I don’t like Tucker Carlson. And I am quite certain he would not like me. What disturbs me about this projected mutual ambivalence is that it characterizes the very thing I dislike about Carlson; namely, that so much of our global social currency is founded not on intelligence but upon the animal attraction of tribalism and contempt.  The variance of reported opinions of Carlson is so patent that the only predictable theme of his divergence is self-advancement for personal interests, unmistakably nothing to do with moral and legal fundamentals. In short he is a stage performer with an understandable hope for attention (he’s reputedly a 53 year-old worth $40M).  It explains his incremental descent over time from cerebral commentary to comic nightly entertainment. It governs how he thinks and talks, neither of which is learned, both of which are appetizing to those devoted to obloquy as a relieving OTC prescription. He’s the cheap medication for self-approbation without having to know or ask the ingredients.

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After completing our early morning grocery shopping at Publix today we ventured along Harbour Drive past Fisherman’s Trail onto Ocean Shores Drive to Key Largo Fisheries Market · Café · Marina on Ocean Bay Drive. We bought stone crab claws for dinner tonight.  The server cracked the claws and stored them on ice in a plastic bag. This constitutes the primary element of this evening’s festive meal which will include – or so I am led to believe –  pasta, garlic, double cream, butter, Parmigiano-Reggiano and Italian parsley.

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With Christmas only weeks away, and having spoken this morning with a Canadian friend who is enthralled by the Christmas spirit (though selectively only for snow on Christmas Eve and morning), I find myself drawn to the festivity and reminiscing about a childhood journey to Florida over the Christmas holidays when I was eight years old. We then lived at 4412 Edmunds St NW in Washington DC. Before our departure from home to our destination we had exchanged gifts with our cook named Dina.  She lived on the third floor of our house so we were like family.  I don’t recall what we gave Dina but I distinctly recall what she gave me. It was a snow globe with two or three goldfish swimming about. I remember this especially well because my hobby at the time was collecting tropical fish. I carried the snow globe with me to Florida and back. However upon arriving home, and in my gusto to exit my father’s 4-door Oldsmobile to greet Dina who stood awaiting us in her grey dress with crisp white front, I dropped the snow globe on the concrete garage floor. I don’t need to tell you what ensued. I have no doubt it broke my heart as well. I loved my snow globe; and I knew how kind it was of Dina to have bought it for me. 

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Following my two recent early morning awakenings (yesterday and the day before) to prepare for meetings at 9:30 am and 10:00 am respectively, I slept late this morning until almost nine o’clock. In fact it was the first time I have slept soundly for as long, from about 1:20 am (when I took a handful of analgesics) until about 6:30 am after which I lingered sluggishly beneath the duvet. Consequently it wasn’t until almost 11 o’clock that I finished my breakfast and got onto my tricycle to commence a token exercise about the community.

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Today was another relaxing day on beautiful, sunny, warm Key Largo.  It marked the second of as many days in a row in which I have attended to personal care.  The adventure today was my acquaintance with Cindy of Cindy’s Hair Place located directly across the Overseas Highway from Buttonwood Bay.  Nonetheless I drove there because even a half-mile walk would have drained me entirely in my present condition of near immobility. The drive did however afford my first glimpse of the North Atlantic Ocean since we arrived on Key Largo one month ago. Until now I have been preoccupied with the Gulf of Mexico on the west side of the Florida Keys where we abut. I intend to return to the ocean-side locale to capture photos which I missed today because of a wrong turn and I didn’t want to be late for my appointment.

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The exchange between Russia and the United States of America of Brittney Griner for a convicted arms dealer promotes multiple postulations among them the legitimacy of the initial accusations, the penalties for violation of national law, the justice of the trial processes, the reasonableness of the convictions and the indisputable nightmare that is prison.

In February 2022, Griner was detained by Russian customs after cartridges containing hashish oil were found in her luggage, and later arrested on smuggling charges. She had been entering Russia to play with the Russian Premier League during the WNBA off season. Her trial began on July 1, and she pleaded guilty to the charges. On August 4, she was sentenced to nine years in prison. In November 2022, Griner was transferred to the Russian penal colony IK-2. During this time, US officials had stated that she was “wrongfully detained.” Griner’s family is part of the Bring Our Families Home campaign that advocates for the immediate release of wrongfully-held detainees. On December 8, Griner was released by Russia in a contentious 1-for-1 prisoner swap for arms dealer Viktor Bout, who was serving a 25 year sentence for providing heavy weapons to terrorists and conspiring to killing Americans.

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My appointment for a mani/pedi was scheduled for 9:30 am this morning. I arrived outside the salon a few minutes early. There was a red neon sign flashing OPEN on the front window. Through the window I could see there were already others inside. Some were at their stations performing manicures and pedicures with clients both male and female.  When I opened the entrance door I stood by the cash, inert, expecting some recognition from someone. All I got was a brief glance from a young muscular man in a tight T-shirt half-way into the salon where he was giving a pedicure to a woman. He said perfunctorily, “Do you have an appointment?”  His utter lack of retail aplomb instantly froze me. I replied with equal disinterest, “Yes”. This animated exchange prompted him to remove himself reluctantly from his subordinate station at the feet of the woman and shuffle towards the computer screen on the counter at the entrance where I awaited. “Your name?”, he asked. To which I replied, “Chapman”. I wasn’t giving him more than necessary. “What time?”, he continued. I told him. “With Snow?”, he asked. “Yes”, I replied, “That sounds familiar.” He glanced out the front window.  “She’s on her way”, he reported then evaporated. I sat down on a chair by the window. The chair had been stretched out of utility from repeated use. I thought of switching to another but abandoned the idea.

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Likely it will come as no shock to you to acknowledge that the picture we paint of ourselves (both for ourselves and for others or independently) is seldom if ever the way others see us in return. This seemingly curious phenomenon is upon the briefest analysis entirely explicable. Each of us has a battery of empirical and psychological ingredients which unwittingly colour whatever we do or say or think. And be assured that the flavour arising from our personal experiences is bound to be singular just as are the circumstances from which they emanate. When it comes to assessing others be warned too that there is no certainty connected to any common indicia.

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When young most of us were eager to do something with our lives, to prove ourselves to others, to become something, perhaps famous. Often we had our sights on someone or something we wished to emulate or follow. Occasionally one’s personal zeal was overtaken by parents who wanted their child to join the family business or to continue in the same historic line of professionals. Even after retirement there are those who persist to seek accomplishment which can for example include returning to university to get another degree; or transitioning to a new occupation often strikingly different from the first. Whatever the projected success may have been there comes a point in one’s life when it no longer matters. I do not view this as lacking in ambition or purpose. And certainly continuing to read is not so much a goal as a prerequisite. The same applies to an openness to learning whatever the vernacular.

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Last evening the air conditioner stopped working.  Again.  This is the second time in as many weeks. The report from the office of the estate agent today is that the problem (similarly affecting several other units) is the result of antiquated faulty wiring provoked by the recent replacement of the roofs of the townhouses. We are told that the A/C mechanic will not be able to address the matter for two days but that we shall have priority because our unit is occupied.  The good news is that for the foreseeable future the skies are forecast to be clear and cool; with a northern breeze. To be frank it is comfortable with the windows ajar and the crosswind from front to back of the unit.

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