Monthly Archives: January 2026

Rants and raves, Uncategorized, Writings

So much BDE in the ICE

Big guns, tiny hands, but that should suffice,
Look at me, Momma, I’m a captain in ICE!
I was no fool, loved skipping school
But some B&E’s and cops said “not so cool!”

Army wouldn’t have me, nor would the cops
Neck and face tattoos kept me out of the business opps
So I played my video games and smoked crack
Took to cosplaying GI Joe — thinking I was so jacked.

Saw the posters recruiting for the new breed of ICE
Realized I could leap that low entry bar at least by twice
They gave me a flak jacket, face mask, and my choice of a gun
“Don’t worry about training, boy, go out and have fun!”

“Round up tan and brown folks, bust in a door
Make sure your iPhone is set to ‘record.’
Your memes are worth money on the ICE home page
Ain’t about justice; it’s about stoking the rage.”

With its $75 billion, ICE is recruiting society’s dregs
Building a private army of loyal zombies and bad eggs.
When the time comes, they will march into key cities and towns
And arrest all those obstructing liberal clowns.

The current horror show is just a diversion
While they plan for liberty’s ultimate perversion.
Don’t be fooled by tiny hands and big dick energy (BDE) today
The real goon squad is training for another January 6 foray.

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San Miguel de Allende, Writings

End animal suffering — one clinic at a time, that’s Rosey’s Wish

Some invitations are just too irresistible, like this one: Come join us out in the campo as we sterilize about 50 dogs and cats in the little community of San Antonio del Varal.

How could I say no to that?

The invitation came from Donna Lynes-Miller, the lifeforce behind Rosey’s Wish, a mobile veterinarian clinic on the front lines of the effort to reduce the number of abandoned and feral dogs and cats in San Miguel de Allende.

San Antonio Del Varal is a bit more than a half-hour away from, and a pleasant century or two behind, the city of San Miguel de Allende. An easy drive down the highway toward Queretero, and a sharp left onto a hard-packed dusty road that ends at the rancheria.

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Memoirs -- fact and fiction, Rants and raves, Reviews, San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized, Writings

What happens when your AI browser gets into the gummies: Perplexity in nine acts

Act 1

Me, speaking into the Perplexity AI browser’s microphone: “How long is the French Camino?”

What Perplexity heard: “Hello, this is a test.”

What Perplexity replied: “Hello! Test received loud and clear. What’s on your mind?”

Act 2

Me, a little perplexed with Perplexity: How long is the French Camino?”

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Rants and raves, San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized, Writings

This is just Wilde

“Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life” — Oscar Wilde in an 1889 essay.

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In the avalanche of outrage and imagery pouring out of Minneapolis in the aftermath of the killing of Renee Nicole Good by ICE agent Jonathan Ross, one scene stood out to me, but not for reasons related to Good’s horrific shooting.

A video shows dozens of Minneapolis citizens sliding down an icy slope to join scores of other protestors on the far side of a wintry landscape.

Where had I seen this before?

I snagged a freeze-frame, and it took only minutes to recall.

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Memoirs -- fact and fiction, San Miguel de Allende, Writings

A book fell into my lap and changed everything; a magical end to the 1960s

Showing up late for a party stoned and tipsy wasn’t very original in late-1969, though I was getting damned good at it — and tired of it all — a rudderless college drop-out, dodging the draft, hiding out in Washington D.C. in the shadow of the Selective Service.

I was fast becoming a mess.

Nobody at John and Linda’s party noticed – even when I stumbled back against the bookshelf and slid to the floor while Jenny from West Virginia badgered me with her latest career dilemma: Airline stewardess? Or a psychologist?

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Uncategorized

Call me crazy. I bought a bicycle.

It is not even a midlife crisis. I passed that expiration date decades ago. I mean, I’m almost 76 years old.

Thing is, I didn’t pluck one out of a catalog, all shiny and new and bristling with speed and 18 gears, and potential. And maybe an electric motor….

This one was leaning up against a garage entrance on Calle 28 de Abril in Colonia San Antonio, like an early morning mezcal-sopped tourist on shaky legs. It was tethered to a rope from inside, and it had a for-sale tag, but I had no time to read it.

It just looked so sad. Covered in dust, a patina of rust over the frame.

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