. The title song arrived first and dragged the others along to keep it company.

Hornsby told The Times that “Indigo Park” is something of a glance at the rear-view mirror.

“This is the first record where I’ve really dealt with looking back,” he said. “On a lyrical level, I’ve always been kind of pushing forward. But this time I thought, ‘OK, you’re 70, [expletive]’.’”

Sounds like he’s still moving forward to me. Don’t give up the driver’s license yet, Bruce. Try to make the ecstatic last.

Serfs on safari

March 29, 2026March 29, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments

What organizers estimate to be our biggest No Kings crowd yet in Montgomery Park on Saturday.

Bigger and better? Yes and no.

Albuquerque’s third No Kings rally topped its predecessors in terms of turnout; organizers say we had 50,000 attendees here, with more than 8 million nationwide.

And the crowd, while still heavy on gray hair (and no hair), seemed to have more young people than did the previous editions.

A couple of smiling young folks from the Party for Socialism and Liberation buttonholed us, passing along a flyer for a May Day rally and general strike. The Democratic Socialists of America said they’d be around, but once again, no confirmed sightings.

But emcee Robert Luke seemed to have some trouble generating a solid call-and-response from the throng, which really didn’t get fired up until special guest speaker Stacey Abrams brung the heat. (Respect to the band ShyGuy, which tore up a stout cover of Green Day’s “American Idiot.”)

It was the march that put a smile on my face. The 3-mile route from the park wound north on San Mateo, east on Montgomery, south on Louisiana, and back to the park via Comanche, and we flat filled our half of the road, singing, chanting, and waving at passersby.

One group of youngsters could really sing, at one point tackling Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” with enthusiasm if not 100 percent accuracy. Lots of horn honking, most of the single-digit salutes involving an upraised thumb, and only one small, semiorganized group of dissenters at the far side of Comanche and Louisiana, with a sign that said something like “No Commies or Socialists In Our Neighborhood.”

I sang, “I am a commie, and so is your mommy” at them. Not as melodious as the kids, but what the hell, I ain’t Bruce Springsteen. Anyway, you know the rule: While smashing the State, kids, keep a smile on your lips and a song in your heart.