3 Chords & the Truth: Hanging in there

Hanging in there?

Yeah, I know. 

Maybe this week's edition of 3 Chords & the Truth will help.

And you had hoped that 2021 would be better than 2020. Perhaps it is, but the progress has been decidedly incremental. 

Now here's where I tell you about how good the Big Show is this go 'round, but I'm guessing you know that already if you're a regular listener. If you aren't . . . what the hell is wrong with you? 

Time to get with the program. Get it? The program! That's a funny, I tell ya'. A joke! 

Aw, forget it. 

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all.  Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Words to the wise

Just a few things: 

Do listen to the Big Show. It's typically good this week.

Don't go around trying to "own" people on the Facebook, not during the show. I see you. You have better things to do -- at least when you should be listening to 3 Chords & the Truth.

Did I mention we have a really good show this week?

IF YOU'RE the kind who goes to school board meetings to scream about your "rights" when educators tell your kids to put on a damn mask and try not to be a Typhoid Billy or Susie . . . or avoid being infected by a Typhoid Billy or Susie, there's nothing for you here. Go away. And put on a damn mask.

It really is a good show this week. 

Everything sounds better on reel-to-reel audio tape. 

Audio tape is a description; Audiotape was a brand name.

The Big Show is still good. Really.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: The other Prozac

I held out some vanishingly small hope last week that this week would be a little better.

Apparently, that was because I'm an idiot. 

This week, we had a Category 4 hurricane in Louisiana, deadly monster floods in the Northeast from the former Cat 4 hurricane, the 'rona still running rampant and Texas being Texas -- this time with the most sinister abortion law ever devised by sinister people.

NOT THAT I'm all for abortion, I'm just against making life hell for women -- and everyone else -- by turning a bunch of Beckys into a surveilling, snitching Lone Star Stasi to sue everyone into the poorhouse as the gummint argues "It wadn't me what done it!" See Germany, East.

So it's in this continuing world of suck that we trepidatiously emerge from the 3 Chords & the Truth hidey hole to put another episode out there into a world of hurt.

Music -- it's the other Prozac.

And I prescribe a liberal dose of the Big Show as one way of helping yourself to get by the best way you can. I guess that pretty much sums things up and concludes what I have to say at this juncture.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

Home is where the hurt is

This one minute of television from Baton Rouge covers a lot of ground.

The clip, from WAFB's hurricane coverage, also hints -- like after Katrina -- at the wrenching decisions about rebuilding or abandonment that will need to be made after Ida, like they had to be made after Katrina . . . and weren't. The Gulf won't stop rising, South Louisiana won't stop sinking, and hurricanes won't stop getting nastier and more frequent.

The heart says "home." The cold, hard facts of life ask you what will happen first -- that "home" bankrupts you, and everybody else, or that "home" kills you, because you've made your stand on ground that can't be defended, and which you have a hard time even calling "ground" anymore.

Nothing -- nothing -- will break your heart like home. That covers the increasingly untenable forces of climate and geology, and it covers all the myriad reasons those of us who left home behind had for leaving home behind. Because there's only one "home." Even when you barely recognize it anymore, or when the things you recognize the most are the reasons you had to go.

AND FOR so many of us in so many "homes," the last few years have been an apocalypse -- in the Greek sense of the word. An unveiling.

My new favorite Brit saying is "It's the hope that kills you." (Sorry, Ted Lasso.) Well, these are the times that it's the home that kills you.

My dread is that all my sane, non-MAGA Nebraska family and friends are, in these times, learning a bitter, bitter lesson that I received decades ago in my homeland. Hope often can't fix home. And that just fucking kills you.